I clenched my hands against the wooden frame, terrified, angry and desperate all at once. Garret turned, spotting me in the doorway, and his mouth curved in a gentle smile. “Ember,” he said as I took a calming breath and stepped into the room. I searched his face carefully, but saw no signs of fear or hesitation, just quiet resolve. “Come to convince me not to go, one more time?”

“You don’t have to do this,” I told him, holding his gaze as I walked up. “We can find another way, Garret. There has to be another way.”

He smiled and shook his head. “This is the best chance we have,” he said. “I won’t have another shot at getting this close to the Patriarch, with all the leaders of St. George in attendance. Even if they take me prisoner, they can’t ignore the evidence. Someone will listen. We just need to plant the seed.”

My throat closed up, and the corners of my eyes stung. Closing the gap, I reached out and slipped my arms around his waist, drawing him close. “I can’t lose you now,” I whispered, feeling his heart pick up beneath his shirt. “I can’t bear the thought that you’ll be walking in there, alone, and there’s nothing I can do if things go wrong.”

His arms wrapped around me, his cheek resting atop my head. “Let me do this,” he whispered into my hair. “For everything I’ve done. For all the lives I’ve taken, all the dragons I’ve destroyed. I have...a lot of blood on my hands, Ember.” He sighed, bowing his head. “A lot to atone for.”

“You don’t have to die to atone for those years, Garret,” I told him. “It was a war. You’re not responsible for the entire Order of St. George.”

“I don’t plan to die,” he said, and I heard the faintest of smiles in his voice. “I would like very much to live, actually. Especially now.” One hand traced small circles against my back, and I pressed closer to him, listening to his heartbeat. “I used to think that having nothing to live for made you a better fighter,” he murmured. “Turns out I was wrong on a lot of fronts.”

Tell him. The words hovered on the tip of my tongue, reluctant to take that final leap. Why was I hesitating? I’d already blurted it out once, in front of Riley, no less. Why was it so hard with Garret? I knew what I was feeling. For the very first time, I was certain.

“Garret,” I began. “I...uh...”

He pressed a palm to my cheek, stroking with a thumb, making me look up. “Tell me when I come back,” he said, his eyes very soft. “It will give me something to look forward to. A reason to walk out of there alive.”

I swallowed hard. “You’d better come back,” I warned him. “If you don’t, I’m going to be very pissed at you, and you don’t want a pissed-off dragon on your tail, even if you are a ghost.”

Garret smiled and bent forward. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

Our lips met. I wrapped my arms around his neck and pulled him close, and his tightened against my back, pressing us together. There was something desperate in his embrace, something that hinted at resignation and acceptance. He knew he might not be coming back.

I didn’t want to let him go, but he finally pulled away. I looked into his eyes and saw the words I hadn’t been able to voice burning in his gaze, bright and intense.

“I’ll be back as soon as I can,” he murmured. “Wish me luck.”

The words sprang to mind again, warring with the dragon, but I just nodded and gave him a brave smile. “I’ll be here,” I replied. Waiting. Hoping this isn’t the last time I see you. The last chance to tell you what I should said have a long time ago. “Be careful, Garret.”

One last bright, longing glance, and he turned away, walking out of the room and down the hall. I heard Wes mutter something as he passed, heard the front door open and close, and then he was gone.

GARRET

“You know they’re going to try to kill you, right?”

I looked up. Riley was leaning against the wall outside the front door, waiting for me. His expression was cold, and for a second, I tensed, wondering if this was the moment he’d choose to attack. To end what he’d started in the hotel room. Outwardly, he’d been brusque but businesslike, keeping things civil between the three of us, though I could sense the anger roiling beneath the surface.

I paused, one hand on the railing of the stairs, wondering if the statement was more a desperate hope than a question. “I know,” I said, anyway. “But, it has to be done.”

“I don’t get you, St. George.” Riley gave me a look that was a cross between contempt and genuine confusion. “You’ve fought us for years. And now you’re suddenly willing to play martyr, to challenge the Patriarch to his face, because of her?”