Текст книги "Heartless hunter"

Автор книги: Kristen Ciccarelli

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Текущая страница: 19 (всего у книги 23 страниц)

FORTY-SIX RUNE

FOR THE PAST TWO years, ever since Nan’s death, Rune spent most nights tossing and turning in bed, her mind spinning with anxious thoughts as she went over plans, pieced together information, and mentally punished herself for the witches she hadn’t saved.

Tonight, she slept worse than ever. Nightmares about Nan kept her trapped, and when Rune finally woke from them, thrashing in her covers, a sheen of feverish sweat coated her skin.

It was still dark, but Rune rose anyway, afraid to shut her eyes again. Dressing warmly, she saddled Lady and rode down to the shore, trying to clear her head while the sun rose, scattering the mist off the sea.

When she returned to Wintersea House, Lizbeth was walking toward her through the gardens, her hands coiled around a rolled-up newspaper.

Rune dismounted Lady. “What is it?”

Lizbeth handed the paper to her. “You should read it yourself.”

Rune unrolled the New Herald, the regime’s official newspaper, and glanced down at the front page. In bold black letters, the first headline read: WITCH ATTACK. DOZENS DEAD.

Her heart stumbled.

A witch attack?

With one hand squeezing the leather strips of Lady’s lead, Rune quickly scanned the report.

Late last night, Blood Guard soldiers led by Captain Gideon Sharpe raided a print shop believed to be harboring witches. The soldiers were lured into a trap set by the witches they’d come to arrest. A dozen men and women were inside the building when it exploded. As help rushed to the scene, a second explosion tore through Blood Guard headquarters. As of this morning, the fires are still raging. Twenty-seven are confirmed dead and many more are injured.

Rune’s ears rang as she stared at Gideon’s name. Two explosions. Twenty-seven dead. She scanned down to the bottom of the page, but there was no other information.

The New Herald hadn’t printed the names of the deceased.

Is he one of them?

Choking down her fear, Rune tossed the newspaper on the ground and swiftly remounted. Grabbing Lady’s reins, she sent them sailing toward town.

Rune could see two pillars of billowing smoke long before she reached the capital. She headed straight for the print shop, where Gideon’s raid had taken place. It was past noon when she neared the smoking ruin. Ash filled the air, stinging her lungs.

As she arrived at the building’s scorched shell, the horrible thoughts Rune had tried to suppress broke through and an image of Gideon’s charred body appeared in her mind, unmooring her.

It felt like the air had been sucked from the world.

She couldn’t breathe.

Rune reached for her old hatred of the Blood Guard captain like she would for a weapon, to defend herself against the surge of overwhelming feelings. But her hatred was nowhere to be found.

She swung herself down from the saddle and pushed her way into the crowd of gawking bystanders.

“Is there anyone still in there?” she asked, feeling dizzy. “Does anyone know the names of the dead?”

But the bystanders were all asking the same questions. As she shoved her way to the front, people with buckets of water rushed inside or emerged with empty ones, telling the crowd to get back.

“You can’t come in here, miss,” said one of them. “It’s still smoldering.”

“Have you seen Gideon Sharpe?”

No one had.

Rune raced Lady to Blood Guard headquarters, the site of the second attack. The former Royal Library looked like a giant skull, blackened and burnt, with fires still raging in its hollow eyes. The explosion had shattered the glass walls, and the shards lay scattered in the street, shining like the sea.

TWENTY-SEVEN DEAD blared in her mind.

Rune’s stomach clenched.

Did Cressida do this?

Instead of going home to Wintersea to wait for news, or riding to Thornwood Hall in case Alex had more information, she turned Lady and rode for Old Town. She tied the horse to a nearby hitching post and approached Gideon’s tenement.

Rune knocked on his door, listening for footsteps within.

When no one came, she knocked again. Louder this time.

I hate you, Gideon Sharpe. I hate you so much, it hurts. And if you don’t open this door, I’ll go on hating you forever …

There was still no answer.

