Crystal chandeliers bathed the ballroom in soft golden light, scattering over polished marble floors and velvet-draped balconies.

  Nobles in silks and brocades clustered beneath the glow, their voices weaving into a tapestry of murmured deals and muted ughter. A string quartet pyed something delicate in the corner, the notes sharp and brittle as gss.

  Lea moved like a shadow at Dawn's side, her mask shifting with its restless inkblots, reflecting faces like a living Rorschach.

  Her new outfit was subtle, fitted with steampunk trims, and allowed her to blend seamlessly with the court. To everyone else, she was just another exotic retainer in the princess's entourage.

  But her eyes never stopped scanning. Every smile, every flick of a hand fan, every twitch of an eyebrow radiated an emotion she filed away in silence.

  "Over there.", Dawn's voice was low, her expression perfectly composed as she sipped from a gss of wine, "The man in the navy coat with the silver csp. That's Baron Veynar."

  Lea followed her gaze. The Baron stood near the center of the ballroom, fnked by ftterers. His coat was lined with expensive embroidery, his posture proud and polished.

  But even at this distance, Lea felt the rot under the charm. His emotions pulsed like a bck tide beneath a calm surface... arrogance, hunger, something mean and bitter simmering below.

  "I see him.", she murmured softly, just loud enough for Dawn. Her hand brushed her parasol's handle, feeling the weight of Hastur hidden within.

  The nobles around them chattered, their words a swirl of names and terms that meant little to her.

  Trade tariffs, "charity" projects, whispers about the Cathedral in the Eastern Provinces, old grudges dressed as diplomacy.

  Lea listened, her head tilting slightly. So many alliances, so many betrayals dressed in silk. She tried to map it in her mind, but the threads knotted too quickly.

  A small ugh escaped her before she caught it. For once, she was gd that her parents betrayed the crown, or she'd have to mingle amongst these people.

  This world was so far from the one she had grown up in. Quiet stone halls of her hometown's church, warm bread, dull but honest lives before Akasha Monodrama burned it all into ash.

  She pressed the thought down and forced her gaze back to the Baron.

  He was smiling at some comment. Laughing at some joke. And behind it all, Lea pictured him as he truly was.

  Chains in his hands, children bound in his "charity homes", the stink of false virtue clinging to his skin.

  Her pulse quickened as the idea began to form. Her Third Step was not brute force. Not even a direct strike.

  She wanted him to destroy himself, step into the pit she dug, without ever realizing she was the one holding the rope.

  Make him paranoid.Make him dream of his sins until he woke up screaming.Make him believe his allies were plotting against him.Make him drink from the poison of his own guilt until he saw only one escape left.

  Her fingers flexed at her side. Hastur was there if she needed it. The talismans were tucked into hidden folds of her dress. She had all the tools. But the timing… that had to be perfect.

  From the corner of her mask, her inkblots shifted like dark wings as she smiled faintly to herself.

  The Baron drifted through the ballroom like a shark among gilded fish, his silver csp fshing under the chandeliers as he ughed too loudly at every jest.

  Nobles clustered close to him, eager to soak up favor, but Lea could feel the bitterness underneath each polished word.

  Dawn tugged at her sleeve lightly, then moved forward with the grace of royalty.

  Her smile was warm, her amber eyes bright, her voice carefully pitched to catch the right ears. Lea followed in silence, always one step behind, the bck-ink mask giving her an air of mystery.

  They didn't approach the Baron directly. Instead, she engaged with the ring of nobles orbiting him, drifting into the circle at the edges, pnting herself just close enough to be noticed, just far enough to be untouchable.

  "Lady Dawn, a pleasure to see you here.", one noble greeted, bowing.

  "The pleasure is mine.", Dawn replied smoothly, her tone rich with subtle authority, "It has been far too long since I've seen this hall so lively."

  As Dawn charmed and wove her way into the conversation, Lea remained still, a shadow among silks.

  Her eyes narrowed behind the mask, fixed not on the nobles' words but on the emotions spilling from them, jealousy, greed, insecurity, hunger. All swirling around Baron Veynar like flies around meat. As if he has some dirt on each and every one of them.

  Her pulse steadied. This was the moment.

  She closed her eyes, drawing on the twisted essence of Malediction, letting her words sharpen into invisible knives. Then silently applies vocal dey and distortion Hexes to herself. Then, silently, she unleashed the Mockery.

