Chapter 18. Letting Go

June's POV

Rowe blood. Given by my own hand. At a stone I'd never seen, in a cellar I'd walked over every day of my life with a mop and a bucket.

That was why I was alive.

Not mercy. Not pity. Not the sweet boy who once shared his apples. Bram had kept me breathing for eleven years the way a farmer keeps a cow through the winter, because he would need what was inside me in the spring.

What I felt was cold. Cold and clear, like the river.

"Who?" I asked. "Who will he hurt?"

Rhett shook his head. "The cook's grandson. The scullery girl you used to sit with. Anyone who ever slipped you an extra crust." His voice dropped. "He keeps lists, June. He always has."

Behind me, Ronan made a sound. Thane, pressing at the edge of him.

"I want Pip," I said.

Rhett blinked. "What?"

"Edda's grandson. The boy who drove the greyroot truck last nig