Chapter 9 · The Line That Damns Him

"Say it again."

Sona's blade was already at his throat before Rhys got his back off the wall.

He held still. The ledger sat open on the stone ledge between them, pages fluttering in the wind coming through the broken slats of the bell tower. The ink on the last line hadn't even finished drying.

*Tomorrow night, Sona Vhelrn.*

His handwriting. His hand hadn't moved.

"I didn't write that," he said.

"Then who did." She pressed the edge closer. Cold steel, warm skin, half an inch between them turning into nothing. "Because I watched you staring at it like you already knew what it said before you opened it."

"I did know."

Something in her jaw tightened. Not surprise. Worse—confirmation of something she'd already been afraid of.

"So you *are* the one messing with this tower. The frayed ropes. The bell that dropped an hour early and nearly took my head off. That was you."

"No."

"Then how do you know my name's going in that book before it happens?"

He looked at her instead of the blade. That was the hard part, always.