Chapter 125: The Ultimatum
The east wing was colder than the rest of the estate. Magnolia always felt it , how the stones there seemed to remember old grief. The walls hummed with every step she took down the narrow corridor, her boots echoing over the damp floor. Outside, dawn had given way to a brittle morning light, but it barely touched this part of the keep. Shadows clung to the corners like mildew.
Sterling waited for her in what used to be the library. Once, the place had smelled of old leather, dry parchment, candles burning low while wolves whispered secrets of treaties and bloodlines. Now, half the shelves stood empty. Torn books littered the floor beside broken chairs and a window half-boarded to keep the wind from howling through.
He stood by the hearth. Someone had relit it since dawn, but the flames were small, crackling low, unable to push back the chill. Sterling looked like he’d been carved out of that cold , lean and battered, but unbowed. He’d stripped off his ruined coat, revealing a simple linen shirt ripped at the shoulder where the stitches puckered over old wounds.
Magnolia paused in the doorway, studying him. The hard angle of his jaw, the stubborn line of his mouth. The eyes that once lit with reckless loyalty now glinted flat and sharp. He hadn’t seen her yet. Or maybe he had , and wanted her to watch him first.
"Shut the door," Sterling said without turning.
She did. The iron latch scraped against stone as she crossed the threshold.
He leaned his good shoulder against the mantle, eyes flicking up to catch hers. "No guards? Not even Beckett breathing down my neck?"
"You asked for this alone," she said. Her voice didn’t tremble, though her hands curled tight into her sleeves. "I’m giving you that much."
His mouth twitched , not quite a smile, more a spasm that cut across his bruised face. "Generous."
She didn’t sit. Neither did he offer. They stared at each other for a heartbeat that felt like it might break the floor beneath them.
"You said you know where Camille is." Her voice was calm, but every word dug at the wound in her chest that never quite closed.