It took 2 days, but I managed to condense this scene into a small enough passage I can tack it onto the previous chapter, instead of having 3 epilogue chapters.
That means the next chapter will be "Part 2" of the epilogue, and the last chapter of Book 3.
This bit does not count as a chapter itself, and the second weekly AS chapter (last chapter of Book 3) will be out Sat.
♛———♛—————————♛———♛
Moonlight washed the Silver District in pale bands of white and blue, glinting off tiled roofs and narrow streets far below. From this height, the city looked quiet. Ordered. Peaceful in a way Thomas knew better than to trust.
He sat on the edge of the window frame with his boots braced against the stone, hands resting loosely on his knees. The air was cold enough to bite, but he didn’t shiver. He hadn’t moved since climbing up here.
The room behind him smelled faintly of dust and old wood. Rotting bedrolls lay where they had been abandoned years ago, alongside the broken, warped boards that had once sealed the room away for more than a decade.
He didn’t turn when the floor creaked softly behind him.
He didn’t even look when a shadow crossed the edge of his vision, and the window frame dipped a fraction as someone eased onto the sill beside him.
Neither of them spoke.
After a while, Thomas glanced sideways, already knowing what he would see.
Bartholomew sat with his shoulder against the frame, hands loosely clasped, gaze fixed on the skyline. One foot rested on the sill. The other remained planted inside the room. Even now, even here, he sat half-ready to move. Half-ready to block a door, draw attention, buy time.
When they were younger, that had meant something. It had been comforting, knowing his brother was always watching the angles, always thinking a step ahead. That his big brother would always be there to protect him.
Later, Thomas had learned better.
On Halirosa’s streets, watching out for others before yourself got you buried. That was the law of the jungle, whether you were scraping by in the alleys or climbing through the ranks of cultivation. The so-called righteous sects liked to pretend otherwise, but the bodies told a different story.
“How did you find me?” Thomas asked at last, voice flat.
Bartholomew let out a quiet chuckle. “Wasn’t too hard. Once we noticed you were gone, this was the first place I checked.” He tilted his head slightly. “You always came here to brood.”
Thomas sighed through his nose. Of course he remembered. Bartholomew had been the one to find this room in the first place, years ago, poking around a half-forgotten warehouse when they were both desperate for somewhere no one would look. Five years they’d slept here after their parents died.
Another stretch of silence settled between them.
Bartholomew shifted slightly on the sill, and the wood creaked under his weight.
“Are you not going to go see her?”
Thomas flinched, but hid it immediately under a scoff. The sound rang hollow even to his own ears. “Of course not. Jonah was about two seconds away from killing me if I stayed any longer.” He turned his head just enough to catch Bartholomew in the corner of his vision, eyes narrowing. “Is that why you’re here? Your new boss decide I wasn’t worth the trouble anymore? Come to finish the job?”
Bartholomew frowned, brow knitting. “Thomas, that’s not—”
He stopped himself. His lips pressed together, jaw tightening as if he were weighing the argument and deciding it wasn’t worth it. After a moment, he let out a quiet breath instead.
Thomas turned back to the city.
Somewhere below, laughter drifted up from a tavern.
They sat in silence again. Bartholomew didn’t push. He never had. That, more than anything, made the knot in Thomas’s chest tighten further. His fingers curled against his knee until his knuckles went pale.
Bartholomew shifted again, just slightly.
“You’re thinking of leaving,” he said.
It wasn’t a question.
Thomas’s jaw tightened. He kept his eyes on the skyline, following a lone lantern as it bobbed along a distant street before slipping beneath a roofline and vanishing.
“It’s not like I can stay around here,” he said. His tone stayed even, but something hard edged beneath it. “Too many people saw me leave with the Temple forces. Icefinger’s men will be looking for me.”
Thomas turned his head a fraction. “Why? Going to try and talk me out of it?” His mouth twisted. “Maybe invite me to join your merry little band?”
“No,” Bartholomew said. “Jonah would kill you, remember?” he smirked.
That earned a short, humorless laugh from Thomas. He leaned forward slightly, elbows resting on his knees, shoulders drawn in.
“Good,” he muttered. “Because I’m not changing my mind.”
“I didn’t ask you to,” Bartholomew replied.
He watched the skyline for another beat before speaking again.
“Just… stop by first,” he said. “Before you go.”
Thomas stiffened.
“You don’t have to ask for forgiveness,” Bartholomew added immediately. “Or give explanations. You don’t have to fix anything.” He hesitated, then continued more quietly. “Just… let her see you.”
Thomas looked away, his teeth grinding.
“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
Bartholomew turned. Thomas could feel his gaze on him without looking.
“She almost died,” Bartholomew said. “She deserves to know you didn’t.”
The words landed harder than Thomas expected. He swallowed, his throat tight, and fixed his attention on the stonework across the street until the pressure in his chest eased enough for him to draw a steady breath.
Silence stretched again.
“I’m not staying,” Thomas said, almost to himself. “Just so we’re clear.”
“I know,” Bartholomew replied.
Thomas threw his hands up. “Then why bother with this?!” he snapped, the heat in his voice flaring despite himself.
Bartholomew exhaled slowly. “Because running away and never looking back has a way of turning into something you regret.” He gave a small shrug. “And because this might be the last chance you get to choose how you leave.”
Thomas didn’t answer.
After a moment, Bartholomew slid off the windowsill. His boots touched the floor softly, stirring a faint puff of dust. He stretched once and turned toward the door.
“Just give it some thought,” he said. “That’s all I’m asking.”
He stopped at the threshold, hesitating with one hand resting against the frame.
Thomas stared out over the Silver District, his expression unreadable.
Bartholomew waited a heartbeat longer. Then he nodded to himself and stepped into the hall.
Thomas remained seated on the sill, staring into the distance, and the city spread out before him.