Page 75 of The Threads Between

Lily stepped in front of me.

"No," I tried to say, but the word came out soundless.

Morrison's expression changed. Hesitation. Then his jaw set.

"I'm sorry, boy," he said quietly. "I truly am."

Golden light exploded across the yard.

I turned.

A group of Weavers stood at the far edge of the yard. Twenty at least. Maybe more. Hands glowing with power.

An older woman stepped forward from the group—silver hair pulled back, eyes sharp with authority. Her hands moved in precise patterns, maintaining the magic without apparent effort.

"You are outnumbered," she said calmly to Morrison. "And outmatched. Leave. Now."

Morrison stared at her. At the Weavers surrounding him. At us.

I knew that look. He was already deciding where to fall back. Already choosing which fight to take next. Already calculating which of us he could afford to kill later.

"This isn't over," he said quietly.

"No," the woman agreed. "I suspect it is not."

Morrison jerked his head toward Ashby and the others. The golden threads released them slowly, reluctantly. They backed toward the edge of the yard, weapons left behind, gazes fixed on us with a mixture of fury and something that might have been grief.

Morrison paused at the end of the yard and looked back at me one last time.

"Your father's coming," he said. "And when he does, no Weavers will save you."

Then they were gone. Swallowed by the fog and the city beyond.

Silence fell across the yard.

Garrick stood over the splintered barrels, chest heaving, blood running from a cut above his eye. He swayed slightly, and then his knees buckled.

"Garrick!" Adeline lurched forward despite her own injuries, catching him before he hit the ground.

The older woman knelt opposite Mira and pressed two fingers to the side of Garrick's throat. "Pulse is fast but holding. The knife went deep."

Mira was already there, hands glowing. "I can stabilize him. But we need to move. If Morrison reports our location⁠—"

"He will," I said quietly. The pendant pulsed in agreement. "We have minutes at most."

The woman nodded. "The contact was supposed to signal when you emerged. When we didn't hear from him, we came ourselves." She gestured, and several Weavers moved to help. "We must get out of Clerkenwell. We have a cart waiting."

Lily's hand found mine and squeezed. "Are you alright?"

I wanted to say yes.

But the pendant burned cold against my chest. The corruption churned beneath my skin. Fighting it during the confrontation had cost me. The pieces of myself were working loose at the seams.

Days, Beatrice had said.

After this, I had less.

"I'm here," I said instead.