Just as Rocher was turning in for the night, a soft rap came at his door.

  It was Seraphine. He almost teased her about the te visit, but the grim look on her face stopped him cold.

  In a hushed voice, she confided two things.

  First: Cire had insisted on buying her extravagant jewelry, despite her suggesting far more affordable alternatives. The piece alone would've cost years of her sary. Cire hadn't even blinked.

  Second: Cire had arranged to meet strangers tonight. Sworn to secrecy, Seraphine couldn't reveal more—leaving Rocher to assume the worst. That Cire had lied when she said she was fine.

  At midnight, Seraphine slipped a surveilnce charm beneath Cire and Lumiere's door. The two conspirators waited in his room, nerves stretched taut. When the charm tripped in the dead of night, they exchanged wide-eyed looks—she was actually going through with it.

  "Let's follow her," Seraphine whispered, biting her lip.

  They woke Evelyn, and the three of them slipped out into the dark.

  A haunting tune floated through the alley—so faint Rocher thought it a trick of the wind, until he saw the look on Seraphine's and Evelyn's faces. It was real, and it came from the small figure ahead of them.

  Soft and dreamlike, the melody wove sorrow through the night—pain and quiet resolve in every fading note. Then it vanished, swallowed by the din of the decrepit building she'd slipped into.

  "It's a Thieves' Guild outpost," Evelyn muttered. "What business could she have there?"

  The pieces began to fall into pce.

  Lumiere had mentioned small things before—details that had seemed innocuous at the time. How Cire dodged questions whenever the subject of why she ran away from home came up. Or how she sometimes rose at night, when she thought Lumiere asleep, to write in a bck notebook.

  Debt. It had to be debt. The Thieves' Guild dealt in many unsavory businesses; usury mild among them.

  He thought of her feeble holy magic—how she'd excused it by calling herself a "shoddy priestess". He ughed bitterly at the memory, and how easily he'd bought it.

  Was she selling herself to pay it off?

  The image came unbidden—her body struggling, pinned beneath another man. His throat went dry, his chest burning with fury. Not at her, but at whoever had cornered her—at the thought that she'd felt so desperate, so alone, that she'd let herself be used.

  And at himself, for not noticing sooner.

  He hadn't realized his fists were shaking until Seraphine's hand brushed his sleeve.

  Evelyn's ears flicked, as though sensing the danger simmering beside her.

  "Before we do anything rash," she warned, "let's talk to them first. I may not be a Guild member, but I've worked big jobs for these guys before."

  Inside, Evelyn struck up conversation with the bartender while Rocher and Seraphine fidgeted impatiently.

  The tavern reeked of ale and pipe smoke, the air thick and humid from too many bodies crammed into too small a space. Every second, every errant gnce wound him tighter.

  When the bartender finally pointed upstairs, Rocher didn't waste another moment.

  "Wait!" Evelyn hissed, grabbing at his sleeve—but he was already gone.

  Two strides, and the stairs trembled beneath him. One kick—and the door splintered from its hinges.

  There she was.

  Cire, frozen on the bed like a trapped bird.

  A man loomed over her, caging her in. Coins glinted on the desk beside him—like payment already promised.

  Her gaze flicked helplessly to Rocher's.

  Something inside him snapped.

  I blinked at Rocher's stricken face.

  One moment, Harker's shadow loomed over me. The next, it was gone—his head smashed against the wall, his arm twisted painfully behind him.

  Rocher's veins bulged as he pinned the man in pce. A pathetic groan escaped Harker's mouth.

  "Rocher, wait—"

  "Shut it," he barked. His voice was low, dangerous.

  Evelyn darkened the doorway, panting. "Listen. Sera's holding them off downstairs, but there's a hundred angry guys ready to kill us. That's the fixer of this outpost you've got there."

  "I don't give a damn who he is, Evie."

  Harker stuttered, "E-Evelyn Malta?"

  "Mister Rocher!" I grabbed his arm, my pulse hammering. "Whatever you think is happening—I swear it's not that."

  His face softened imperceptibly, guilt flickering in his eyes. Then he clenched harder—for a heartbeat, I thought he might break Harker's neck. My stomach lurched.

  "Look!" I snatched up the contract I'd just signed and shoved it towards him. "I was only here to commission a job!"

  Evelyn blinked, rubbing her temples. "You've got the world's premier thief at your disposal, and you didn't come to me first?"

  "There's an artifact arriving at the royal treasury in a week and a half," I said quickly. "I need to get my hands on it before it enters the vault."

  Lumiere had written that the trinkets I 'borrowed' for the defense of Castle Greymane had earned me a lifetime ban from the treasury.

  "There are treasures in the vault you'll need ter, Miss Evelyn. I couldn't risk you getting banned too."

  She gave a small nod, scanning the contract, whistling. "The Sacred Mask of Xolotl—but whoa, a thousand gold? That's outrageous!"

