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Never. I’ve never left you. I never will.

He heard it, or I said it—a promise—no. A vow. I did not need paper or a priest to tie me to him when fate, his old gods, and my own treacherous heart did the job all the same. The air grew sharper still, pricking my skin in places he did not even touch. The heady scent of his power surrounded us as he laid me on the cold wooden floor, rucking up my skirt and sank deep into me with a groan. And for one moment, I worried if it was me that he was with at all—or if in the darkness of the attic room he was still trapped somewhere in his own memories. Stuck in the midst of the war, fighting something he could not bear to speak of in the light of day.

But that was a worry for tomorrow.

And I hoped my love, broken that it was, was enough to keep the vows we’d made in the dark.

I WOKE IN my bed the next morning. My entire body aching, and for the life of me, I could not recall how I’d gotten there. I’d certainly not removed myself from the pallet we’d made upon the floor. I’d been too afraid to let go of him last night, for fear I’d lose Ruan to the darkness threatening at the edges of his mind. It seemed I hadn’t needed to, because Ruan removed himself. From the bed. The room. Perhaps the boardinghouse itself. My chest tightened. Something in our investigation last night had upset him, and badly.

Discordant birdsong rang outside the window as my tongue darted over my swollen lower lip. The metallic tang of my blood filled my tongue. Good God. I knew things had gotten out of hand, but I’d not realized quite how badly. My list of things to do today was a mile long. Like going to the power station to see if any clues had been left behind. Then stop by the children’s home to speak with the sisters. I doubted Sister Marie-Thérèse, who ran the home, would allow me to speak to the children, particularly after how she’d behaved the last time—scooping the child away and nearly throwing Félix’s poppet back at me.

I quickly set about getting dressed. Ruan must have brought up a clean pitcher of water and placed it on the dressing table. A good sign. At least I hoped it was. I quickly poured it into the basin and washed my face before pulling on a high-collared blouse, fastening it all the way to my chin, and tucking it into my trousers before hurrying down the stairs to start the day.

The killings meant I had to be getting close to the killer—though it certainly didn’t feel that way.

I darted out of the boardinghouse in search of Ruan. A sharp crack cut the air, followed by the sound of wood striking wood. Ruan. I squinted in the gray predawn light looking for him until the sound happened again. Crack. Pause. Clunk. At last, I spotted him at the edge of the wood, bent over a surprisingly large pile of freshly split firewood. His shirtsleeves were rolled to his elbows, and suspenders hung loose at his thighs.

Ruan leaned down, putting a fresh log onto a great old stump, hefting the axe back up onto his shoulder, and bringing it down with a sharp crack. This one didn’t split fully and he took a second swing without bothering to look up. “Sleep well?”

The two pieces fell to the ground, and he bent over, tossing them onto a pile of smaller timbers beside him before grabbing another log and sitting it on the stump, prepared to go again.

I hugged my arms about me. “I could ask the same of you. You’re up early.”

His expression was cloudy. “Strange dreams. Thought I’d make myself useful.”

I made a strangled sound in my chest. One could say that. I sank down onto a nearby rock, resting my chin on my knees, watching him work. “You told me you didn’t dream.”

He rubbed the edge of his jaw. “I don’t. Not often. The ones I do—” He cocked his head to one side. “They’re always the same. The war and…” He trailed off shaking his head yet again.

Me. He didn’t say it but I knew that was the word he refused to speak. I almost called him on it, but there was no time to dig into the peculiarities of our relationship. Not with the bodies piling higher by the moment. “I’ve been thinking about my conversation with Mr. Owen last night. We really need to look at the power station this morning.”

Swoosh. Crack. Clunk. An almost mechanical motion. “Reasonable.”

His uncharacteristic agreement stunned me. I caught my lip between my teeth, admiring the way the muscles strained his shirt as he swung the axe. “I think…”

It fell with a crack.

Ruan sniffed, wiping his sweat with the shoulder of his shirt. “Think what?”

Crack.

“It’s related, Ruan. It all has to be. My mother. Manon. Manon’s mother. That dead reporter. Whatever Félix might be…” I still struggled to countenance the thought he might truly be another pellar. “Narcisse and Alfred—regardless of whether the latter did poison me at the café—both men shared information about the odd things happening here and both ended up dead.”

Ruan didn’t speak. For several logs, he did not say a word, simply continued his assault on the logs.

“Will you say something?” I asked softly.

“Why haven’t you taken your suspicions to the gendarmerie?” The sun began to break through the clouds of morning, casting a pale gray illumination over the small fenced-in yard. The chickens were already making a ruckus. Likely impatient for breakfast.

I blew out a breath, visible in the morning air. “What good would it do? Dr. von Keller told me he tried before.”

“And you trust him?” Ruan asked sharply.

“Not at all.” I paused. Not liking this newfound tension growing between us. “But I believe him. I have to find her, Ruan. She’s alive and she’s my mother. I cannot leave them.”

Ruan turned to me in the dim morning light, the handle of the axe loose in his palm. “What will it take for you to have half a godsdamned care for yourself? You are willing to get yourself killed for strangers but sometimes I wonder if you would even try to live for just one moment for…” He flung his arm out to the side, shaking his head, refusing to continue his thought.

“For what?” I abandoned my rock, standing to my full height, hands on my hips in challenge. What had gotten into him?