The drop is nowhere near as far as I imagined. I land on another balcony after only 10 minutes of climbing, my heart lifting as soon as my feet are on solid ground. I shiver as I wait, tucked away from the entrance. The room inside is too dark to see anything, but I stay out of sight for another couple of minutes before Killian jumps onto the balcony, shaking out his hair and meeting my gaze.

"You know," he says, "sometimes I find myself wondering if you were ever taught any manners."

"Manners are reserved only for those who deserve it."

"And I don't?"

"Certainly not."

This makes him grin. He puts his hands on my shoulders and guides me to turn around so he can loosen the rope, discarding it to the side of the balcony before turning me around again.

"When we're inside, stay quiet and follow my lead." He reaches beneath his cloak, into his satchel. "We're still in the East Wing, but this is the guards floor." He pulls out a flask. "Here. Drink this."

I raise a brow. "I didn't think this was the time for drinking."

"It's hyfern. It'll temporarily mask your scent from the shifters."

I take a sip. The liquid burns as it travels down my throat, hot and acid-like. I watch as I hand it back to him and he takes a sip, scrunching his nose slightly as he swallows.

Killian fiddles with the lock on the door till it budges and clicks open. He slides inside the dark room. I slip in after him, relishing in the sudden warmth but keeping quiet. My eyes take a few moments to adjust. We've come into a room like the one I'm in above, but the bed is unmade of any sheets or pillows—there's simply a worn mattress, and no décor. I follow Killian as he creeps to the bedroom door, pressing his ear to it before turning the handle.

We creep through the halls. Down the staircase. Laughter carries up the stairs. Killian raises a finger to his lips and a hand. "Wait here," he mouths, ducking into the room around the corner. I press myself to the side of the wall waiting. He comes back, taking my hand and intertwining our fingers as he drags me into a small room to the side.

A wooden desk stands in the centre of the room, scattered with paper. Killian wastes no time rifling through it, slender fingers sliding between each page as he reads at incomprehensible speeds.

I stay by the door, twisting my arms as I try to listen for oncoming footsteps.

Killian's brows furrow in concentration as he pauses on one of the documents. "What is it?" I ask, stepping away from the door towards him. I manage to read one of the words printed at the top of the page before he discards it amongst the rest of the pile.

"Nothing relevant," he says, continuing through the pile.

"What're—"

Killian yanks my hand so forcefully the rest of my sentence is cut off. He pulls me to the bookshelf, tucking us behind, my body pressed against the shelf and his wedged between my body and the wall. His hand finds mine, squeezing when I open my mouth to speak.

The door creaks.

"He sent them yesterday," somebody says, voice carrying into the room along with heavy footsteps. "We haven't heard anything back, but reports claim there's a bunch of them just north of Dadun."

Another voice chimes in, chuckling. "Bloody Torinnians."

My eyeline meets Killian's chest, focusing on the rise and fall of each breath. I squeeze my eyes shut, focusing on his warmth, scent, energy, to calm my racing heart. It only makes it race for an entirely different reason.

"That damn cloud couldn't have moved any slower now, could it?"

Both men chuckle, rambling on about a few names till eventually, their footsteps retreat. But they leave the door ajar. I stay frozen, eyes squeezed shut, until a finger taps my wrist and I open my eyes, lifting them to meet Killian's.

"They're gone," he whispers, sliding out from behind the bookshelf. "I should get you back."

"But we didn't find anything."

"We'll look again tomorrow night," he says. "I have a feeling they'll be back in here tonight, and the hyfern only lasts so long. Come on."

#

My chambers are exactly as we left it.

In the back of my mind, a paranoid fear lingered that we'd return to a hoard full of guards tearing the room apart to find where I hid. But the bed is unkempt, and the room is still warm. Killian closes the balcony doors behind him, watching as I kick of my boots and sit on the edge of the bed, keeping the cloak on despite the outside of it being slightly damp from the melting snow.

My arms ache. Killian climbed up first with the rope before throwing it down to me to tie around my waist so I could climb without fear of death. But my arms wobbled as I launched myself over the side, stumbling forward. I feel wide awake as Killian steps further in the room, using the lit candle to light another on the vanity desk.

"Were they talking about a deserter clan?" I ask Killian, pulling my knees to my chest. "Those men. They said there was a clan north of Dadun."

"There is a deserter clan in Dadun."

"Are you worried they'll find them?"

"The shifters have always known there are deserter clans in each city across Elel. They just don't know where they hide."

I pull my knees to my chest, feeling the warmth of Killian's gaze as he leans against the desk. Our excursion didn't prove to discover anything about where Samu might be, and I can't fight the sinking feeling of helplessness in my stomach.

"You should rest, Freya," Killian says. "Before whatever it is they have in store for you tomorrow."

The candles create shadows across the walls. They dance in ambiguous shapes, bathing the room in a warmth that has nothing to do with temperature. They comfort me, a familiarity that doesn't change despite being in the mountains. Samu hated the shadows candles would cast in his bedroom. They scared him, filled his nightmares—even as a very young child, he preferred complete darkness. It makes me wonder about where he's been this past year. This Palace is full of candles and lanterns, has he grown out of that fear, or has it continued to haunt him?

I keep my gaze trained on the wall as Killian settles at the edge of the bed. "Are you thinking about him now?" he asks softly.

I glance at him. "You sure you can't read minds?"

