Late that night, the study was dark.

Lucian sat at his desk, the computer’s pale light falling across his face.

Loneliness seemed to darken everything around him.

His gray-blue eyes remained fixed on the screen.

The woman he had brought home got out of bed in the dark.

She opened the wardrobe and found a phone.

Only Lucian, the medical staff, and the maid assigned to her had entered that room.

Someone among them had left it.

I looked at him.

He must already know who.

On-screen, she curled inside the dressing area and dialed.

Every word was clear through the monitoring equipment.

“I did what you asked. He trusts me. When will you let my boyfriend go?”

The answering voice had been electronically altered.

“When Lucian dies, you’ll be reunited.”

I couldn’t identify it by sound.

But I believed it was Julian.

She was working for him.

“I don’t want him to see me. Tell him I’m dead. I don’t care. Just release him. Stop hurting him.”

She struggled to control herself, tears running down her face.

“Kill Lucian, and your devoted boyfriend goes free.”

“I don’t know if I can. He frightens me. Sometimes I don’t think he believes me.”

The voice sounded amused.

“With that face, you can kill him.”

I looked stiffly at Lucian.

His expression didn’t change.

He watched her end the call and remove the phone’s case.

A small packet of powder was hidden inside.

She gripped it tightly.

Poison.

Julian’s weapon for her to use against him.

Lucian closed the video and pressed the intercom.

“Take Miss Whitmore something to help her sleep.”

He knew she intended to kill him.

And he was worried she might not rest.

I couldn’t understand him.

He left the study.

Not for his bedroom.

For the room full of my photographs.

He slept there.

Early the next morning, he drove alone to the foot of a mountain.

Sebastian was waiting.

“Luc.”

Something in his eyes made it hard to look at him.

“There are a hundred and eight Buddhist temples around Fairhaven. Vivian regularly visits three. She’s supported the Temple of Mercy on Mistwood Ridge for years.”

He looked toward the mountain.

“She paid for a bodhisattva statue with closed eyes, supposedly to pray for her ancestors. About a month ago, she placed an urn beneath its pedestal.”

My whole spirit shook.

Not an ancestor.

Me.

Lucian looked toward the summit.

The statue’s eyes were closed.

It saw none of the suffering below.

“Mr. Sinclair.”

An old monk approached from the side.

I stared.

The blind monk.

The one who had saved me.

He and Sebastian knew each other.

The monk pressed his palms together. Sebastian returned the greeting.

Seeing that his hands were empty, Sebastian frowned.

“Master Ansel. You said we could take the urn.”

The monk smiled calmly.

“The person bound to it may take it.”

His head turned slightly toward Lucian.

“From here to the statue, there are nine hundred and ninety-nine Steps of Passage. They represent the suffering of rebirth. One path beyond this life.”

Lucian narrowed his eyes.

“You want me to kneel my way up?”

The monk didn’t deny it.

“It was easy to bring the ashes here. Taking them from before the bodhisattva requires sincerity.”

He lowered his head.

“Of course, an old, damaged body like mine cannot stop you.”

If Lucian wanted to take them by force, he couldn’t prevent it.

I knew Lucian.

Arrogant.

Unbending.

The kind of man who could stand on broken bones rather than yield.

If heaven itself appeared before him, he might demand it kneel first.

He would never do it.

Sebastian began to speak.

Lucian took off his coat.

“Luc…”

He looked up at the statue, defiance still burning in his eyes.

“Don’t flatter yourself. I’m not kneeling to you.”

I stood frozen.

He passed me and stopped before the first step.

His back was straight.

His gaze rested on the urn beneath the statue.

Wind moved over him, carrying a loneliness he made no sound to express.

His mouth curved faintly.

Then his knees bent.

They struck the cold stone.

He bowed his head.

“Stella. I’ve come to take you home.”