“You can get the f**k away from him,” Henry retorted, and yanked at the crumpled wood of Theo’s shelves with an intangible hand, calling on oaken strength.
Flying wood came up; but the baron stepped to one side and made a small gesture, almost courtly. The wood slid past him, diverted; splinters flew toward Theo.
Who could not move, up against his desk. Theo did, at the last second, gasp a word under his breath: the projectiles fell and clattered. Theo stumbled, caught the desk for support.
“I,” Percival Therion-Windham said to Theo, “want to help you, Theo. To let you be free. Your captain, here…he is a violent man, you see? So limited.”
Theo almost laughed, which despite everything lightened Henry’s heart. “You don’t know Henry. He’s the kindest man I’ve ever met.”
“Indeed?” The bar