  A voice rang out, small enough for them to think that it was their own inner voice. As if it were their own doubts, their own insecurities turned outward.

  "How many more children must you chain before someone calls it justice?"

  Baron Veynar stiffened, his smile faltering for the briefest moment. The goblet in his hand trembled before he caught himself.

  But the Mockery didn't stop there. Lea felt the pull, uncontrolled, cutting into others nearby.

  A noblewoman's hand went white around her fan, her eyes darting nervously at her companions. Another man coughed hard into his wine, muttering under his breath.

  Even a few paces away, someone turned pale, gncing over his shoulder as if stalked by unseen shadows.

  Lea's eyes widened behind the mask. She hadn't meant for it to spread this far. Malediction's power twisted eagerly, biting wherever it found weakness.

  Careful… too much and she'd burn the entire room.

  She forced herself to pull back, narrowing her focus back onto Baron Veynar. Although with how many reacted, it made Lea concerned about the future of this country, a few purges would do it. But her family was one of those purged before, she has no right to talk, as a fallen noble and a foreigner.

  The Baron's lips were tight, his expression carefully schooled back into charm, but Lea saw the crack. His emotions writhed: humiliation, suspicion, a flicker of fear.

  Dawn's voice cut through the tension with perfect timing, smooth and unbothered.

  She began pleasantly, inclining her head just so, "Baron Veynar, it is always a delight to see the pilrs of our kingdom standing strong."

  Lea smirked faintly beneath her mask. The Baron bowed his head in return, but his hand gripped his goblet too hard, the faintest crack spidering across the gss.

  Her first cut had nded.

  But the echoes of her Mockery lingered across the circle of nobles, eyes narrowing, whispers stirring like dry leaves. Lea held herself still, a cold knot forming in her stomach.

  Dawn's tone never wavered, smooth as honey, "The capital is thriving this season. Trade flows strongly, and the nobility united. It must be reassuring to know that men like you keep their hands steady on the scales of bance."

  Baron Veynar chuckled, though his ugh came a shade too te, "Ah, Your Highness ftters me. I do only what is expected."

  Lea, masked and silent, tilted her head. She murmured under her breath, the sound twisted by her hexes, stretched thin and jagged until only he would hear it.

  "You mean what profits you. Not what is just."

  Veynar's eyes flickered, but his smile held. He raised his goblet again, only to realize it was already empty.

  Dawn leaned in, her amber eyes keen, "And I hear your phinthropy continues to draw admiration. Your orphan houses, especially. Such noble generosity."

  The Baron cleared his throat, shoulders straightening, "Ye— Yes, the houses. It warms my heart to give the lost children of Ryteline a pce to belong."

  Lea's voice slithered again, soft, venomous.

  "A pce to break. A pce to serve. A pce they never escape."

  The Baron's knuckles went white around the empty gss. A servant hurried to refill it, and he drank quickly, as though the wine might drown the echo in his head.

  Dawn smiled, radiant and practiced, "You must be proud. Not all men shoulder such burdens for the common good."

  Lea struck again, sharper.

  "You shoulder nothing. You chain them. You fatten yourself on their silence."

  This time, his smile cracked. For a second, the mask slipped, showing an edge of irritation, a fsh of teeth too sharp to be charming.

  One of the nobles nearby noticed, whispering to another. Veynar caught himself, cleared his throat, and forced a grin, "The good of the realm demands sacrifice. If the lower csses are not guided, they drift into ruin."

  Dawn tilted her head, feigning interest, "Guidance is indeed a heavy duty."

  Lea whispered, low and merciless.

  "Guidance. Is that what you call the whip?"

  Veynar's hand shook. Wine spshed over the rim of his goblet. A ripple passed through the circle of nobles, gnces exchanged, whispers rising again.

  Lea felt the Malediction coil, hungering to spread further, to bite at every weakness it sensed. But she forced her focus narrow, sharp as a needlepoint, drilling into him alone.

  The Baron licked his lips, jaw tight, trying to ugh off the unease, "Yes… heavy indeed."

  Dawn didn't miss the shift. She leaned in a fraction closer, her smile gracious, her voice kind enough to cut gss, "I look forward to seeing more of your… noble works, Baron. The realm is always watching."

  Lea pressed her final whisper into him like a knife slipped between his ribs.

