I did warn you. I just didn’t know the specifics.

I know. But that’s the thing neither of us have wanted to admit. If you can’t give the specifics, everything you’re doing is worthless.

The words hit him harder than she’d expected. But she wasn’t taking them back.

I’m doing the best I can, he told her.

Maybe. But it’s not enough. Half the time you can’t even talk during our check-ins. This isn’t working.

I know it feels like that—but I’m seriously SO CLOSE.

Even if that’s true—you know what? We’re getting close too. We’ve already figured out what the symbol means, and Gethen gave us a big clue on how to use it.

What are you saying?

I’m saying, we’re coming after the Neverseen with everything we have.

Bad idea, Foster. Seriously, so bad.

I don’t care. They tried to take my family from me, and I’m not going to sit back anymore. So you better find a way to get out now, Keefe. Before you get caught in the cross fire.

SIXTY-ONE

KEEFE WASN’T GOING to listen.

Sophie could tell.

He thought she didn’t have a plan, and that everything she’d said was just an angry rant.

And a small part of her worried that he was right.

The other part knew they had to find a way to fight harder, before she lost anyone else she cared about.

But that included Keefe.

So if he wasn’t ready to leave on his own, they’d have to plan a rescue—for real. No more waiting for inspiration and hoping a plan would come together. They needed to sit down and figure it out and make it happen, just like when they’d snuck into Ravagog.

Between their abilities and their skills and the information they’d gathered, there had to be a way to—

A knock at Sandor’s front door interrupted her scheming.

Sophie crept to her doorway, relieved when she recognized Grizel’s voice. It sounded like Grizel had brought their clothes from the Lost Cities, and Sophie made her way down the hall to pick up her satchel.

But when she turned the corner, she caught a quick glimpse of Grizel clinging to Sandor and sobbing against his shoulder as he wrapped his arms gently around her.

Sophie ducked back, not wanting to interrupt such a private moment.

“I’m sorry,” Grizel whispered, her voice thick. “When the news first came through, all anyone could tell me was that a soldier was down at Havenfield. And I thought . . .”

“I don’t deserve your worry.” Sandor’s voice was choked with fury. “I wasn’t there when Brielle and Cadoc needed me. I was pacing in front of Lumenaria like a fool.”

“Staying with your charge doesn’t make you foolish,” Grizel told him. “I would’ve done the same thing.”

“Which proves we’re both blindly stubborn beyond all reason, not that it was the right decision.”

Grizel laughed softly. “The stubborn I’ll agree to. But the blind part might fall squarely on you.”

“I’m . . . not as blind as you think.”

The shift in his tone made Sophie wonder if she should stop listening and give them some privacy. But she couldn’t seem to make her legs carry her away.

“I couldn’t stop you from being assigned to Fitz,” Sandor whispered. “But have you ever wondered why I assigned Brielle to watch over Grady?”

“I . . . figured it was because she was an incredible soldier,” Grizel said carefully.

“She was. But we both know that charge should’ve gone to you. Given the rarity of Grady’s talent, he needed our strongest warrior. I should’ve assigned you to protect him and moved Brielle to Everglen. But”—he cleared the catch from his throat—“I worried what would happen if we lived in such close quarters.”

“Afraid I’d play too many games?”

“Afraid you’d win.”

The confession was so soft, Sophie almost wondered if she’d imagined it.

“Is that really so frightening?” Grizel whispered.

Sandor cleared his throat again, drawing out the moment. “I chose the life of a soldier. And soldiers are strongest when they have nothing distracting them—nothing slowing their hand or forcing caution when the battle calls for risk.”

“See, and I always thought the strongest soldiers were those with something worth fighting for. Something to come home to. Something they can’t bear to lose that makes them refuse to surrender.”

“I don’t know,” Sandor whispered. “But I can’t stop imagining what I’d do if it were you in that coffin. How lost I’d feel.”

The silence that followed was so charged, it had Sophie mentally chanting, Kiss, kiss, kiss! But real life never seemed to be as romantic as it was in human movies, and the moment slipped away.

“Well,” Grizel said. “I suppose I should be getting back to Everglen. Queen Hylda gave me a long list of preparations to make for tomorrow.”

The door had started to creak closed when Sandor said, “I haven’t forgotten that I owe you a dance.”

“Neither have I,” Grizel whispered. “But I won’t force you.”

“You aren’t,” Sandor breathed. “I can’t promise much. But I might be able to handle . . . slow.”

“Slow,” Grizel repeated, and the hope in her voice made Sophie steal a peek around the corner. She watched Grizel take Sandor’s hands and whisper, “I’d be good with slow.”

Sandor reached up to brush Grizel’s cheek, and she leaned into his palm, closing her eyes and taking a deep breath. Endless seconds slipped by, neither of them seeming to mind. And when she pulled away, a shy smile curled her lips.

“Be safe,” Sandor whispered.

“Always,” she told him.

She was halfway through the doorway when she turned back with a teasing wink. “This won’t get you out of wearing those silver pants.”

Sandor sighed. “I suppose that’s the least of my worries.”

She left without another word, and Sandor waited for the lock to click before he turned to Sophie and said, “I knew you were listening.”

“I figured,” Sophie told him, too giddy to feel guilty. “And just so you know, I think you made the right decision. You guys are so—”