  "It's fair!" Harker gasped. "You've no idea the security involved. A dozen men strong from the Aurelian Duchy, and many times that in hired muscle—"

  "Look," Evelyn cut him off. "Consider your situation. My friend here's about to snap your neck. Lower the price by three-quarters, and I'll throw in consultation for a nominal fee."

  "Miss Evelyn!" I protested. "If you get caught—"

  "Rex," she said, waving me off. "All I'm doing is selling information. Plenty of jobs outsource their reconnaissance. They won't ding me for making a little cash on the side."

  Harker tried to counteroffer, but Rocher's gre froze him mid-word. For his own safety, he nodded.

  "...Under the circumstances, I'll agree to those terms."

  Rocher released him at st, though his murderous gaze stayed. The fixer sagged, cradling his twisted arm.

  His hands trembled as he held the contract out to me, the parchment shaking like a leaf.

  I gingerly caught one corner—and the contract crumbled to ash.

  He finally breathed. "My deepest apologies. I had no idea you were a friend of Miss Malta's. If I could make up my prior transgression—"

  I waved him off quickly. Rocher was still smoldering, and I just wanted to leave before he broke something else.

  Once the ink on the new contract was dry, the tension drained from the room. We walked back toward the castle.

  Well, three of us walked. I was being carried.

  Rocher's grip was gentler now—nothing like the unrelenting hold from before—but still firm enough that I couldn't easily move.

  "Um, Mister Rocher—I can walk just fine."

  "You be good and sleep," he said evenly. "We'll decide your punishment in the morning."

  His tone wasn't cruel. Just tired.

  I supposed I deserved one, now that I'd been caught red-handed. I crossed my arms and sulked in silence.

  By the time we reached the castle, the corridors were silent save for our footsteps. But the faint glow of Holy Light flickered in my doorway—Lumiere was up.

  She rubbed her eyes and blinked at me. "What's going on?"

  Seraphine leaned in and whispered, "Miss Cire did something stupid. Now she's getting punished."

  Lumiere scratched her cheek, yawning nonchantly. "Again?"

  Rocher carried me straight to his room and set me down on the bed. I tried to leave, but he caught me by the waist.

  "I'm not letting you go. You'll just try something reckless again."

  I scoffed. "You're one to talk. You almost killed a man over a misunderstanding. I had things under control."

  Well—mostly. Things were starting to get away from me toward the end, but he didn't need to know that.

  "Cire, please." He exhaled once, his grip tightening. "I'm sorry. I know I overstepped. I'd just feel a lot better knowing that you're here."

  I let my shoulders soften, and only then did he release me.

  I turned and held his face still, guiding his gaze to mine. I studied him for a long moment, daring him to flinch.

  He didn't. He met my eyes with concern, brow drawn tight, the same way Lumiere's got during bad thunderstorms.

  At least he didn't look like he was pnning to do anything stupid.

  "Fine," I said. "I suppose this is part of the punishment too."

  I tugged at my tunic and started pulling it over my head.

  "W-what are you doing!" he sputtered.

  "What do you mean? I'm getting comfortable." I folded my outerwear neatly beside the bed. "You can't expect me to sleep in this. It's filthy. Want me to ruin your sheets?"

  Without another word, he stepped away and rummaged through his closet. A moment ter, a set of silk pajamas nded in my p.

  "Wear that."

  Frowning, I slipped on the shirt and buttoned it up. It hung loosely, the sleeves brushing past my fingertips, but the fabric felt soft and smelled faintly of cedar.

  The pants were hopelessly long, so I didn't bother. The shirt alone covered me well enough, though one sleeve was frayed at the hem. I made a mental note to patch it before returning it. A single loose thread had a way of undoing everything.

  I climbed into bed and pulled the covers over myself. After a moment, Rocher followed suit.

  Several minutes passed. My heartbeat refused to settle, so I had difficulty sleeping. I turned toward him.

  His eyes were closed, but his breathing was still uneven. Another night of insomnia, it seemed.

  I watched him for a while, hoping the rhythm would lull me to sleep. I hadn't noticed how long his eyeshes were.

  A thought occurred to me.

  "Hey, Mister Rocher," I whispered.

  "...Yes?"

  "You're mad because I didn't keep my promise about staying away from men, right?"

  He was silent for a long moment, then turned toward me. "...Among other things."

  I hesitated, then smiled faintly. "Then can you expin what this is right now?"

  He chuckled and pulled me close. His breath brushed my hair.

  "I'm taking advantage of you," he murmured. "Since you're at my mercy tonight."

  "You—!" I bit back the retort. It was clear from his tone he was mocking me; I refused to give him the satisfaction.

  His voice dropped to a whisper, warm against my ear.

  "Use that to soften your punishment tomorrow."