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“Yes,” Julian said, and the simple agreement was more brutal than any punishment he could have devised. “You should have. You put the idea of a ‘nice night’ over the reality of your own safety. That is a lapse in judgment, Marcus. And it cannot happen again.”

Tonight, that fortress shook.

A pause. The crux of it. “No, Sir. Not until the end.”

I practically danced into the room, holding up the book. He listened with genuine delight as I rambled about the binding, the foxing on the pages, the significance of the edition. He pulled me onto the chaise lounge in the corner of his study, my back against his chest, his chin resting on my head. This is our favorite position. He is my anchor; I am his respite.

A sob broke loose from my chest. “I should have told you. In the study. I should have said the word.”

The command was a rope thrown to a drowning man. I nodded, a jerky, puppet-like motion.