Page 167 of The Last Stitch

But Elias's expression never changed. Cold. Calculating. Like this had always been part of his design.

He moved.

August fired in the same instant, the shot ringing out like a thunderclap.

His aim had been perfect. Center mass. The kill shot he'd been trained to make since childhood.

But at the last second, his hand shifted. The bullet struck the column beside Elias's head instead, stone shattering in a burst of dust and sparks.

Not a kill shot. A warning.

Even now, even after everything, some part of him couldn't cross that final line.

“That was for her,” August growled. “The next one won't miss.”

But Elias didn't flinch. He merely stepped aside as if the bullet had been an inconvenience, his magic still building.

August grabbed my hand, pulling me toward the tunnel entrance. “Run, Lily. Now.”

I ran.

Boots pounding over stone, his hand tight in mine as we raced for the darkness. Behind us, the roar of Hunters echoed like a storm. Around us, the Weavers were scattering—Mira screaming orders, Abigail's barrier finally shattering in a shock of golden shards that rained down like broken stars.

And in that darkness, as I ran deeper into the tunnel, what remained was emptiness—Ysella’s essence lost to the dark, slipped beyond my reach.

I had almost saved her.

Almost wasn't enough.

CHAPTER 52

AUGUST

The sound of Lily’s footsteps fading into the tunnel was the only permission I required. I turned. Elias still stood at the edge of the crumbled platform, robes untouched by the chaos he’d unleashed, his expression as unreadable as ever. The revolver too light in my hand. My breath came fast and shallow—not from fear, but from fury.

He had unraveled Ysella like she was nothing. Had looked at me as he did it—a lesson. A warning. And her last words were seared beneath my ribs: Don’t forget who your mother was. Who you are. . . What was she about to say?

The tunnel behind me quaked with another blast of magic. The collapse echoed like thunder. Dust and dirt rained from the ceiling. Still, I didn’t move.

Lily was safe. The Weavers were safe.

And I wasn’t going to let Elias follow them.

I stood at the broken mouth of the escape tunnel, pistol in hand, blade strapped to my back. The ruined square glowed gold with fire and golden threads.

This was what it was like to burn for something. To stay behind when my instincts screamed to run.

Smoke parted like a curtain.

Elias Hawthorne. My father.

He stepped through it like judgment incarnate, silver hair catching the light, eyes cold and fathomless. They locked on me as if I had always been precisely where he wanted me.

“August,” he said.

I raised the revolver.

He halted a few paces away, calm, hands clasped behind his back. “So. You’ve made your choice.”