23. Liam

When I woke up, Adam was gone.

All that remained was an imprint of his head on the pillow. For a few precious seconds, sleep still hazy around the corners of my mind, I tricked myself. Oh, he wasn't gone. He'd just risen early, was probably waiting for me in the backyard with a cup of coffee. But last night, the way he'd shut down after the encounter with the Ashtons, how tightly he'd held onto me later, crescent marks of his nails still on my shoulders—no, no. It didn't mean—no.

Then I spotted the note on my bedside table. It was held down by my phone, immediately visible when he would have normally hidden it for me to stumble upon later. I stared at it, sleep slipping away. Slowly, I reached out to pick it up.

‘You were the best thing.'

My mind went silent, in a shock freeze as I stared at words that didn't make sense.

‘You were the best thing.'

Past tense.

Everything rushed in at once—like the tide, like my dreams of magic crushing towering buildings in an irresistible wave that left nothing untouched. The mattress rolled under me, the walls swaying, my stomach in my throat and my heart in a raw, bloody pile on the floor.

I'd known it would end this way.

I just hadn't expected it so fucking soon. I'd thought we had time.

Sunlight and cool morning air slanted through curtains we hadn't closed properly last night. The world kept turning, it was only me in my little corner that had been thrown into a nauseating somersault where up was down and down was up.

Stop. Breathe. Even that was Adam—his voice in my head, his taste in my mouth, his scent in my bed.

No. I wasn't ready to let him go.

I chose his name from my recent contacts. It rang, then went to voicemail. I tried again, several rings, no answer. So he hadn't turned it off, just chose to ignore my calls. My fingers trembled when I typed out a message instead.

‘Are you fucking serious?'

He replied immediately, must have been waiting for my message. ‘I'm sorry.'

I almost laughed, only the sound got stuck in my throat and made me dizzy instead. ‘I thought you'd have the fucking decency to say goodbye. You owe me that much.'

‘I couldn't,'he wrote back.

Fuck him.

‘No,'I corrected. ‘You wouldn't.'

He didn't reply.

‘You realise we work together, right?'It felt desperate, and I wanted to take the words back as soon as I'd sent them. A drowning man, grappling for glimpses of him.

‘Gale will take over. He'll be your contact going forward.'No discernible emotion to the barren statement, everything in order, a clean cut. My clothes were still at Adam's place, though, my toothbrush in his bathroom, my paper-thin heart in his hands.

‘Fuck you.' I blinked, letters swimming in front of my eyes as I typed them. I sent it and locked my phone, tossed it out of sight because what I really wanted to write was, ‘Please, Adam. Please don't. I'm so in love with you.'

Instead, I lay down in a bed that smelled like him, closed my eyes, and willed myself to keep breathing.

* * *

"I will hunt him down."Laurie's voice was grit and steel. "And when I find him, I will rip him a new one."

"Language," Mum reprimanded. It didn't sound like her heart was truly in it.

"Laurie's right, though," Jack said. Usually, him saying as much would have prompted a theatrical display of heart attacks by various family members. Not today. Spread out around the backyard table, a thermos jug with coffee and a pan with scrambled eggs in our middle, no one even batted an eye. I ducked my head over my coffee and took a sip.

Too bitter.

"Honestly." Across from me, Nan Jean shook her head. "The way that boy looked at you, I'm surprised he knew how to walk away."

I waited for the sick flutter in my chest to subside. "He was never going to choose me over his family."

"I'm not so sure about that," she said, her clear gaze resting on me. I looked away and shrugged. Passing by behind me, my dad touched my shoulder, a quietly supportive shadow.

The sunny day stood in stark contrast to the bleakness in my mind. ‘Fuck you.' I'd sent it over two hours ago, and still there was no response—but then I hadn't expected one. Reality felt washed out around the edges, a constant weight in my lungs as though there wasn't enough air in the world to fill it, thoughts scattered like dust motes. I ate a few tasteless bites of egg mostly to appease my family.

"Do you want to tell them about the gala?" I asked Laurie, a topic change so transparent I expected to be called on it. No one did, which meant I looked about as terrible as I felt. After a second's delay, Laurie jumped into a lively description of Summers' manor and the gathered bigwigs.

"And then"—she paused for drama—"Gale and I ran into Jasper Ashton and his sister. Delightful human beings, wish I could marry them both." She shot me a covert glance right after. Rather than rat her out for going off on her own, I tried for a tiny smile that weighed a ton before I focused on my coffee.

That had been the moment, hadn't it? The moment when Adam had decided to leave me.

