The cold wrought-iron fence gave way beneath me with a gentle groan. I slipped over the top, coat flaring for the briefest moment before I dropped down into the hedgerow of House Irelien's estate.

  Silence.

  I crouched in the shadow of a marble column, eyes scanning the vast lawn and the windows beyond. The mansion loomed ahead like a fossilized relic, its high windows shuttered, its garden lamps unlit. No footsteps on gravel. No distant conversation. Not even the faint clatter of trays or late-night gossip among the help.

  Where are the servants? Surely someone this rich would have some servants roaming around for maintenance.

  Something's off.

  I crept forward, the garden crunching softly beneath my boots. A patch of moonlight passed over the estate's marble face, revealing golden lion-head knockers and a balcony adorned with red banners.

  I scaled the side trellis, boot slipping once on moss-slick stone, then pulled myself onto the second-floor balcony. The window I aimed for - the study window - was exactly where it had been in the man's vision. Same wooden trim. Same slight crack in the frame.

  I eased it open.

  It groaned once, low and discontent, but didn't resist.

  I slipped inside, landing on polished wood. My revolver shifted quietly at my hip.

  The room was just as lavish as I remembered. Ornate shelves. Velvet armchairs. A fireplace that hadn't been lit in days. But again - too clean. No ash. No mess. No scent of food or cologne. No personal marks. It was like a stage set waiting for its actors.

  Still kneeling, I offered a silent apology to my accomplice.

  Sorry, Mary.

  My fingers brushed the floor for stability.

  I had to know for sure. I had to see it with my own eyes.

  I stood, tension coiling in my spine. She'd be furious when she found out. But if what I was about to find was real, I'd be damned before I let us carry this burden blind. I needed to see this with my own eyes.

  I crossed the room in silence. The bookcase was in the far left corner, where the mist-memories had shown it. Beneath the faded oil painting of a hunting hound, tongue too long, eyes too knowing.

  Second shelf. Right side.

  "Empire's Treasury: A Citizen's Guide to Lawful Taxation."

  I slid it free off the shelf, revealing the false back. There was a small indent, and it gave with a faint click.

  Inside -

  A red-sealed letter, wax nearly flaking with age.

  A black envelope. No seal. No name. Just thin paper soaked in menace.

  A silver ring with the crest of the Eastern Empire - a phoenix ablaze in its own flame.

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  This is it.

  I swallowed once. My mood instantly soured, and my eyes were downcast. Mostly anger, mixed with a little anxiety.

  I wanted to take it with me, to decide whether I'd condemn these families to death. So many things hindered on this decision, and the weight was something I felt with every moment.

  Unfortunately, it seemed condemning them was the only route that was left to me.

  As much I liked to deny it, I couldn't desensitize myself to the violence around me, as much as I tried to. If I condemned these families, only I would be to blame, saving Mary from a possible breakdown.

  Than again, I would be responsible.

  If there was one thing clear, the families of these traitorous nobles didn't know of their shortcomings. But if I let these nobles roam free...

  It would still lead to war, except the Empire would be at a disadvantage.

  I couldn't let that happen.

  And if Cassian found out I was the one that withheld this information?

  I would be dead within hours.

  Just as I went to put the book in my jacket, I heard something outside the door, down the hallway in another room. It was faint, but I heard something.

  I wasn't stupid. No person in sight, but as soon as I was in the room, I start to hear activity?

  I was being followed.

  I couldn't take it with me. If they caught me, I'd never get a word out before my head left my shoulders. I needed somewhere no one would look. Not just hidden - but forgotten.

  I stepped over to the fireplace. The ashes were long dead, swept away, but one of the bricks behind the grate was chipped. I tested it.

  Loose.

  I pried it free with my knife. A small cavity waited behind it. Just enough.

  I wrapped the letters and ring in oilskin, tied it off with twine, and slid it into the crevice. Then replaced the brick.

  Perfectly flush.

  I stood slowly, wiped my gloves on my coat, and turned toward the door.

  I stopped.

  The sounds had stopped. Maybe they were in another room, but I wasn't stupid enough to leave it undecided. If I was followed, leaving through the window was out the question.

  That leaves me with the front door.

  My hand reached for the doorknob. Slowly. I was going to peak through the door, and scan for any danger.

  Click.

  The latch turned.

  I opened the door just a crack-

  And instinct screamed.

  Shit-!

  I ducked.

  A fist shot past my head, slamming into the wooden frame with a sickening crack. I surged forward, driving my elbow into the attacker's gut. He grunted, staggered, and I brought my fist across his jaw with a sharp hook.

  He dropped to a knee, gasping.

  I turned to run-

  CRACK.

  Pain exploded at the base of my skull.

  My vision whitewashed, then collapsed inward like paper in flame.

  Another man had come from the side. I never saw him. I didn't expect them to be right outside the door.

  My knees hit the floor. My hands failed to catch me.

  The last thing I saw was the painting of the dog overhead - its eyes still seeming far too human.

  Then darkness swallowed me whole.

  ---

  I woke to pain.

  A throbbing ache behind my eyes. My wrists pulled behind my back, chained tight. Knees pressed against cold marble.

  A coarse bag covered my head. Every breath brought burlap dust into my nose.

  My mind was too groggy, and the throbbing in my head was enough to cause me to rub my temple.

  Which I would've...

  What the...?

  If I wasn't chained up. Every single tug produced a clashing metallic sound.

  Voices murmured around me, muffled but sharp.

  "…not proper channels…"

  "…working with foreign interests…"

  "...told them not to drink it..."

  "…doesn't matter. He's a threat."

  I didn't need to see the faces to know the type. Highborn voices. Sneering righteousness. The smell of perfume trying to cover fear.

  Then the bag was yanked free.

  Light stabbed my eyes. I closed my eyes, trying hard to adjust to the new light in the room.

  Twelve nobles sat in seats high above me, dressed in ceremonial robes of black and crimson. Behind them, banners hung with the crests of half-forgotten houses -minor families and families not associated with the military - with outsized ambition and bloodlines long past their prime.

  We were in a courthouse. Except, none of the lights were on, and the only illumination was the faint moonlight seeping through the windows.

  Almost as if they didn't want anyone knowing we were here.

  And at the center, seated on a stone dais, was Lord Arken Talvarien. The head of the judiciary of the city. A judge.

  And one of Arthur's main political rivals.

  His lip curled.

  "Well, well. The little commoner crawled too far, didn't he?"

  My vision finally sharpened.

  No Cassian. No Mary. No soldiers. No witnesses.

  Just me.

  And the wolves.

  Oh, piss off.