She shook her head. “You’ll just have to trust me.”

“I’ve already proven that I do.” Removing the dresser and following Jasmine had shown two things: one, that I was willing to put my life in her hands, and two, that I was willing to do anything in order to save her brother.

He’s alive.

He’s alive.

It’s not over.

“All you need to know is he’s holding on, and I need your help.”

“Anything. I’ll do whatever you need.”

Her eyes softened. “I was hoping you’d say that.” The mask of collected woman slipped, showing her terror over her brother’s life.

My heart tripped into a knot. “Kes. Is he alive, too?”

My spine locked, bracing for bad news. It seemed too much to have Jethro back from the dead, let alone another.

Jasmine sucked in a breath. “He is. For now.”

My hands fisted. I wanted to sprint faster. “What does that mean?”

She glared ahead, stress lining her mouth. “They were moved before Cut could dispose of them. We’ve done what we could, but it isn’t good enough.” She swallowed hard. “We’re running out of time.”

We...

Her and Flaw?

“Where did you put them?”

“The only place not monitored.”

“And where is that?”

She lowered her voice. “It doesn’t matter. You’re not coming with me.”

My stomach flipped. I had to see him. Had to hug him and kiss him and tell him I never stopped loving him. “You came for my help. I’m coming with you.”

Jasmine pursed her lips. “It has to be this way. It has to be tonight. And it has to be now. The longer you argue, the less time we have and the worse it will be for all of us. Got it?”

I wanted to argue—to slap her and let go of the helpless anger inside. Instead, I curbed my temper. “Fine.”

But the minute he’s safe and well, I’m claiming him. He’s mine, not yours.

Flying around a corner, Jaz whispered, “Now, hush. Answers will come later.”

This part of the house hinted at its age.

We were no longer in the manicured wealth of parlours, dayrooms, and libraries.

This part had an aura of forbidden.

An abandoned aura.

An aura of death and warning.

Portraits didn’t hang, showing pockmarked faded walls. The threadbare carpets misted with dust as our footsteps disturbed ancient dirt, and my cardigan and leggings weren’t enough to combat the icy chill emitting from the walls.

Hawksridge Hall lived and breathed as surely as its inhabitants, but down here…here was forgotten, only fit for cretins and rodents.

I blew on my fingers, gritting my teeth against a shiver.

“Here.” Jaz suddenly stopped. “This is the room.”

I skidded to a halt, staring at the imposing door with a brass locking plate engraved with weasels and stoats. “What is this place?”

“It used to be the servant’s quarters, but an old water pipe burst a century ago and destroyed everything. My grandfather never got around to fixing it. This wing has been ignored ever since.”

Sounded about right. The Hawks only seemed to value those worth something valuable to their needs and wants. The moment they outlived their purpose, they were either dispatched or cast aside.

A tiny shadow scurried past my line of sight. I inched closer to Jasmine’s chair. I wouldn’t be against leaping into her lap to get off the floor if rats came to visit. “And what are we doing here?”

He’s alive.

He’s alive.

Surely, she didn’t keep him here.

Her bronze gaze glowed in the gloom. “Using one life to save another.”

A shiver that had nothing to do with the cold shot down my back. “What does that mean?”

I’m asking that question a lot lately.

She looked away, fumbling in the black blanket over her legs. “You’ll see.” Pulling free an old-fashioned key, she inserted it into the lock.

With a loud groan of protest, the rusty mechanism sprang open, cracking open the large moisture-logged door.

A noise sounded inside—fleeting—like a small gasp of dismay.

“Come on.” Jasmine pushed her rims, coasting from corridor to room. The moment we were inside, she closed the door. “Get the light, will you? The switch is to your left.”

I spread my fingers out in the dark, tracing the chilly wall and finding an ancient nub, which I assumed was illumination.

I pressed it.

Light spilled from a single cobwebbed chandelier above. The room came into view. Out of every place I’d visited in Hawksridge Hall, this was the worst room by far. Faded, chipped mint-green paint covered the walls. Beige carpet stretched across floorboards, moth-eaten and musty.

And the cold.

I hugged myself from the bitter bite of winter.

An entirely different season lived in this place. No central heating, no fire to ward off frost and snow.

Had Jethro ever been here? Was this where he learned how to embrace the coldness, so he could hide his condition?

He’s alive…

“Who—who’s there?”

No! Oh, my God.

My stomach clenched; vertigo stole my vision in a blip of blackness.

I didn’t have to see to know.

I’d know that voice anywhere.

“It’s me!” My legs unlocked, hurling me across the large room to the single cot pushed against the wall. Condensation dripped like frigid tears down the cold surface, and the only window didn’t perform its job of keeping the outside elements from entering. The stunning stained glass depiction of summer flowers had turned into a dartboard of holes. Intricate violets had been smashed, leaving a whistling draft to funnel around daisies and dandelions, slipping into the space unwanted.