All of them looked at me.
Rion’s attention slid onto me fully.
"What?" Raye whispered.
Rion’s eyebrow arched, realizing that something was clawing for the surface inside me.
He didn’t ask me to explain. Instead, he moved to the far wall, to a plain section of carved stone where no cabinet existed until his shadows unfurled and seeped into the seams.
The stone opened like a mouth. He reached in and retrieved a volume bound in old leather. He didn’t carry it to me the normal way. He let the shadows lift it, glide it through the air, and place it in front of me with a thump.
I dragged the book closer. My hands were barely steady, my fingers cold.
I didn’t waste time. I turned the pages, trailing my fingers over sketches of keys.
I flipped until I found the page with a harp’s drawing.
"It’s different," I muttered. The words came out for me more than for anyone else.
Different from the one Jeron used in the House of Ambrosia, but for some reason, I felt like there was some sort of connection between the two.
"Why? What’s wrong?" Raye asked.
I looked up at them, and then down again at the page.
"I’ve been hearing a harp’s music in my head," I said. "When I saw Jeron earlier before the incident happened... I heard it. And when we found him in that dilapidated building, I heard it, too. It’s in my head, but I know it’s not an illusion."
I turned the page sideways, tracing the curve of the drawn harp.
"You said the keys have a connection with each other," I told Rion. "Maybe this is a far-fetched idea, but what if the harp here is just around us? Is it possible that the key is different from what it looks like in this book? Because I’ve seen Jeron’s harp and it’s different, but... I feel some sort of connection I can’t explain."
Rion’s gaze pinned me. He didn’t blink for a heartbeat too long.
I swallowed when I realized he was holding back a smile. Not because this was funny, but because discovery was a flavor he always liked, even when it arrived with blood on its heels.
He turned his head abruptly. "Is Jeron only staying in the House of Ambrosia?" he asked Raye. "Doesn’t he have his own place?"
Raye shook her head immediately. "I believe he’s only living in the House of Ambrosia. The musicians and the entertainers... we’re given accommodations there."
Rion’s attention snapped to Diaval. "Go there and check Jeron’s belongings. If you find a harp, bring it to me."
Rion looked back at me. There was a glint in his eyes now, a sharp delight.
"The key could be in a different form than in the book," he said. "We should check and be sure. I doubt it’s just a coincidence that you keep hearing a harp’s music."
His gaze slipped from the book to me again. He was hungry for answers, eager to find another key.
"What else did you feel when you saw Jeron’s harp the first time?" Rion asked. "Things are looking good. We might complete the keys sooner."
The question should have been simple, but the eagerness stitched into his tone tightened his mouth into something sharper, hungrier.
I opened my lips—and stopped.
The words caught. My brows knit together.
Something about his tone irked me. Things are looking good. Really?
No... I realized this wasn’t the conversation we should be having right now. Not when Jeron was fighting for every fragile breath.
"In your garden," I said abruptly, instead of answering Rion’s question, "Diaval mentioned you have flowers that can heal wounds faster. Can any of them help Jeron?"
Rion’s head tilted, the gleam in his eyes cooling into irritation.
"Vivien," he said, quiet but sharp, "you are shifting the topic—"
I cut him off, the words biting out before I could try to soften them.
"I’m sorry, Alpha. But I thought we should focus first on Jeron’s situation, because this is a matter of life and death. I brought up the harp because I thought it was linked to the attack, maybe even the culprit. But right now, Jeron could be dying."
The shadows thickened at his feet, responding to the sudden sharpness in the air.
His gaze darkened, a blade sliding from its sheath, and no one else at the table dared to move or breathe.
What’s with that reaction?
My chest rose and fell faster, anger clouding what little rationality I still had.
And then my temper snapped the leash. The words spilled, reckless and hot.
"Aren’t you even worried that your pack member—your innocent pack member—is lying there on the brink of death? Why are you so obsessed with the keys instead of him? Jeron is dying, great Alpha. And all I see in your eyes is excitement. Excitement, as though this is nothing more than a puzzle piece for your precious quest. Do you even care at all?"
Silence collapsed over the table. The sound of my heartbeat thundered in my ears.
I had told myself before that Rion Morrigan had redeeming qualities buried under that cocky, infuriating mask he wore—he could be protective, he could be cunning, he could even be... kind, in ways he didn’t mean me to see.
But now, in this moment, all of that crumbled. All I saw was a man too consumed by his own desires.
"Keigan’s words implied it’s almost hopeless," I pushed on, my throat tight. "But hopeless or not, shouldn’t we do everything we can? Shouldn’t you—"
Rion smirked. Cruel, cutting.
"So worried, huh?" His voice was low, mocking. "I’ve already called Keigan. What else do you want me to do? If Keigan says it’s hopeless, then perhaps it is. And if so, I fear there’s nothing more I can do, dear Vivien."
My nails bit into my palms under the table.
"I know it might be hopeless," I said, my voice breaking despite my efforts to steel it. "But could you show even a shred of sympathy? Just once? Because right now, it feels like you don’t care about anything except those keys!"
"Vien," Raye’s soft voice broke the air.
But I couldn’t bring myself to look at her.
Didn’t it shatter her faith, hearing the Alpha she respected so much, the one she believed in, speak so coldly about her friend? Didn’t it wound her to realize his heart might not bleed for the people he claimed as his own?
My throat ached. I couldn’t imagine it not breaking her apart inside.