Chapter 29

  The house was silent by the time I slipped into my room. Snow feathered past the window in slow spirals, muffling the world in a hush that felt almost holy. I sat on the edge of the bed, the crow dagger heavy in my hands, its hilt catching light like it wanted to be used.

  I kept replaying the study — the relics, the arguments, the Vatican’s tidy solution. Settlements. Foundations. Dispersals. As if grief came with a balance sheet. As if the missing people were line items waiting to be closed.

  A soft knock at the door.

  “Sadie?” Richard’s voice, low. Careful.

  I didn’t answer. He came in anyway, moving like he was afraid to wake the walls. His coat was off, shirt sleeves rolled, hair falling untidy across his forehead. He looked tired, older than usual, like the fight downstairs had stolen years from him.

  “The lawyers tied it up,” he said quietly. “Inconclusive. You’re clear. We all are.”

  I let out a short laugh that sounded more like a crack. “Clear? They’re buying silence. With money. With settlements.” I gripped the dagger tighter. “Those families don’t want a check. They want the truth.”

  Richard leaned against the doorframe, arms folded. “The truth would destroy them. It would unravel everything.”

  “Good,” I snapped. “Let it unravel. Papal shields burn. And I’m done hiding behind them.”

  His eyes flicked to the dagger, then to me. For a moment I thought he would argue. Instead, he said, “Sadie—”

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  “No.” My voice shook, but I didn’t stop. “If the Vatican won’t face this, then I will. I can’t sit here while they pretend justice is just paperwork and payouts. I need something real.”

  Silence stretched between us. Snow kept falling, the night holding its breath.

  Richard finally pushed off the doorframe, stepping closer. His face was unreadable, but there was something in his eyes — not defiance, not loyalty, but weariness. The look of someone who knew exactly how thin the shields really were.

  He drew in a breath, shoulders taut, then let it out slowly. “But there’s more. The Vatican officials pulled me aside earlier. They made it clear—I’m finished. They intend to fire me, strip me of my Templar duties. Everything I’ve been, everything I’ve done… it’s all I’ve ever known.”

  He paced once, hand raking through his hair. “I’ve defied them too many times. I didn’t lock Elizabeth away when I was ordered to. I didn’t follow the chain of command. I kept secrets I wasn’t supposed to keep. I… protected you, when they told me to stand down.” His voice cracked just slightly, a tremor under the steel. “I don’t know how to proceed without the Order. Who am I if not their weapon? Their hound?”

  The silence was thick, broken only by the faint tick of the mantle clock. He stood there, a man built to be unshakable, suddenly unraveling at the edges.

  I stepped closer, the journal heavy in my hands, Tudor weaving around my ankles like he understood. “Then you’re not their hound anymore,” I said quietly. “You’re with me. We’ll figure this out.”

  His gaze flicked to mine—sharp, ocean-blue, unreadable. The air between us went very still. He was too close; I could smell the trace of cedar and smoke on his coat, feel the heat rolling off him in slow waves. His hand lifted, hesitated just at my jawline, the calloused edge of his thumb grazing my skin. My breath caught.

  “Sadie,” he said, low—half warning, half prayer.

  My heart did something traitorous. “You’re not supposed to say my name like that.”

  He leaned in anyway, eyes darkening, a pulse of something ancient and hungry in them. The space between us shrank to a heartbeat—

  —and Tudor launched himself onto the table. Papers flew, the journal slammed shut, and a tea mug went over with a dramatic crash.

  Richard blinked. I stepped back, face burning.

  Tudor sat amid the chaos, tail flicking smugly, as if to say, Not on my watch, sinners.