Yeah, he'd been the one to suggest we sneak away. But I knew him, and I knew his nightmares. Gale, caught out on his own without Adam to defend him, was one of them. Adam would do whatever it took, remove whatever distractions necessary, to ensure it didn't happen again.

And I was a distraction.

After breakfast, I retreated to my room and lay down on my bed, staring at the ceiling until its marred spots began to blur in front of my eyes. I wasn't sure how long I'd been there when Laurie came in without knocking and threw herself down next to me, hugging me around the middle. She didn't say a word, just held on, and I wasn't sure why it had me blinking back tears.

"I'm in love with him, you know?" It barely sounded like my voice, too frayed and thin.

"I know." Laurie rested her head on my shoulder, her words thick. "I'm sorry for…I just wanted to see the greenhouse. But I think it triggered this, and…And I should have been more responsible. I guess actions have consequences."

"It's okay." It wasn't, but none of that was her fault—not really. I wrapped my own arms around her shoulders and closed my eyes. "It would have happened sooner or later. I guess this is sooner."

"It's not fair," she whispered, and I managed a wet laugh.

"No. But that's life, Shortcake."

"I refuse to accept that." In spite of the words, she sounded sad rather than combative. I tightened my arms around her and stayed silent.

* * *

I spentthe afternoon with George, sharing just enough to fill him in, before I asked him to tell me about his girl.

"You sure you want to hear this?" he asked, concern clouding his face. "I mean, right now?"

"Yeah. I could use a reminder that it doesn't have to feel like…" Like getting my intestines removed without anaesthesia. I cleared my throat. "That it doesn't have to be heavy."

He pressed his lips together, studying me for a few beats before he nodded. "All right."

And so I followed him around his family's herb garden while he talked, something soothing in the rhythm of his voice and the way he moved between plants. The fresh, spicy aromas of oregano and rosemary and thyme wrapped around us. With my earth magic now strong enough to rival his, I felt the plants in a way I hadn't before, could sense which one needed water or better drainage. I kept it to myself, my grandmother's instructions to tell no one too deeply ingrained in me.

Yet somehow, Adam had crashed right through all my walls.

Later, I went for an evening run—slow loops through a nearby park as I cast my magic out like a net and lost myself in the rush of incoming impressions. The faint crackle of latent heat emanating from sun-warmed stones. Invisible footpaths of thermal currents that guided birds in flight. The subtle energy of a perennial's roots as they wove deeper into the soil.

I returned home and found Cassandra at our kitchen table. As soon as I entered, Jack made himself scarce, open relief on his face. Et tu, Brute?

Sweaty and tired, dressed in a pair of shorts and a sleeveless running top, I was the polar opposite to her prim silk blouse and perfect hair. My capacity for giving a fuck was exhausted, so I walked right past her to get a glass of water from the sink. "Cassandra. What brings you here?"

"I thought we had an understanding." Her voice was sharp enough to cut glass, and God, I wasn't up for a verbal sparring session. I'd lose anyway.

I chugged some water before I sighed and levelled her with a flat look. "Yeah, we did. Make your point, Cassandra—I'm not in the mood for beating around the bush."

"Good." She returned my stare. "We agreed that his happiness comes first. So why the hell did you walk away from him?"

Oh, that was rich. I infused my voice with disdain. "And what makes you think it was me?"

Her eyes narrowed as she studied me, then her expression abruptly softened. "Yeah, I suspected that might be the case. But I wasn't sure."

She had some bloody nerve.

"And you felt like yelling at me was the best way to get clarity?" I asked.

"I didn't yell," she stated with the confidence of someone who rarely heard she was wrong. "A lady never raises her voice above the gentle whisper of an evening breeze."

I was too heavy and sad to work up any amusement. Instead, I drank some more water that sloshed around my stomach. "Would that be all?"

"No." She got up and leaned against the table, her voice quiet now. "Adam told me it's over, but that's all he told me. It's not like him to hold back. Now that I know it wasn't your call, my best guess is that he did something noble and stupid."

"If breaking up with me is both those things, then yes. I guess he did." The words tasted ashen in my mouth. "Not that we ever labelled it, so really, can't lose what you never had."

Cassandra weighed me for a silent second. Then she exhaled, a sad tilt to her mouth. "He loves you. You know that, right?"

Did he?

I angled my face away. "He's got a funny way of showing it."

"It's just…" A delicate pause. "Complex. See, my family has a backup plan. Adam's family? He is their Plan A, B, and C."

My snort got stuck halfway up my throat, and fucking hell, I didn't want to be so…So…God, so something. I didn't even know anymore. "Well, that's encouraging."

