I walked toward the boutique without looking back. Only when the sound of wheels faded did I allow myself a glance over my shoulder. The dark carriage was indeed turning the corner.

  I exhaled. My eyes searched among the people stepping in and out of the library.

  No. The man wouldn't actually be in the open, would he?

  I pretended to watch the display windows while searching the shadows. My trembling fingers twisted the fabric of my sleeve.

  If an observant passerby noticed, they'd assume it was because of the cold.

  I passed the corner once. Then again, on the opposite side of the street as if reconsidering a shop my eyes had no intention of focusing on.

  A minute passed.

  Then another.

  My pursed mouth started trembling at the corners.

  Had I misjudged him? Had the money not been enough to bind him? Or had he arrived too early and been removed already?

  I risked a brief glance at the delicate watch on my wrist. I still had time.

  I slowed near the library, as if admiring the colossal building. It was almost as old as the city, a symbol of pride in Belaria's academic foundations.

  My toes started moving inside my red heels to release some anxiety.

  "You look like someone who expects trouble."

  The voice came from behind me. Close.

  I stiffened and turned just in time to see the man passing by and entering a smaller alley by the side of the library.

  I glanced around. The passersby seemed too absorbed by their own agendas to care what I was doing. What I was up to.

  I turned around and walked toward the small alley. Casually, as if this were not the culmination of a week spent lying.

  He stood half in shadow, crouched near the recessed doorway of a closed bookbinder's shop.

  From this angle, he looked like part of the street itself—layers of worn fabric, posture relaxed but ready, eyes sharp beneath the brim of his cap.

  Invisible, if you didn't know to look.

  "You're late," I accused while my heart resettled in my chest.

  "You're early." He smiled faintly.

  I did not smile back.

  "Did you deliver it?" My voice stayed low.

  The man studied me for a heartbeat, as if deciding how much honesty I could afford. Then he reached into his satchel.

  "Not only did I deliver it. I came back with an answer."

  My breath caught despite myself.

  Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

  He produced a folded sheet, smaller than the one I'd given him, edges creased as if it had been read and reread. He didn't hand it to me immediately.

  "She was careful. Didn't open it at the door. Took it inside before she wrote back."

  My fingers curled at my side.

  "And?" I pressed.

  "She asked who sent it, was suspicious at first."

  His mouth twitched. "I told her the truth. A woman who didn't want her followed."

  That earned him a sharp look.

  He finally extended the letter.

  I took it, slipping it into the inner pocket of my coat without opening it. The paper felt heavier than it should have. Like proof that this wasn't just a plan anymore.

  "You did well."

  He shrugged. "You paid well."

  "And you came back. You didn't have to."

  His eyes flicked briefly toward the street before returning to me. "Curiosity's a vice. Pay's better than most."

  I hesitated, then said, "Would you do it again?"

  "That depends."

  "On what?"

  "On whether you're still offering this kind of coin. And whether the messages stay worth the risk."

  I met his eyes steadily. "They will."

  Silence stretched between us.

  "Same terms?" he asked.

  I nodded once. "Same place. Same discretion."

  "Before we settle this," he said, voice low, "we should be clear about something."

  I stilled.

  "I don't linger in places like this. High Quarters notice patterns. Enforcers notice faces. We can't afford either. We should change the meeting place next time. Keep it brief."

  I pondered for a second and nodded. I looked at the ground while my mind rushed for an idea.

  "On the 25th, I'll be attending an event at four in the afternoon."

  He nodded.

  "I'll arrive early. Before the guests. I'll have time then."

  His eyes sharpened slightly. "Safer."

  "Yes."

  I paused, then added, "Eastern High Quarters. The Aurelian Conservatory Gardens."

  Recognition flickered across his face.

  "Public, but controlled."

  "Maintained," I corrected. "Heavily."

  I lowered my voice. "Most visitors keep to the central paths. They don't wander near the outer terraces."

  He nodded once.

  "There's a glass-lined pergola along the eastern edge. Near the moonbloom beds. No reason for guests to be there before events. If I'm late, leave."

