He ripped the phone out of her hand.
“What the hell, Zeke?”
“I’ll deal with that later.” He tossed her phone onto the couch. “What happened?”
“What if there is no later? What if Nicola takes the sword? She could bury it so deep in one of her many estates that we’ll never find it.”
His dark gaze remained steady on hers as he said, “So be it.”
She stared at him, uncomprehending. “You’ve been searching for your family’s heirloom for years. All you have to do is show up, flash a document, and take it home.”
When he said nothing, she threw up her hands. “I don’t understand you. Why would you jeopardize something so important to you?”
“A wise woman once told me, ‘A sword does not make the man, the man makes the sword.’”
“Johona?”
He nodded and strode to the window, crossing his arms. “In my misguided mind, I had convinced myself that once I set the sword in its place of honor in the Great Hall, that everything wrong with BARS would magically right itself. That we would all unite, rally around an artifact that had survived wars and all manner of hardships.” His voice lowered. “I thought. . . I thought it would somehow reveal the secrets to being a good leader.” He shook his head. “Horseshit, of course, but I needed to believe in something. Something that could fix what I had broken.”
She moved to his side. “And now?”
A self-deprecating smile appeared, and he tilted a sidelong look her way as he knocked a knuckle against the side of his head. “A battering ram of logic by enough people I care about and trust. Including you.” The back of his finger whispered along the edge of her jaw. “Especially you.”
The warmth of his touch heated the cold pit in her stomach. “I’m happy for you, Zeke. Awareness is the first step to healing.” She placed a hand on his lower back. “But you need to go claim Lupos.”
He shook his head. “I’m where I need to be.”
His caress shifted to include her bottom lip. She wanted to lean into it, allow him to brush away the dread creeping over her flesh. But her mind kept returning to Brodie’s room, to the message carved into his wall.
As if sensing her thoughts, he dropped his arms and turned away from the window. “Enough about the sword. What forced you to leave my bed and”—paper rumpled in his fist—“write this useless note?”
“I left it intentionally vague so you wouldn’t do something stupid.” She narrowed her eyes at him. “Like follow me.”
“Well, your little slight of pen trick didn’t work.” His voice grew hard. “Tell me.”
A rush of defeated air puffed between her lips. “Someone broke into my house.”
His eyes turned to molten onyx as he scanned the room again. “What did they take?”
“Only one thing that I’ve discovered so far. They seemed more focused on leaving me a message.” She headed toward the bedroom. “Follow me.”