Father Declan stepped out from the shadows near the altar. He’d stripped the priest’s collar for something more practical—a battered black coat, boots, and a scarf wound around his neck like he was afraid of being throttled by his own faith. He limped a little, favoring the wounded leg.
“Quiet, the lot of you,” he said, but his voice didn’t have the old force. “The English are combing the roads. We don’t have time for squabbling. The others have already gone ahead.”
Maeve glared at him, but then turned her rage back to Sully. “You filled her head with poison,” she hissed. “Talking about time and ghosts and other worlds. She barely slept after the night you left—barely ate. You bewitched her.”
Sully shook his head, slow. “It’s not like that, Maeve. I just wanted her to know—”
She cut him off. “You wanted her to be like you. Lost.”
That stung worse than anything. I tried to speak, but the words caught, so I just reached out and took Nora’s hand. She squeezed back, her fingers cold and small.
Sully tried again, voice rough. “I came back for you, Cat. I made a promise.”
“And what did that promise cost?” Maeve snapped. “You think you can march in here, ruin her twice, and we’ll just—” She stopped herself. The anger was a shield; underneath, she was shaking.
Declan raised his hand. “We’re not safe here. We need to move, now.” He looked at me, not Sully. “The others are waiting on us.”
“Where?” I asked.
“The graveyard. At the edge of the marsh.” Sully’s eyes widened. “It’s the way home.”
Maeve curled in tighter, folding her arms across her chest. “I’m not leaving. Not for him. Not for anybody.”
Sully glanced at me. “Maeve, you don’t have to come. But if you do, I’ll protect you. Both of you.” He looked at Nora, then back to Maeve. “All of you.”
Maeve’s laugh was bitter as vinegar. “You can’t even protect yourself. Look at you.”
I wanted to shout at her, or slap her, or just make her see. Instead, I wiped my nose and stared at the candle.
Nora spoke up, voice soft and even. “He’s telling the truth, Maevie.”
Sully met her gaze, and for a moment, I saw something pass between them—two ghosts recognizing each other in a crowded room.
Maeve’s jaw worked, but she said nothing.
Declan herded us to the back of the nave, where the walls still stood. He passed out hunks of bread, a little flask of whiskey, and a wool blanket for each of us. He sat near the door, eyes on the outside, a pistol cradled in his lap.
The night crawled. The wind pressed through every crack, the candlelight trembling. Sully sat across from us, legs out, left armfolded across his ribs. He didn’t look away, not once, but didn’t try to speak again, either. Nora leaned her head against my shoulder and watched him, like a fox watching a wounded dog, curious whether it would heal or bite.
I touched the ring on my finger, the one Sully had made. The leather was already darkened, the knot imperfect. I felt its weight, and the promise inside it.
I met Sully’s eyes. “I remember everything you told me. About the world after.”
He nodded, quiet.
Maeve stared at me, the anger shifting to fear. “What are you saying?”
“I’m saying I’m not losing you both.”
She tried to laugh, but it broke in the middle. “I don’t believe in fate. Or magic. Or any of this.”
“Me neither,” I said. “But I believe in you.”
The rest of the night was just breathing and waiting.
At dawn, Declan shook us awake, his face gray. “We move now. Stay together, and don’t stop for anything.”
Sully stood, slow and stiff. Maeve looked at him, then at me, then at Nora, who just shrugged and rolled her eyes.