That just makes me laugh harder, maybe a little hysterically, until I see how pleased with himself Raze looks and cut it off abruptly.

As we walk away, I let one hand press against the dragon’s skull, promising silently not to let the treasure it’s spent so long protecting come to harm.

We make it out of the building the same way we came. I keep looking over my shoulder, waiting for Gossamer to appear again, for a monster to jump out at us, for a curse to strike us and turn us to stone. Even as my foot crosses the threshold back down into the tunnel, I half expect some wicked faerie magic to trap us in the library’s stone walls.

It’s suspiciously calm.

I throw one last look over my shoulder before plunging into the darkness. Fiery orange light paints over the rows of books, streaked with sunset pink. It’s eerie, lifeless, beautiful. I wonder how long it will be before this spot falls under human eyes again.

Then I remember that, no matter how human my eyes look, I’m not one of them.

No, you’re not.

I flinch. I’ve let that same quiet voice slide past my attention so many times in the past few weeks, as if ignoring it harder would make it disappear. Is that my own worst thought, or something else?

No—someone else?

“Seelie, come on,” Raze says gently. “They’re waiting for us.” He takes my hand in his—for safety in the dark tunnel, that’s all—and guides me back into the mountain.

chapter thirty

It’s hard to tell how long we’re in the tunnel. Minutes and hours turn into a number of steps and the specific angle of a turn. I take the lead, our fingers still entwined. Raze’s hands are so much bigger than mine that it almost hurts to stretch my fingers wide enough for his to fit, but I don’t let go. I can feel his hands getting clammy again, hear his breath coming faster.

“Are you scared of the dark?” I ask quietly, after rolling the question around in my head so many times I can’t think about anything else.

Raze hesitates, tensing. “Do you think I’m scared?”

It’s slow going here, rocky and uneven. I bash my toe into a short ledge before stepping up onto it. “Step up here,” I say. “Everything I’ve learned about human behavior suggests that rapid breathing, sweaty palms, and unusual silence are markers of fear. Right?”

I feel him try to pull away, and grip his hand tighter.

“Don’t let go. I don’t want you to get lost.”

“My palms aren’t that sweaty,” he grumbles.

“You’re trying to distract me.” My toe hits something else, this time a smaller stone that rattles as it bounces out in front of us.

Raze relents. “I don’t like...um...confined spaces,” he admits. Which—of course. I should have realized it earlier, after what he told me about Leira and everything she put him through. I squeeze his hand tighter in mine. “Actually, I hate them. I get all sweaty and sick and... Well, if I lose my last meal all of a sudden and it gets in your hair, you’ve officially been warned.”