I couldn’t catch a proper breath. The room closed in, swords and daggers loomed like nightmares, filling my head with horror.

Clara moved closer to Fox and it wasn’t until she put a hand on his leg that I noticed she clutched a tiny dagger with an intricate gem inlaid in the hilt. Fox sucked in a breath at her touch, but didn’t move.

I backed toward a shelf, blindly groping for a blade just in case.

With ease and brittle gentleness, he pried Clara’s fingers from around the dagger before placing it back on a shelf. “I don’t think your mother would want you playing with knifes.” He shot me a look. “How about we get out of here? You’ve seen enough.”

Clara shook her head, her eyes never leaving the pretty ruby inlaid dagger. “I don’t want to play with them. I want to make them. They’re so pretty and shiny, and I want to know how. Can you show me? Please? Can I have that?” She pointed at the knife.

“You’re not having a knife, Clara. No matter how much you beg.” I glared my ‘do-not-mess-with-me scowl.’

Fox didn’t smile. His face remained serious as he said, “Maybe when you’re older I can teach you. You should only have a blade if you know how to use it. It’s dangerous to wield something you don’t understand.”

I balled my hands, fighting the painful squeeze on my heart at the thought of Clara growing up. I wanted that to happen. So much.

Clara moved to the other side of the room, brushing her fingers along a particular sword that’d been polished until the blade turned into a mirror. Her delicate features bounced back, contorted by the shape of the metal. “I suppose I can wait. But don’t be too long.” Her eyes darted up and latched onto mine with intelligence far beyond her years. “Being allergic to air is hard. I don’t think I have too much time.”

My knees buckled and the heavy shroud of faintness almost stole my sanity.

A strangled noise sounded low in my chest, and Fox looked up to glare at me. How did she know? Did she sense her lifespan would be shorter than most?

How does she know?

Tears wobbled in my eyes at the thought of her lying in bed at night afraid and alone. She never asked about her coughing fits, asthma attacks, or constant lung infections, never once questioning what it meant, and why she was different from other kids.

Ignoring Fox’s confused and angry glower, I held my hand out for Clara to come to me. Dropping to her height, I whispered in her ear, “I love you so incredibly much. You’d talk to me if something was worrying you. Wouldn’t you?”

She nodded, rolling her eyes. “Of course. But nothing’s worrying me, so I’m all hunky-dory. Can Roan tell his story now?”

I wanted to scream. To demand she tell me why she thought she had less time. I wanted to know her every thought and conclusion, but I forced my fingers to unclamp around her shoulders and breathed deep.

I couldn’t crush her enthusiasm, but didn’t know if I had the reserves to listen to such a dark and sorrow-filled story Fox obviously had to share. Not now.

Fox seethed with temper; his eyes burned a hole into mine. The energy in the small room was full of questions. He heard truth in the cryptic comment from Clara. His perception was too highly tuned. But that made sense now. After seeing his workshop, weapons, and finding out he killed people; he transformed into more hunter than man in my eyes. Of course, he would have the instincts of a true predator—after all, they relied on their instincts to survive.

I looked up, shaking my head. I’ll tell you, but not yet.

I hoped to avoid the subject to spare him. I hoped to avoid it, because I wasn’t strong enough to voice it. If I told another person, it made it real. I didn’t want to make it real.

Fox scowled and came toward me. Grasping my elbow, he lowered his head to mine. His breath sent shivers down my back as he whispered harshly, “Be prepared to talk after this, Hazel. I’m done being kept in the dark. I want to know. And you’re going to tell me every single thing you’ve been keeping secret.”

Before I could reply, he left the vault and disappeared.

My heart couldn’t calm down at the furious restraint in his voice. He was pissed and no way in hell did I want to deal with a pissed off Fox.

Clara and I followed, hanging back as Fox spent a few minutes dragging dinged up leather chairs toward the central fireplace. Grabbing a poker, he viciously stabbed the coal embers until happy yellow and orange flames came to life.

Pinching the bridge of his nose, he sucked in a heavy breath before deliberately shedding his anger and re-centring himself.

Holding out his hand, he ordered, “Come here.”

My heart couldn’t cope; I shuffled after Clara toward one of the chairs and sat heavily into the soft, springy cushion. Clara lost her fierce independence and instead of taking the other chair, she plopped onto my knee and snuggled. Together we sank into the leather, looking up at Fox. His scarred cheek danced with firelight; his body echoed with pain. Pain given to him by his past. Pain given to him by telling the truth.

His eyes locked with mine, and I didn’t know what he searched for. Acceptance, understanding, willingness to listen and not judge until the end? I didn’t know, but at least he no longer looked as if he wanted to tear me apart for keeping secrets from him. For now Clara’s impending demise was safe.

He held up his hands, bracing them like a traffic warden, displaying fleshy palms and callused fingers. “See that? The marks directly in the centre?” He leaned forward, so his hands were only a foot away from our faces.

Clara spotted the greenish-grey lines before me. “Yep. They’re faded. Do they mean something?” Her voice was timid and I cuddled her closer.

Fox curled his lip, bringing his hands back to him, glaring hatefully at them. “Invisible, impenetrable, invincible.”

The hair on the nape of my neck sprang up as he added in a low timbre voice, “Nevidimyy, nepronitsayemyy, nepobedimyy.”

He looked up, eyes glinting with remembered hatred. “The three things a Ghost must be. I’ve scrubbed my hands with abrasives; spent hours scouring them with sand to remove their trace, to forget, but they never leave, just like the conditioning will never leave.”

His voice turned inward, full of memories, echoing with agony. “That’s all we were. Ghosts to do their bidding and obey their every request. We were told to kill and we did. We were told every murder would slowly turn us immortal like gods. And just like gods, we had power. We were the law and nothing could touch us.”