I nod again, biting down hard on the guilt burning in my chest. He doesn’t know. He can’t. If he knew what we were doing, who we suspect, what we’re trying to uncover—it would put him at risk. Everyone would be at risk.
So I play the game.
For Hope.
For our future.
“I’ll see you downstairs,” he says quietly, and then he’s gone.
***
The ceremony is held in the royal chapel. Sunlight spills through stained glass windows, casting fractured colors across rows of seated mourners. I stand at the front beside Tessa and Clinton, her parents—his hand clutches hers like he might break if he lets go.
Tessa is unreadable, eyes forward, jaw locked. But her fingers tremble when I glance down. I don’t touch her. I can’t. We’re united in grief, but I’m alone in knowing she might still be saved.
Th