She banged on the wood. Pounding and pounding until her hands hurt. Trying to pound away the image of his scorched corpse stuck behind her eyelids.

Rune was going to be sick.

When it became clear no one was coming, she collapsed against the door, pressing her forehead to the wood, wondering where this tempest of emotions had come from. A whirlwind of sadness and longing and something else. Something she didn’t want to acknowledge. Turning her back to the door, she sank to the ground.

Drawing her knees to her chest, she remembered him stepping into the black flames that had come to devour her. While everyone else ran away, he had run toward her.

A sob surged up her throat.

Rune felt people walking past, trying not to stare at the silly little aristo weeping on the ground in the wrong part of town. Rune didn’t care. A tempest was crashing through her, threatening to shatter her apart, and it was everything she could do to hold herself together.

As she wept on his doorstep, a concerned passerby approached. Through her tears, Rune saw their blurred boots.

Leave me alone, she thought, pulling her knees tighter to her chest.

“Rune?”

She glanced up to find a young man in a Blood Guard uniform. His red wool jacket was missing, and blood stained the collared white shirt he wore. A gash in his forehead had been recently stitched, and there was a vicious bruise on his cheek.

The breath froze in her lungs.

Rune pushed herself to her feet.

“What are you doing here?” said Gideon, staring at her like she was a puzzle he couldn’t figure out.

At the sight of him, alive, Rune burst into tears all over again. She tried to wipe them away. Tried to catch her breath between great heaving gasps. But it was impossible.

“Hey. Hey. It’s all right …” He was suddenly right in front of her, his hands solid and warm on her shoulders. “Everything is all right.”

“I thought you were dead!” she managed between sobs.

She reached for his shirt, clenching it in her fists, and pressed her forehead into the hollow of his throat as she trembled all over.

His hands found her waist, holding her lightly. “And that … upsets you this much? The thought of me dead?”

She pulled back, staring at him. Was he joking? His expression was unreadable.

“Gideon, the thought of you inside that building … it felt like being held underwater.” She lowered her gaze to the pulse at the base of his throat. “Like being starved of air.”

His hand touched her chin, bringing her eyes back to his. Studying her for a long time.

“That might be the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me.”

The reflection in his eyes portrayed a girl whose face was splotchy from crying, her hair a wild tangle from riding so hard. She was a mess. Still dressed in nothing but riding leathers. Not at all the girl she went to great pains to portray.

Alarmed, she drew back against the door behind her. “Merciful Ancients, I look frightful. I should get home …” Before anyone else saw her, and her reputation was damaged further.

Rune moved to step around him.

Gideon held out his hand. She walked into it, halting. Keeping his palm pressed to her stomach, he urged her gently back against the door. She glanced up and found him staring at her like she was out of her mind. “You have never been more beautiful than this moment.”

The words made her pulse kick. What?

He stepped closer. Lifting his hand to her hair, he tangled his fingers in it. “You’re exquisite, Rune.”

She swallowed. I am?

Suddenly, all concern for her reputation vanished.

“Where were you?” she said. “I asked everywhere, but no one knew what happened to you.”

“I was at the hospital, with my friend. She was hurt in the explosion.”

He smelled like smoke and gunpowder. And beneath that, Gideon.

With her back to the door, Rune tilted her face to his. “Will she be all right?”

He nodded.

The haunted shadows in his eyes were gone, leaving something raw and yearning. His tender fingers traced along her jaw, making her ache.

He was unraveling her.

You’re vulnerable, she told herself. Get Lady and ride straight back to Wintersea. Before you do something you’ll regret.

But not two minutes ago, Rune had thought she’d never see him again. And though it shouldn’t have mattered, though none of this should matter, she couldn’t tear her gaze away from him.

She was like a deer making eyes at the wolf that wanted to eat her for lunch.

Stupid deer.

