Jember pointed out to the door. “Game room,” he ordered, and I rushed out into the hall. I ran the whole way there, not wanting his rage so close to my back where I couldn’t keep track of it. Jember didn’t seem to be in a hurry, his uneven steps echoing the expanse of the hall like a still-beating heart trapped in the floorboards. I found a spot in the room where I couldn’t be cornered and faced the door, waiting for that foreboding heart to join me. He shut the door, locking us within the protection of the amulet, then leaned against it, arms folded across his chest.

For a moment we didn’t speak. He looked pensive, but in a dangerous, unpredictable way.

“How did you know it was me who looked at him and not Kelela again?” I asked.

“Because you lied about it.” Finally, he looked at me. “You’d better have a good reason.”

“I trust my ability to survive murderous attacks, for one thing.”

He paused, as if considering my sarcasm. “I would trust you, too … in any situation other than this.”

“I’m fast, and strong for my size. And you’re the best debtera I know—with you constructing the amulet, I won’t have to distract it for long. This is the most efficient way to do this, and you know it.”

“That’s if it goes smoothly. If Saba doesn’t give in to the Evil Eye’s commands. If it doesn’t break through all our shields. If you can—” He swallowed, scowling at the floor. “—avoid dying.”

“I kept Kelela alive, didn’t I? I’ll wear amulets like I gave her, so the hyena has one more barrier to fight through. We can do this, Jember.”

“You didn’t give us much of a choice.” He took a deep breath, then walked slowly to the chair and lowered himself into it, supporting himself with his hands on the chair arms. He leaned back in the chair, staring at the fire for a moment. “I should’ve told you I loved you when you were growing up. Maybe then you wouldn’t be throwing your life away for the first person to say it.”

“But you don’t love me,” I said, crossing my arms and looking at my feet. “You already admitted it.”

“I could’ve said it for your sake.”

I settled down on the couch across from him. “Then it would just be a word. As empty as most of your threats.”

“You’re right,” he said. That made me gape a little, and I sat silently, waiting for him to turn my point into an argument. Instead he shrugged. “Love is an action. It’s something you do.” He swore at the flames, then finally looked at me, his brows lowered as if fighting against pain. “I guess you’re justified in your sacrifice, then.”