Chapter 127: Beckett’s Doubt
It was nearly midnight when Beckett found her. The corridor outside her chamber smelled of old herbs and damp stone , the scent of restless ghosts that never slept in the Callahan estate. Magnolia had wedged a chair under the latch, though anyone who knew her knew locks did little to keep nightmares out.
She sat at the edge of her narrow bed, boots still on, cloak still wrapped around her shoulders. Her hair lay in a dark braid over one shoulder, the end frayed where her fingers had pulled at it over and over. A single candle flickered on the small table by the bed, casting shadows over her hollowed cheeks and the tight line of her mouth.
Beckett rapped once , a soft warning , then nudged the door open. The chair scraped against the floor. Magnolia didn’t flinch.
"Get out," she said without looking up.
He ignored her. He kicked the chair aside, shut the door with his boot, and leaned against it. He smelled like the courtyard , snow, wet leather, and the ghost of blood he hadn’t bothered to scrub from his knuckles yet.
"You think you’re ready to stare him down alone?" he asked. His voice was calm, but underneath it ran a current that could split stone.
Magnolia kept her gaze fixed on the candle. "He won’t believe me if he smells you behind my back."
Beckett barked a low, humorless laugh. "You think he’s not already five steps ahead? You think you’re the only one playing a hand?"
She looked at him then, eyes sharp as a blade drawn too many times. "What would you have me do, Beckett? Chain him? Burn him alive? Put a wolf down because he’s sick with something we can’t name?"
"Maybe." Beckett pushed off the door. He crossed the small room in three strides, standing so close that the candlelight trembled between them. "I’d rather bury him now than see him gut you while you sleep."
She didn’t move back. Her chin lifted a fraction , enough to look him dead in the eyes.