But she knew the fear of not having him now, and she suddenly wanted all of him. Body and soul. It was a dangerous feeling. One that could cost her everything.

Gideon lowered his mouth to hers. Her heart hammered harder. She wondered how she’d ever thought it a cruel-looking mouth. It was a very nice mouth. Reverent and devoted, wanting to please her. Rune trembled beneath it.

She was drowning, and he was air. She hadn’t even realized how much she needed him until he was gone.

“Do you want to come in?” he breathed against her lips.

The question sparked a fire inside her.

No, said her brain. But her mouth defied her.

“More than anything.”

Gideon reached for the knob beside her hip. Still kissing her, he turned it and pushed the door open, guiding her backward.

He kicked the door shut behind them.

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FORTY-SEVEN GIDEON

IT WAS UNNATURAL, THE way he wanted her. Like nothing else in the world mattered more than bringing her upstairs, peeling her out of those riding leathers, and guiding her down to the bed. Like nothing mattered more than her. Maybe it was the brush with death, but even his little brother’s feelings were suddenly of no consequence.

Rune was everything that he hadn’t believed could exist in a girl.

He wanted her, and she clearly wanted him. She told him as much when she coiled her arms around his shoulders and lifted herself onto his hips. The breath shuddered out of him. His hands tightened on her thighs, pulling her closer.

Her mouth was soft and warm. Fierce and hungry. Undoing all of his restraint.

Harrow thought his desire for Rune was nothing more than witchcraft. That it prevented him from seeing the truth.

There’s one way to find out for sure, he thought, cupping her neck. Kissing her harder.

Did you look between her thighs? Because if I were a witch hiding in plain sight, that’s definitely where I’d keep mine.

Gideon needed to get Harrow’s voice out of his head, because the thought of being between Rune’s thighs made him stop halfway up the stairs, overcome. He pinned her against the wall, breathing hard as he debated unhooking her legs from around his waist, dropping to his knees, and going down on her right here in the stairwell.

No, he thought as Rune nipped his throat, struggling to regain his senses. You don’t even know what she likes.

She might not even know what she likes.

Gideon still didn’t know if she’d ever done what they were about to do.

Start in the bed, he told himself, bringing her the rest of the way to the second floor, where he opened the door to his apartment and carried her inside. He would start there, and if he proved himself worthy of her, maybe this could be more than a game. Not just flirting and kissing and courting, but a life shared. Maybe Gideon could have all of her.

But would she want all of him?

He was terrified to even hope for it.

Start in the bed.

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FORTY-EIGHT RUNE

RUNE HAD WORKED IT all out in her head on the way up the stairs.

She was the Crimson Moth. The girl who secretly saved witches from the purge. To keep saving them, she needed a permanent source of intel. And Gideon Sharpe was that source.

She needed him.

It had nothing to do with the way he growled her name against her throat. Or the way he worshipped her with every stroke of his hands. Or the fact that he thought she was most beautiful when she was a huge mess.

Rune needed to give in to this deadly attraction because it was the best way to make her worst enemy believe, with no more doubts, that she wasn’t a witch. That she had nothing to hide.

Tonight, she would put Gideon’s suspicions to death forever.

Tonight, she would win this game once and for all.

These are the things she told herself as Gideon carried her into his apartment. She had to. Because if she didn’t, a deeper truth would come roaring to the surface. A truth that asked: What if?

What if she wasn’t a witch and he wasn’t a witch hunter?

What if this didn’t have to be pretend?

Inside, he set her down and shut the door behind them. In the momentary absence of him, Rune took in her surroundings. Pale light from the streetlamps spilled through the windows, silhouetting the spare furnishings. Rune had the strangest urge to turn on the lights and commit every shelf, floorboard, and piece of furniture to memory. As if every object might tell her a secret about him. Rune wanted to know them all.

Gideon’s hand found hers. He tugged her through a door and into the room beyond. When Rune sighted the dark outline of a bed and realized where they were, her stomach tightened. She felt like she always did before a heist: equal parts nervous and excited.

