Page 105 of Bittersweet & Strange

That redirects him immediately.

We reach the stairs, but voices rise from somewhere below before we can descend. I catch Boone around the waist and pull him back against me.

Another guard.

This one is coming up.

There is nowhere to conceal both of us without risking discovery. Boone’s father is somewhere under our feet, and every minute we spend here increases the possibility of Lucien returning.

I turn Boone toward me.

“You stay here.”

“No. I—”

“Yes.”

“You said—”

“I know what I said.”

His breathing quickens. “I’m not letting you go down there alone.”

“You are not letting me do anything,” I remind him, keeping my voice low. The footsteps continue somewhere below us.

His expression hardens immediately, that familiar stubbornness returning to his face. Under different circumstances, I might appreciate the fact that Boone is apparently incapable of following even the simplest instruction without first considering whether he would rather argue with me.

I take his face between my hands and make him look at me. “Your father knows you, Boone. If he sees you without warning, he will react. If he calls your name or makes enough noise to draw attention, every man in this building will know precisely where we are.”

Boone hesitates, his eyes moving toward the staircase, then returning to mine. I can practically see him fighting the instinct to ignore me and go after his father anyway.

“There is an alcove behind those cabinets where no one will see you unless they know to look for you. Get inside it and do not move until I return.”

“What if you don’t?”

“I will.”

“You don’t know that.”

I hold his face a little more firmly, keeping his attention on me. The footsteps are getting louder.

“Boone, I will always come for you. Right now, I need you to trust me enough to do exactly what I tell you, so go.”

Something in my words finally reaches him. The resistance leaves his expression even though the fear remains. I guide him toward the alcove and watch until he slips behind the cabinets and disappears into the darkness.

“Go,” I whisper when his face appears around the edge.

For once, he obeys without another argument.

I wait until I can no longer see him, then descend the narrow staircase toward the cells below.

The guard reaches the landing just as I reach the bottom, and dealing with him takes considerably less time than convincing Boone to remain upstairs did. I catch him before he can make enough noise to alert anyone else, lower him onto the cold stone floor, then remove the ring of keys hanging from his belt, and continue into the narrow corridor.

Iron-barred cells line both sides of the passage, disappearing into darkness between the occasional lanterns mounted against the stone walls. I move slowly from one to the next, checking each shadowed interior and listening for footsteps behind me. Most are empty, their doors hanging open or their cots untouched, but movement inside the final cell catches my attention.

An older man sits hunched on a narrow cot, his body thinner than I expected under rumpled clothing. Gray is threaded heavily through his hair, and several days of confinement have left their mark on his face, but there is something familiar about him immediately.

This is the old man who collapsed under my trees. Everything began with him. He lost his way on the mountain and, without ever knowing it, led his son straight to me.