  "And when they see, they'll know. Every chain. Every child. Every sin... They'll know."

  The Baron's breath hitched. His face had gone pale beneath the candlelight, sweat beading at his temple despite the cool air.

  And Lea, hidden behind the mask, felt her pulse quicken again. This wasn't just working. It was exhirating.

  =0=0=

  The steam car hissed and sighed beneath them, brass valves ticking like a slow heartbeat. Dawn stood at the carriage door, hand on the polished rail, her coat fring with the motion. She gave Lea a quick nod and stepped down into the pace courtyard, swallowed by torchlight and silk.

  The driver gnced at Lea with a respectful, practiced politeness, "Where to, miss?"

  "To the house assigned to me.", Lea answered ftly, voice small in the cavernous cabin but steady enough. Her mask's ink-shapes shifted faintly as the city lights slid past outside.

  The car jolted, then rolled away from the pace. The ride was silent save for the hiss of steam and the creak of leather.

  Lea watched Ryteline's skyline blur with gears and smokestacks, spires crowned with copper, streets threaded with rails. Her mind, though, had already left the view... returning to the ballroom, to Veynar's smile and the tiny cracks she had widened.

  When the driver set her down in front of the modest townhouse allocated by Auger, the mp over the door threw a pale pool of light.

  Entering, she saw her luggage already delivered. Although Lea dislikes his antics, when it comes to serious business, Auger is no slouch.

  It smelled faintly of oil and old wood. A house fit for a shadow, respectable on the outside, unremarkable enough to be ignored.

  Lea climbed the stone steps two at a time, boots silent, and let the door close behind her. Inside, the room was small and simply furnished, a narrow bed, a table with a single candle, a wardrobe with space for the outfits she'd bought.

  She left the parasol propped by the wall and sat at the table, the candlelight catching the edge of her rapier where it leaned against the chair.

  She began to pn.

  First rule, Cloak requires to remain unknown for the entire duration. No face revealed to the victim. No recognized sigils, no repeating patterns a sharp-eyed servant might trace. The mask helped; its power of illusion would confound witnesses. But masks could catch a stray gnce from a servant's memory.

  She listed options on a folded scrap of paper, each line tightened into something practical and ugly:

  Talismans at key points, the Baron's carriage, his private study, the charity house's back entrance. Sickness for wear, insomnia for fracture, paranoia for the slow rot. All silent, all anonymous—activated remotely by her Brands only when the pattern was right.

  Servant-access route, learn the household roster, the schedules. A disgruntled servant was worth more than a bde. Coerce or bribe—prefer the tter. A man with debts and no name in the city ledger will talk.

  The infrastructure of the manor was old; celrs were probably connected to service tunnels and refuse runs. Seize a nightside map (or make one) to slip through where the lights would be few to make use of her darkness affinity.

  Psychological strikes, not physical brawls: sow doubt publicly through hints, anonymous notes, staged "discoveries". Make the Baron think the world is watching him with honest disgust.

  She touched the corner of the table where she had hidden one of her new Hex talismans, which were inked with fever sigils. It warmed in her palm like a heart.

  Hastur's bde hummed faintly from the parasol. This ritual required anonymity, but it did not forbid precision.

  Her mouth twitched into the faintest smile.

  "Do harm… but stay out of reach.", she whispered, testing the phrase like a charm. She was beginning to become that very same hero Lady Keter named her after.

  She drew a quick map from memory... the ballroom entrance, service alley, where the Baron had stood. She marked windows, servants' paths, and likely pces a talisman could be tossed without being seen.

  A step-by-step pn was formed. No grand gestures nor public spectacle that would point back to her. Cloak demanded invisibility; the very soul of a good Malediction strike was to make the wound look like fate.

  Outside, the night deepened. The candle guttered once, then held. Lea folded the paper and slipped it into the inner pocket of her jacket. She stood, checked Hastur's bance by touch, felt the tiny tremor of power beneath its skin. Then, without fanfare, she moved to the window and peered at the empty street.

  For the first time since the Tome of Light and the circus, she felt the particur cold thrill of a new kind of work: a pn that would consume a man from the inside out without a trace of her hand.

  It was cruel. It was meticulous.

  It was hers.

  She closed the shutters and let the house cim its darkness. Tonight, she wouldn't sleep and let the hunt go on, keeping the pressure.