He kissed down her throat, his fingers working the clasp at the top of her riding jacket. “Promise you’ll tell me if you change your mind …”

Arching her throat, she buried her hands in his hair. “I won’t change my mind.”

“But if you do …”

“Gideon.” Close to his ear, Rune whispered: “Less talking.”

He smiled against her skin.

His hands made quick work of her buttons, and her jacket loosened. Peeling it off her, he dropped it on the floor. Rune wore only a bralette underneath, the white lace illuminated by the pale light from the street.

At the sight of it, Gideon made a rough sound in his throat. Her whole body shivered in response. Rune tugged the hem of his shirt out from where it tucked into his trousers and slid her palms underneath, skidding up his warm, solid chest.

He worked at the button of her leather riding leggings as he kissed the hollow of her throat, the line of her collarbone, the skin through the lace of her bralette. Pulling her deeper under his spell.

When her leggings were loose enough, his hand dipped beneath the line of her underwear, sliding warm fingers between her thighs.

A tiny sound escaped Rune, who trembled beneath his caresses.

Gideon didn’t stop. Her fingers curled into her palms at the pleasure he was stoking. Her breathing turned uneven. She looped her arms around his neck and pressed her face against his shirt, unable to think. No longer caring how dangerous he was. How bad for her.

“Take off your shirt,” she said. “I want to see you.”

He immediately obliged, eager to please.

“Anything else you’d like me to …”

Grabbing the bottom hem of her bralette, Rune tugged it over her head and dropped it on the floor.

He sucked in a breath. “Rune.”

She took his hands and pressed them to her skin, guiding him to the places she most wanted to be touched. His palms moved over her, exploring every inch of her. Cupping her soft curves. Stroking her bare skin.

She relished the roughness and warmth of his hands.

Rune pushed down her leggings next, and her underwear with them, kicking herself free. At the sight of her, Gideon’s breath shuddered out of him. She dragged the tip of her nose carefully across his jaw as she undid the buttons of his uniform trousers. A moment later, they too dropped to the floor.

“Can we move to the bed?” she asked.

“We can do anything you want.”

Cupping her neck, Gideon kissed her, walking her backward. Rune sighed against his lips, letting him lead her there.

Her bare calves hit the wood of the bed frame behind her. Drawing back the covers, she sat down and drew him in after her. He straddled her legs as he bent to kiss her. Rune lost herself in the sensation of his mouth on the bare skin of her stomach, the scrape of his teeth on her hip bone, the roughness of his cheeks as he kissed between her thighs.

Rune had never known this kind of hunger. He was drowning her in it. Drowning her with his mouth and his hands and the growl of her name deep in his throat. Bringing her to the cusp of a world she’d never dreamed existed.

Before thrusting her over the edge, Gideon came back up.

“Wait, no,” said Rune, breathless. “Why are you stopping?”

“Oh, I’m not stopping.” He lowered himself gently on top of her, nuzzling her cheek. “I was just warming you up.”

Oh.

He moved against her.

Oh.

Her legs tightened around him like a snare.

“Unless you’d prefer me down there …”

“No,” she said, as his hands moved over her again, fingers stroking, warming. She liked him up here. The heat of his skin on hers. The delicious, heavy weight of him.

“Are you all right?” He sounded almost breathless.

She nodded, feeling her temperature rise. Her skin flushed as sweat gathered on her hairline. “Yes,” she breathed.

He kept going.

“Your heart is racing …”

She nodded. She knew. Looping her arms around his neck, she pulled him closer. She pressed her mouth to the scar on his chest, tasting him.

He spoke her name like an incantation. It made the warm ache between her legs sharpen and grow until she was more ache than girl.

Gideon continued, moving against her. Deeper, harder, insistent.

She was losing control.

“Gideon …”

“Do you want to stop?”

“No. No.” A laugh escaped her. “Please don’t stop.”

