“I needed a way in with the Brothers of Morte d’Arthur. I heard they could make a man immortal, it only required the life of another. So I provided them with the necessary bodies. People no one would miss. I didn’t want to do it, but I needed to.”

“You needed to murder people who trusted you?”

Finn runs a hand through his curls, frustrated, like I don’t understand at all. We’ll never understand each other. “I just needed the Brothers to trust me enough to show me how to do the ritual. So I could perform it for us, Frances. Then we’ll close the veil and never let anyone use it to do harm again.”

It’s all so horrifying I don’t know where to begin untangling it. Finn sold out his own followers and led them to slaughter. He agreed to help us and stole the key with the sole intention of performing the ritual for the two of us.

Forever with Finn? The concept has me shaking, sick to my stomach.

I turn to Finn with disgust. “You really are mad, Finn.” My voice cracks on his name. “You thought I’d ever want an eternity with you? You thought I’d let you take Oliver’s life the way you took William’s? You’ll never learn, will you? You’ll never understand me, you’ll never understand friendship or love.”

“No, no, not Oliver. They weren’t supposed to take Oliver,” he protests.

“But if it wasn’t Oliver, it would have been some other poor boy.”

Finn meets my eye, steely in his resolve. “I need to atone for what I’ve done. I need more time, Frances. It’ll take more than a lifetime. I’ll do good with it, I promise. We could make a world that’s better than this one, just like we always talked about.”

There is nothing Finn can do to remedy the harm he’s done, no steps, no perfect words or actions that will bring my brother back to me. He cannot undo the pain it has caused. They say all is healed with time, but that’s not true at all, is it?

“You can’t fix it, don’t you understand?” I cry. “Not by more killing. And even if you could, do you really think it would make me love you again?”

He looks so wounded, standing in the flickering torchlight, covered in blood and bruises. “I—” he begins, at a loss for words. “Maybe I need more time to prove to you that I’ve changed, but everything I’ve done has been for you. You don’t see it now, but you will.”

In my distraction, I’ve let my hold on the taller boy slip. He lunges at Finn, a knife in his hand. The shorter boy goes at Oliver.

On the ground, Benny struggles against his ropes.