I really shouldn't have done it, I know.

I had no idea how much Lockwood actually remembered about what had happened. I'm certain he was disoriented and confused, even before I'd slapped him. And if I was being honest, it was probably more my fault than his that La Belle Dame had even targeted him—or so I was going to tell myself. I knew all of this, but none of it stopped me. I was upset, I was scared, and I wasn't quite thinking straight.

It had been an awful night.

To make things worse, Lockwood didn't move. He didn't even speak. He just looked at me, his usually pale face flushed.

It was too much; I turned away. I couldn't really see him through the dumb tears anyway.

I didn't like anyone seeing me crying, but it was the worst—oh it was so much worse—when it was Lockwood. I was desperate to get as far away as I could until I could calm down. Problem was, after the scare I'd had, I was just as desperate to be close to him, to be sure he was alive. I couldn't bring myself to actually leave, so I ended up standing a handful of steps away with my back to Lockwood, futilely trying to stop crying.

I was completely keyed into him and his movements; I heard him step towards me, once, then twice, heard the rustling of his coat, the shifting of his rapier, the breath he took as he opened his mouth to speak. "Lucy." I'd hardly, if ever, heard him sound so soft.

I shook my head, wiping furiously at my tears, only to have more spill over.

Another step closer. "What is it, Luce?"

"Nothing," I bit out, my voice betraying me. "I'm fine."

"You're crying."

"It's fine."

One more step and he was next to me. "I'm not sure it is," Lockwood said, surprising me when he reached out and grasped the crook of my arm gently. "Luce."

I didn't answer him—partly due to the gargantuan effort it took not to break down entirely, partly because of how shaken I was by the entire scenario. The silence between us was filled with the cracks and pops that heralded the stage really catching fire. I latched onto that looming disaster immediately—it was far easier to focus on than the one I was currently playing out.

"We'll talk about this later," I said to him. Getting those words out made it easier to breath. Later was good. Later I would be in a better place mentally, far from that gut-wrenching fall and the paralyzing fear of losing him. Later I wouldn't be crying.

With the fire catching, Lockwood could hardly argue for a heart-to-heart now. "That might be for the best," he conceded, but I could tell he was still watching me, not the fire. And he still hadn't let go of my arm. There was no way he hadn't noticed how much I was shaking, not once he'd reached out to me.

I turned my face away, using my other sleeve to mop up the tears. "I set the stage on fire trying to keep you alive," I said at last, pulling away from him without looking. "The least you can do is help me get it out. Oh, and someone should get George out of the basement."

Lockwood let me go.

Thankfully, by this point there was plenty going on around us. Kipps had arrived by then, goggles precariously perched on top of his head as he lugged a sandbag he'd found in the wings towards the flames. Slicing the bag open with his rapier, he started scattering the sand in an effort to choke out the fire. Then Holly was there too, handing her silver-wrapped package over to Lockwood, pulling his attention away from me with an extremely abbreviated recap of what had happened since his enchainment. I was distinctly aware of him watching me at first, but he was soon distracted by the case at hand, asking Holly a series of pointed questions regarding the source and where exactly it had been.

I knew the signs. Lockwood had the case solved. Tuning them out, I found my own sandbag and joined Kipps in his efforts with a sort of numb focus.

It wasn't long before we were all fighting the fire. It took our entire team, plus the lingering theater staff, to get the job done, but in the end the theater was saved. The stage was mostly in one piece too, though they'd probably have to replace it if they wanted to get the burn marks out. That didn't matter so much to most of the crew. We'd taken care of the ghost, with minimal damage and no loss of life. Once again, Lockwood and Co was praised for a job well done.

Besides, it wasn't a true Lockwood and Co job without a few souvenir scorch marks.

In my haze of shock and exhaustion, I wasn't much in the mood for any of it. Not the admiration from the theater crew, not Barnes's grudging praise, and certainly not for any of Tufnell's bluster, even when he was handing us the check. I watched it all from afar, Holly keeping me company. I was grateful to her. She was calm, and it made it easier for me to feel that way too. By the time Lockwood finally found me to thank me for saving his life, I found it difficult to break free of the protective detachment I'd donned.