"Liam." For the first time, she didn't sound at all like the confident young woman who'd been raised to believe that the world was her oyster. "Please be patient with him? He's…He thought he had a plan, you know? Or something very much like it, anyway. It didn't include meeting you."

Well, that made two of us. I shook my head. "So I've, what—queered his pitch?"

"Excellent choice of idioms," she told me with a tiny quirk to her lips before her expression sobered. "And no, you didn't ruin his plans. But you might become the reason he's finally true to himself."

If only.

I set down my glass and studied Cassandra. "In the unlikely event you're right—what about you?"

Her smile was small but genuine. "I'm ready when he is."

"That might be never," I said.

"Perhaps." She pursed her mouth, eyes thoughtful as she took me in. "But somehow, I just don't think so."

Since I was fresh out of hope, I chose to stay quiet.

* * *

A week went by.

I slept too little. I ate enough to keep my family off my back. I thought about hitting a club, but even the thought of kissing someone else turned my stomach.

I visited the construction sites and fell into a rhythm with Gale, who treated me with the gentle care typically afforded to the wounded. Several times, he opened his mouth as if to say something, then didn't. When he thought I wouldn't notice, he watched me with wide, sad eyes.

There were minutes when I didn't think about Adam, but they were few and far between.

* * *

Something was wrong with me.

It started as soon as I set foot on the construction site in Southwark, sickness welling up in my bones, a sudden headache pressing against the backs of my lids. I pushed through it—probably just lack of sleep demanding its eventual tribute.

A stiff afternoon breeze tugged on my clothes and attention as I picked my way through the emerging landscape of the residential area. Gale stood with Benedict and Eleanor Harrington, an unfamiliar woman completing their group. Christ, I wasn't in the mood for a patented Harrington game of verbal chess. I also wasn't sure how Adam had explained suddenly putting Gale in charge—a chance to grow, perhaps. Either way, Gale had told me the idea of an alliance was still on the table, so clearly no blame had fallen on me.

I hadn't seen Adam in eight days.

Focus.

They turned at my approach, polite expressions framing lingering tension. The energy tower was still troubling them, and if they'd thought to ask me, I could have told them a thing or two about how the elements were in misalignment, competing rather than complementing each other. At some point, I might have to speak up anyway to avoid delays to the project. Not quite yet, though.

"Liam." Benedict Harrington managed to sound less displeased than usual. Eleanor and the other woman nodded, Gale the only one who sent me a genuine smile.

Leaden grey welled up behind my forehead.

I curled my hand into a fist, nails digging into my palm. The sting of pain served as an anchor. "Good afternoon. Here to check on the tower, I see?"

It was an obvious conclusion given they were standing right next to it, but Eleanor frowned in response. "We will have it up and running in the next couple of days."

Really?

I glanced at it and shifted through the layers of my vision. It was—oh, wow. Blazing like a beacon, the interplay of magic a constant shift, thick branches whipping at the air. They'd reshaped the water spiral and had redistributed the inner fire, splitting it into three when it had been an unbroken column before.

"That's…" Bright, dizzy spots swam through my vision. I blinked them away before I continued. "That's excellent news. Congratulations."

Residual magic glowed in front of my eyes and cast its hazy shine on the world. The unfamiliar woman seemed lit in shades of blue, white, orange, and green. Impossible.

"Oh," Gale said. "Liam, may I introduce you to Madame Isabelle Blanchard, who is visiting us from Paris. Isabelle—Liam Morgan is co-leading the Green Horizon Initiative with us."

Blanchard. Isabelle Blanchard.

A descendant of Margaux Blanchard—my great-grandfather's slighted fiancée.

Blue, white, orange, and green.

"A pleasure," Isabelle Blanchard said, a lilting accent softening the contours of the words.

"Enchanté," I managed just as another wave of nausea crashed over me. Isabelle Blanchard's face blurred into a painting by Edvard Munch, all fluid, haunting lines.

"Are you quite all right?" Gale broke in, and huh, I must look a bit of a mess if he felt compelled to ask. I met his eyes—or tried to, rather, but his silhouette went in and out of focus.

"I'm…" Vertigo crashed over my head, something pulling me down like the restless buzz of my own magic before it had settled. Far stronger, though, a thousand irresistible voices in my head, clamouring for space and attention. I let my gaze soften to catch another glimpse of Isabelle Blanchard's magic, gravity dragging me down. The last thing I noticed was Gale reaching out to catch me.

The world narrowed to a pinhole.

Then it went black.