Her arms tightened. The hand cupping her breast fell away as his arm curled around her waist, pulling her into him, focusing completely on this task. When she arched against him one last time, something broke. The blood roared in her ears. The world beyond them disappeared.

Lost in the shattering, she called out his name.

He sighed.

“Rune.”

She clung to him, waiting for the world to settle back into place. Wondering if it would forever be off its orbit now.

He kissed her shoulder, her throat.

“I didn’t know,” she whispered when they stopped, staring up at him.

“Didn’t know …?”

“That it would be like that.”

He pushed himself onto his forearms, brow furrowing as he searched her face. As if she’d just told him he hadn’t satisfied her.

“Like what?”

Rune smiled, tenderly cupping his face.

“Powerful,” she whispered, kissing the crease between his brows away. “Like two souls fusing into one.”

Like a kind of magic.

“Oh,” he said, and grinned.

Grinned.

Rune had never seen Gideon Sharpe grin in her whole life. Were there other ways to make him light up like that?

She wanted to find out.

IT WAS ONLY LATER, after Gideon fell asleep with Rune cocooned in his arms, that she lay awake, her whole body buzzing with a frightening realization.

I’m in love with him.

Instead of getting Gideon Sharpe out of her system tonight, Rune had gone and gotten herself addicted.

The hunted had fallen for the hunter.

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FORTY-NINE GIDEON

GIDEON WOKE TO THE sound of the floorboards creaking. He opened his eyes, letting his sight adjust to the darkness, and saw Rune’s silhouette picking up her underclothes from the floor.

He sat up, watching her pull them on, thinking of her only hours before. The way she arched against his hand, his mouth. The soft sounds she made when he did something she liked.

His body tightened with desire.

Gideon had been exceptionally thorough tonight. He could therefore say, without a doubt, that Rune Winters had no casting scars anywhere on her body.

He could also say, without a doubt, that he wanted to do what they’d done again.

And again.

And again.

His chest knotted. This feeling she stirred in him—not desire, but something deeper—scared him a little. It felt like a tethering. Like he’d given her a piece of himself tonight, maybe long before tonight, and in doing so, handed her power over him.

The last time he’d done that with someone …

Gideon smothered the thought.

“Had your fill of me?” he asked while she gathered the rest of her clothes.

Rune froze like a mouse sighted by a hawk.

“What? No, I …” Her voice sounded strange. Unsteady.

Gideon moved to the edge of the bed. “What’s wrong?”

“N-nothing,” she said, hugging the bundle of leathers. Gideon lit the lamp on the bedside table and got out of bed. “It’s just that I should go home. The servants will worry.”

But Gideon knew that Rune regularly attended the parties of other aristocrats. Parties that often ended at dawn. The servants of Wintersea House would be used to their mistress coming home at all hours of the night.

In the lamplight, he saw the shine of tears in her eyes.

Standing now, Gideon stayed where he was, wondering if he’d caused this. Had he misunderstood, somehow? Maybe she’d wanted none of it.

“You’re afraid of something,” he said. “Tell me what it is.”

She bit down on her lip.

Gideon wanted to close the gap between them, take her face in his hands, and tell her he’d protect her. But he held himself still.

“You,” she whispered. “I’m afraid of you.”

His heart sank like a stone.

“Me?”

She backed up a step. “The way you make me feel is …” She hugged the bundle of clothes tighter. “I’m afraid it’s something I could get used to. Something I could need.” She shook her head. “I’m afraid you’ll be the end of me, Gideon.” And then, much more quietly: “Maybe you already are.”

She seemed to truly believe this—that he had some strange power to crush her.

Did she think he was using her?

Aren’t I using her? he thought, remembering his conversation with Harrow.

Hadn’t he brought her into his bed to prove she wasn’t a witch?

No, he thought. That was merely his justification for taking what he wanted and not caring if it hurt his brother.