"I read body language."

"And what does mine say?"

He stares at me for a few seconds before raising a hand. "When you talk about your brother, Casimir, Cadence, you get this look on your face." I stay deathly still as his thumb brushes the skin between my brows. "This line between your eyebrows. It is the same when you're quiet. When you worry for those you love."

He drops his hand, allowing me to take a breath. Pulling my knees to my chest, I rest my chin atop, eyes still captured in Killian's gaze. Emotions, thoughts—they're private things, and for so long mine have belonged only to me. When I first met Killian, it irritated me that he could so easily detect my emotional state. He saw through my lies and detected when my words didn't like up with my true thoughts. But now, my skin still warm from his touch, there's a sense of security in not having to speak to feel heard.

Killian shifts closer. "Tell me about him."

"Samu? He's timid if you don't know him, didn't really have much luck making any friends his own age and always hiding behind me and Cas when we went out. But he's bright, smartest kid I know." I smile as he conjures in my mind, those wide eyes, hair curled at the ends. "Our sink broke one day and Samu figured out how to fix it. Can you believe it? He was only 7 years old. My father went and told the village he had a genius for a son."

Killian's already looking at me when I turn back to him, those alluring eyes coaxing the deepest parts of me to the surface.

"You would've liked him, I think."

"I'm sure I will when I meet him." The confidence in his words reassures me more than he knows.

"He's much better mannered than me, I promise. And as much as it kills me to admit it, he'd probably idolise someone like you."

"And why does that kill you to admit?"

"Your ego doesn't need to get any bigger."

He laughs, leaning back on his elbows. "It sounds like he already has somebody in his life to idolise."

My smile falters. In the vanity across the room, my reflection watches me, chanting that familiar word over and over. Coward. Coward. Coward. So much has changed since that night, I've changed. And yet, the girl in the mirror looks just as pitiful as she was that night.

"I watched them take him, you know. I hid in the cupboard and let them take him." On the wall, the memory plays in the shadows. "He screamed for me, for help and I... I did nothing. I was a coward."

"That girl I almost killed in the forge was no coward." I turn to meet his gaze. The ghost of a smile crosses his face. "Don't get me wrong. She was reckless and maybe even a little stupid coming after two deserters like that. But she certainly wasn't cowardly."

"Thanks," I whisper. And I mean it.

"You can't get caught up on what you did or didn't do in the past. It'll only choke you. You're here now. That's all that matters."

I lie back on the bed to stare at the ceiling as his words sink in. There's a part of me that's afraid to face Samu. He doesn't know the me that Killian does. In his memory, I'll have remained stagnant—the sister who hid and ignored his cried for help.

I turn to look up at Killian. He stares at the wall, jaw sharp; he looks far away from here, this room, me—as if he's stuck in some haunted memory of his own.

"What about you?" I ask. "You have a sister, right?"

"I had a sister."

"I thought you said you didn't know—"

"I don't know where my parents are, but I know where my sister is. I was there when she died."

"Killian... I'm so sorry."

His eyes rake across my face. It's times like these when I can't seem to look away from him—the lazy gaze, no teasing grin, relaxed jaw—so much of the time I'm not sure if I'm seeing the real him or the guarded shield he wears so often. But now, in the candlelit room, his eyes don't seem so dark, so far away.

"You can't live in the past," he says, "we only have now, what's right in front of us, who we choose to be in the present."

"And what if that person is no better than who we were in the past?"

A warm smile graces his face, one that feels like staring into the sun. "You are ever the cynic, Freya."

"Who do you choose to be now?"

Killian, always so quick to answer, is quiet as his eyes search mine. I try to decode the words written in his gaze, but they're like a beautiful, foreign language I don't speak.

"Good," he says finally. "I choose to be something good."

"And how's that working out for you?"

His gaze drifts from my eyes to my mouth. "More complicated than expected."

"Well..." I swallow, letting out a shaky breath. "I'm not so sure hanging around deserters and shifters will get you very far in the 'good' department."

He looks away with a smile. "I have one for you," he says. "True or false? You're afraid of heights."

"False."

"Are you sure? I've never seen somebody tremble quite like you did up there."

"Prick."

"You really should get some sleep, Freya."

"You really should stop ordering me around, Killian, or I'll—"

"If you threaten me with a skink again, I'll dangle you off the balcony and see how you like it."

"You wouldn't."

"Try me."

The challenge in his gaze almost makes me believe him. "Fine," I say, scooting back on the bed to rest my head on the pillow. The cape isn't at all comfortable, but I'm not about to take it off with Killian still in the room. "Good night."

He moves over to the balcony doors, pausing to look back at me. "You know, it doesn't matter how many layers of pessimism you bury yourself under. I see what you are."

"And what's that?"

"A dreamer."

My father used to say the same thing when I was just a girl, spinning tales about fairies and princesses in the forest outside Elel—it made me feel special, imaginative, creative. It wasn't until my world crumbled to pieces that I shunned those thoughts. When your life turns into a nightmare, it's hard to believe in the dreams. But Killian's words make me feel like the parts of myself I've tried hardest to conceal lie wide open in front of him.

"You're imagining things."

His lips twitch upwards. "I hope all your dreams come true, Freya."

And then, with the calling of the breeze, he leaps from the balcony.

-

What do you think the shifters were talking about?

What do you think happened to Killian's family?

What do you think might happen next?