  I reached into my purse and pressed an envelope containing a stack of bills into his hand. "For your discretion. And your silence."

  I stared into the man's clever eyes.

  He studied me for a moment, then inclined his head.

  "Fair."

  And then he was gone, melting back into the movement of the city—into polished boots and measured steps—until there was nothing left of him but the knowledge that he would be where he promised.

  I waited a count of three.

  Then I straightened my coat, smoothed my sleeve, and stepped back into the open—just another well-dressed young woman with an afternoon engagement ahead of her.

  The letter rested against my ribs. I didn't know the contents yet, but its presence was reassuring.

  The gallery opening was surprisingly pleasant.

  White stone halls washed in warm light. Music soft enough to be ornamental. Guests moving slowly between canvases and sculptural installations as though reverence itself were part of the display.

  I entered composed, visible, and immediately noticed.

  Lady Caltheris found me first.

  She was a few years older than me, dressed in deep emerald velvet, posture relaxed in a way that came only from long familiarity with rooms like this.

  "Lady Velmire. I was hoping you'd come."

  Her eyes lit with pleasure.

  "I'm glad I did. And please, call me Alya." I made sure the corners of my eyes creased just right to make it seem genuine.

  The hostess smiled as she looped her arm around mine. "Then please call me Aester. Allow me to show you around. I believe you'll enjoy the art displayed today."

  Aester gestured toward a nearby painting, an abstract composition of fractured light and motion. "You made quite the impression at Lucielle's gathering. People noticed."

  I smiled faintly. "I'm trying something new."

  "Good. It suits you."

  We spoke easily after that—about the artist, about our years at the academy, about how strange it was to see old halls change while remaining fundamentally the same. Aester spoke with intelligence and curiosity, never probing, never condescending.

  When we parted, it felt like the beginning of something rather than an obligation fulfilled.

  I was sipping wine and admiring a painting of a dark stormy ocean when I felt discomfort creeping inside me.

  A man approached—early thirties, immaculate tailoring, an old crest I recognized but couldn't quite place.

  He complimented my dress. My poise. Asked where I'd been hiding all this time.

  I felt the familiar urge to roll my eyes and say something unladylike.

  I smiled politely, listened just long enough not to offend. My eyes searched discreetly around the room for an excuse to escape.

  I spotted the Cassel twins near a sculptural installation of suspended glass and light. Perfect.

  "My friends are waiting." I excused myself smoothly, already turning away.

  Solay greeted me first, eyes bright. Corvin followed with an easy smile, less guarded than I remembered from the Foundation gala.

  "Alya. You survived."

  "Barely," I replied, amused despite myself.

  Their conversation was unexpectedly easy—observations about the art, quiet jokes, a shared sense of detachment from the performative aspects of the evening. Corvin spoke thoughtfully, Solay with sharp wit. No agendas. No weight.

  I promised to attend the next private gathering they held.

  When I finally stepped back into the night, the city felt different than it had earlier that day.

  I had lied. Planned. Paid. Maneuvered.

  And yet, somehow, I had also connected.

  My chest felt lighter as I entered the carriage.

  The streetlights blurred past.

  And I wondered—not whether I could keep this balance—but how long Lumeria and my family would allow me to.

  I didn't dare open Hana's letter until I has in the safety and privacy of my room.

  When I did, I read it twice.

  The short letter's content brought tears to my eyes. Relief.

  Hana was alright, and so was Mariel. With the compensation money they were able to afford all of Hana's medicine and she was faring better.

  Although I'm doing better, I'm worried about you. We all are.

  And I miss you.

  I hope you have enough pain potions for your training.

  And that you remember to eat all the times a person is supposed to.

  I chuckled despite the tears falling down my cheeks. How silly of her, to be concerned for my eating habits even when she felt so far away from me.

  I pressed the letter to my chest, then folded it carefully before hiding it under my mattress, alongside the newspaper clipping of Sirius.

  I would free myself.

  No matter the cost.