“Safer, maybe,” I said. “For a little while. But I don’t think that means it’s better.” His fingers threaded through the dog’s—Luce’s—fur, as if to hold her there. “If I leave,” the boy said carefully, “I will make many mistakes.” “Probably,” I agreed. “But you can still do a lot of good. Don’t you think?” “I thought so. A long time ago.” I shifted a little closer. Luce’s lip twitched, like she thought about growling and decided not to. And gods, my heart hurt so deeply for this child. I saw myself in him. An eight-year-old version of myself, sitting upon an altar in Vostis. An eight-year-old
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