The sudden thought of it—of what he’d done with the girl Alex loved—felt like a punch.

Gideon clenched and unclenched his fists. He stood at a crossroads here. Two clear paths lay before him.

The first road was the one he’d meant to take all along: pretending to court Rune in order to catch the Crimson Moth. That road was always going to end with Gideon letting her go—to the purge, if she was a witch; to Alex, if she wasn’t. It was the higher road. The road that allowed Gideon to keep his conscience intact. To stay on it, all Gideon had to do was end this charade.

But now there was another road open to him. This one had Rune standing on it, telling him that she was falling in love with him. That this wasn’t pretend for her.

The right thing to do, the noble thing, was to choose the first road. To end this tonight. All Gideon had to do was lie and say he didn’t feel the same way.

But Gideon wasn’t noble. And he didn’t do the right thing.

Because he wanted this.

“I’m scared, too.”

She glanced sharply up at him.

Gideon had kept to himself these past few years for good reason. He’d made himself vulnerable with Cressida, and she’d taken that vulnerability and used it as a weapon against him. He needed to be careful. He couldn’t let just anyone in.

“What if I asked you to trust me?”

Rune looked like she might burst into tears at the question. “You want me to trust you?”

“We could trust each other,” he said, stepping toward her.

From the look on her face, she thought this a difficult, if not impossible, task.

“Do you trust this?” He leaned in to kiss her temple. Her pulse responded, beating out a frenzied rhythm. “Or this?” Pushing back her hair, he brushed his lips against the sensitive skin behind her ear, making her quiver. “What about this?” He pressed his hand between her hip bones, moving slowly downward.

Her breathing changed, becoming shallow and rapid. She softened beneath him, melting fast. Like she was ice and he was fire.

Why did it feel this good to please her?

“I want all of you, Rune.” Gideon kissed her brow. “Not just tonight, but every moment from now on.”

“I want that, too,” she breathed, tilting her head back. “But how would it work? Help me imagine it.”

Gideon smiled as he thought about it.

“Every day, after my shift ends, I’ll come home to you, and we’ll cook dinner together.”

“I have servants for that.”

He nipped the tip of her nose. “You’re ruining this fantasy already.”

“Sorry,” she whispered. “Go on.”

He continued, trailing kisses across her bare shoulder. “Every night after dinner, we’ll take a long walk through Wintersea, and I’ll pick you a bouquet of wildflowers, and we’ll talk … or be silent. I don’t really care, as long as you’re next to me.”

He could feel her softening.

“Would you attend some of my parties?”

His hands palmed up her bare back. “All of them.”

She pulled away a little, glancing at him. “But you hate parties. I don’t think you’re fond of my friends, either.”

“I can learn to like them.” His arms locked around her waist and dragged her back to him. “I can be civil.”

She raised an eyebrow, as if to say, Can you?

For you, yes.

She bit down on her lip again, thinking. “And you’ll dance with me?”

“That’s a given.”

“What if we fight all the time?”

“I’d rather fight with you than do most other things.”

Her forehead pinched in surprise. “You would?”

“Yes.” He dragged the bridge of his nose across her cheekbone, breathing in her soapy scent. “And after we’re done fighting, I’ll take you to bed, and we’ll reconcile. In fact, I think we should fight every day just so we can make up every night.”

Gideon felt her breath quicken. She liked the sound of that.

He was wearing her down.

“You won’t come to resent me?” she whispered.

“For what?” His breath tangled with hers.

“For being shallow and silly.”

“You aren’t those things, Rune.”

She wrinkled her nose. “Sometimes I will be.”

“Sometimes I’ll be a brute. Can you handle that?”

Rune cocked her head. “I think so.” A small smile tugged at her mouth. “Yes.” She ran her hands up his chest and over his shoulders, sliding her fingers into his hair.

“Do you need more persuading?”

“Mmm, yes please,” she murmured, tugging his mouth down to hers. “Try using fewer words this time.”

