He would do it for Charlie. He’d do it for Theo. For his parents and siblings. For Dom and Linnet and Hinata. For Ambrose. For Chris. For everyone he’d lost.
And this time, Henry refused to fail.
* * * *
Sir Roderick’s note, twenty-five years earlier, was a concealment. That was a thread to pull on.
Theo stared at it. Reckless, perhaps; well, he was in the mood for that. He was about to be dismissed, or possibly about to battle a magical evil baron, and he’d done potentially irreparable harm to his relationship with Henry, and right at the moment he wanted to blow a recalcitrant magical deception to smithereens.
He’d gone back to the Library through rain, shaken, barely remembering to walk between the drops rather than getting drenched. The buildings smoked and shimmered in the weathe