His gentle reminder that we'd be okay, as long as we looked out for each other, as we'd always done, breathed a little of life and warmth back into me, but I still didn't feel quite like myself. It was easier to get swept up in the normalcy of our post-case routing after that, but I was bone tired and emotionally raw.

And underneath it all, the fear was difficult to forget.

I spent the rest of the morning like that—present but not engaged, only partly participating. I'd like to say I put some effort into acting normal, but since Lockwood kept throwing long, piercing looks my way over breakfast, I'm pretty sure I failed.

It was a relief when George pushed away from the table, insisting that it was time to turn in for the morning. We all headed upstairs together, leaving the breakfast dishes littered across the kitchen table and our equipment in varying stages of put away and strewn about.

We parted ways on the landing, George and Lockwood for their respective rooms and me for the attic stairs. George disappeared through his door with a good night and a yawn, but despite my exhaustion, I hesitated, my foot on the first step.

Looking back the way I'd come, I found Lockwood in his doorway, watching me. The hallway was silent between us, save for the usual bumps and mutters from George's room. Lockwood turned to face me more fully, and I let my foot fall back to the ground. He was watching me with that same scrutinizing look he'd worn all morning. I knew him, I could see him struggling to find the words.

Finally, after a lifetime of silence, he spoke. "Listen, Luce. About earlier . . ."

"You already thanked me." I gripped my elbows, suddenly anxious—though whether that was because of a desire to get away or to go to him, I didn't know.

Lockwood's eyes were dark and serious. "I should have apologized. I know what you went through for me, and I'm sorry."

His quiet words settled over me, soothing my agitation and unlocking something deep inside. I'd been carefully detached all morning, but hearing Lockwood apologize brought everything roaring back into focus, most of all the one thing I'd been unable to face: I'd nearly lost him today.

I'd once been so severely haunted by the possibility of his death that I'd walked away from everything I cared about, including him. That was behind us now, but tonight the Hollow Boy's awful prophecy had been a hair's breadth away from coming true. Suddenly, the air in that hallway felt thick and stifling. I couldn't breathe again, and the panic that had started it all suddenly resurfaced, and I did the only think I could think of to quell it all.

Spinning around, I ran back down the hall and threw my arms around him.

It was a tighter hug than I usually gave, but I didn't care. Lockwood's arms circled me slowly at first, then cinched tighter all at once, his head ducking down to rest against mine. When he spoke next, his voice was quiet, close. "I am sorry, Luce."

I nodded silently, holding on for dear life—mine and his, both. I could hear his heartbeat like this, and it was my lifeline.

My silence must have worried him because his next question was laced with concern. "Tell me the truth: you're okay?"

"I'm just really, really glad you're alive," I said, my voice muffled in his shoulder. It wasn't really an answer to his question, but it served as an explanation of sorts.

"Of course I am. I have you."

His answer was so honest, so matter-of-fact, and it filled me just near to bursting with warmth. He did have me, and sometimes I thought that, just maybe, I had him too. I couldn't say it yet, couldn't even begin to tell him how truly right he was. But someday I would.

Someday. It was a good thought.

"Thanks for apologizing," I said, and while I meant it, I couldn't help the truth from following. "I've never been so scared, Lockwood. But I'd do it again. All of it."

Lockwood held me just that much tighter. "I know."

Things got a little fuzzy after that as far as my timeline is concerned.

I had to work myself up to letting go of him. I felt okay for the first time that morning, but I knew that once I pulled away the spell would be broken and Lockwood's warmth would be replaced by the cold dread that someday might come too late.

I didn't want to let go, but I knew that if I waited until I felt ready we might never leave that hallway. So I did the responsible thing and loosened my hold on him. Once I'd done that, I didn't linger. I stepped out of his arms and away from the steady reassurance of his heartbeat. I paused long enough to give Lockwood a tight, tired smile—which he returned—and a hushed good night—which he didn't—then darted down the hall and up the stairs, running from the demons that were already fighting to fill the void he'd left.

Lockwood watched me all the way up the stairs.