Gideon laughed against her lips, then hiked her onto his hips and carried her back to the bed.

THE NEXT MORNING, GIDEON woke to a sleeping Rune tucked against his chest. Right where she was supposed to be. Her rose-gold hair spilled across the white pillows, and from this close, he could count every freckle speckling her shoulders.

He’d half expected to wake in an empty bed, every trace of her gone. Or, worse, discover he’d dreamt it.

But she was still here. And it felt right. Like she belonged in his bed, curled up against him.

Touching his lips to her shoulder, Gideon breathed her in.

Rune didn’t wear the artificial perfumes so popular among the New Republic’s elite. She didn’t smell like lilacs or jasmine or roses; she smelled like herself. Like standing at the edge of the bluffs after a storm. Like a gulp of fresh sea air.

Gideon wanted to inhale her.

Rune stirred, her grip tightening on the sheets between them. Gideon froze, watching her forehead crease in a frown. Like she was having an unpleasant dream. He wanted to touch his thumb to that crease. Gently rub it away.

Rune tried to cuddle closer. She slid her leg between both of his and bent her knee, hooking them tighter together. Satisfied, she fell still again, drifting deeper.

I’m afraid you’ll be the end of me.

Gideon wanted to convince her that she couldn’t be more wrong.

He waited until she was fast asleep again before gently untangling their legs and carefully removing himself from the bed. After dressing, he finally tore his eyes away from her to brew himself a cup of coffee. Then he strode downstairs and into his parents’ old studio.

With Rune’s words still clanging through his head, he opened the door to a shallow closet he hadn’t opened in years. He flicked the wall switch and the light inside sputtered to life, illuminating a space full of dusty boxes.

Gideon glanced to the uppermost shelf, where an odd assortment of books was stacked. It was his mother’s collection, books she’d used for inspiration. When he found the one he wanted—an encyclopedia of wildflowers—he pulled it down, blew the dust off, then cracked it open.

He skimmed the pages until he found the entry he was looking for. Opening the book wider, he studied the botanical drawing before him.

Perhaps there was a way to prove his intentions were genuine.

Gideon had started toward the fabrics when someone knocked on the shop door. Wondering who would visit at this hour, he left the encyclopedia on the table and went to answer it.

Harrow stood on the other side. Half of her face was battered, and a curve of black stitches arced down her cheek. One of her arms was in a splint.

“Shouldn’t you still be in the hospital?” he asked.

Beside Harrow stood Laila, out of uniform, her dark brown hair pulled back in an elegant bun.

“He talked.”

Both girls pushed past him into the room.

“Who talked?” asked Gideon, shutting the door behind them.

“The print shop owner,” Laila answered. “We arrested him early this morning and brought him into custody.”

Harrow turned a chair at the worktable backward and plunked herself onto it.

“A student at the university paid him for the use of his storeroom, alleging to need it for a school project. The owner says he didn’t know what it was being used for.”

Gideon crossed his arms. “He didn’t find it suspicious that a student required the use of a storeroom?”

Laila’s shoulders lifted. “The money must have been enough to stifle his curiosity.”

“Did you get the student’s name?”

Laila shook her head. “Only a description. Based on his account, the sketch artist drafted this likeness.” She slid her hand into the pocket of her trousers and pulled out a folded piece of paper, holding it out to Gideon.

Uncrossing his arms, he took the paper, unfolding it to study the sketch. A girl stared back at him. Her dark, shoulder-length curls matched her dark sunken eyes, which were partially hidden behind spectacles.

“Looks remarkably like Rune’s friend, don’t you think?” said Harrow.

Verity de Wilde, she meant.

Sure, there was a slight resemblance. But this sketch could easily be some other nearsighted scholar. He handed it back to Laila. “We’ll need more than a sketch to prove it.”

“You could start by asking your sweetheart where her friend was the night of the attack,” said Harrow, her arms crossed over the back of the chair, her tone sharp.