“No,” she says, voice steely. “But she told me not to trust any of them, not to share any information…” Her voice quakes for just an instant, but then her features harden as she expertly pushes down her emotions. “It was to keep her own involvement secret. If I wasn’t sharing anything important, it meant I wouldn’t question why more leaks weren’t happening.”

“It could be a mistake, Krantz could be deceiving us somehow,” I say, trying to find any reason her best friend has not betrayed her.

But Laurel only shakes her head. “No, it all adds up. She was the mole all along.” Her voice shakes. “She desperately wanted to go to Velmara, and she convinced me it was to find information to help Thayaria, to help me… She insisted she go alone, pretending it was because she didn’t want to put anyone else at risk. But it was to hide what she was really doing there. She went to Velmara to aid the rebels, not to aid me.” Her voice cracks, and she finally displays emotion, tears welling in her eyes.

“Laurel, please,” I say again, pleading with her for what, I don’t even know. She suddenly collapses to the ground, and I can no longer keep my resolve to stay away. I cross the room in two strides, then sink to the floor with her. She’s clenching and unclenching her fists, clearly trying to fight the emotion building up inside of her.

“We should go somewhere else… my magic…” she whispers.

“Shhh,” I soothe. “You won’t lose control. You’re not going to hurt anyone.” I wrap my arms around her, and that’s the last thing she needs to let go. She sobs into my chest, gripping my shirt so tightly I think she might rip it off me. Stroking her hair, I kiss the top of her head, shocking myself at the intimacy of the gesture. But once I’ve done it, I can’t stop, placing light and gentle kisses into her hair, across her forehead. She doesn’t stop me, doesn’t protest. Just continues crying, holding on to me like I’m the last person she has left in the world.

We stay like that for several moments. I slowly stroke her hair, her back, but stay silent, offering comfort but giving her space to process. When she finally stops crying, she immediately stiffens and jumps out of my arms, putting distance between us again. I want to sigh, but I keep it in. Now is not the time to think about the constant dance she does between vulnerability and standoffishness. I feel her absence deeply, and a small part of me cracks apart at her refusal to let me help her. I stand, but keep my distance, unsure how to help.

“I want to spar,” she says resolutely. “Will you spar with me in the training room?”