Soon enough, we’re gathered in Command.

  A central table dominates the room. Lucius sits at its head with the three captains, while the rest of us take benches along the walls. Only the Chariot Squad has been summoned in full. Aside from us, Leonie is present—along with a Shield Squad member I recognize from Til’s unit.

  Signora sits at the table as well, her eyes flicking briefly toward me, a confident smirk playing on her lips.

  “We are ready,” Lucius says, already impatient. “Captain Ulric. Begin.”

  “At once, sir.” Ulric bows his head and rises.

  “The Chariot Squad accepted a contract issued by the Nura estate. Said contract was reviewed by the Aureate and rendered legal under council law.”

  He pauses, glancing around the room.

  “During transit, we encountered another caravan and elected to combine resources for mutual protection.”

  “We escorted a sealed carriage from Vellaris through the eastern chain, with final delivery to Yunhai. We suffered no injuries requiring leave.”

  He inclines his head toward Lucius.

  “And you remained after delivery,” Lucius says pointedly. “Why?”

  Ulric hesitates. “Imone—and one of the travelers we worked alongside—requested to stay. As our client offered food and lodging, I judged it cost-effective.” A pause. “The ceremony also seemed like reasonable recreation for the squad.”

  Lucius’s gaze shifts to me. “Imone. Elaborate.”

  I rise immediately. “One of the estate’s residents proved relevant to my research, sir.”

  He studies me for several long seconds before nodding. I sit.

  “Proceed.”

  “Said individual became hostile once the contents of the carriage were revealed,” Ulric continues grimly. “She killed the entire eastern delegation and most of her own staff.”

  “The contents?” Lucius asks.

  “A… snake statue, sir.”

  “Cinnatoria.”

  Cinna stands at once. “We believe it was not merely a statue, but a construct. Given the Nura estate’s known golemancy, the conclusion is difficult to avoid. The issue is that she absorbed it and—”

  Lucius raises a hand.

  “We’ll avoid minutiae for now.” He leans back. “Captain Ulric. You engaged the hostile?”

  “Yes, sir. We sustained injuries, but were assisted by—” He gestures toward Signora. “Relief during combat, first aid, lodging, and provisions.”

  “The hostile was secured afterward and remains in her custody.”

  Lucius grunts softly. Signora remains silent—and visibly pleased.

  “Afterward,” Ulric says, “we recovered a teleport crystal from the cart. Activation transported us to the site where we faced our previous bounty.” He glances briefly toward me.

  “It was there we confirmed that at least one of the prior foes was a construct, deployed to guard the final target.”

  Lucius exhales, displeased.

  “Let’s be honest, old chum,” Signora cuts in, leaning on the table. “Edgar is well and truly in your business now. You can’t sit this one out when he’s gone and killed five of yours.”

  “What the hell?” Saria snaps, slamming her palm down.

  “Connect the dots, girlie,” Signora replies smoothly. “Clear as rain.”

  “We also have reason to believe Edgar may be linked to the deaths of the eastern delegates,” Ulric says, his voice faltering. “The individual in question was alleged to be Edgar’s—”

  “Lab rat. Pet project. Call it what you like,” Signora cuts in easily. “Been watchin’ her for a while. Soon as they shipped her east, I followed.”

  “I’m going to fuck up that geezer,” Saria snarls, shoving back her chair. “Just give the order, boss. The Lancers are ready.”

  “The moment you touch that man, the Aureate will be upon us,” Lucius replies coolly, ignoring her glare.

  “Need to play by their twisted rules, girlie,” Signora says, stepping closer to Saria, a hand settling on her shoulder. “Let me teach you. I’ll give you plenty of chances to stab ’em where it hurts.”

  Saria glances up at her, confused—but she doesn’t pull away.

  “So,” she mutters, sitting back down. “What are we doing, then?”

  “That,” Lucius replies evenly, “is what we are determining. Captain Saria.”

  He turns. “Captain Tilemachos. You’ve been quiet. Your thoughts.”

  Til’s gaze flicks to me, narrowing slightly. I manage a smile; it comes out awkward.

  “Lady Wyrda… Signora…” Tilemachos rises, straightening his shirt. “What should I call you?”

  “Whatever you like, my boy,” she says with a grin. “Call me honey, if you want.”

  “Signora,” he decides politely. “It sounds more appropriate.”

  Same old Til. You could get drunk, throw yourself at him, and his first instinct would still be to hand you water so you didn’t wake up with a headache.

  “I believe we should examine the details now, sir,” he continues, expression sober. “There are too many correlations to ignore. But we don’t yet know if Edgar himself ordered the attack.”

  His eyes flick to me again.

  “We should proceed cautiously. I apologize for the vagueness—but my instinct tells me this goes beyond a single man.”

  He sits. Lucius remains silent for a long moment.

  “Thank you, Captain Tilemachos.” Lucius exhales. “Captain Ulric—why was Edgar’s involvement in our previous operation not reported?”

  Ulric stiffens.

  “That was my fault, sir.” I stand quickly, every gaze turning to me.

  “I was overwhelmed. I didn’t follow protocol.”

  My eyes drop to the floor.

  “She is your responsibility, Captain,” Lucius says coldly. “Had this information been submitted earlier, this matter might already be resolved.”

  I sit. Ulric nods once.

  Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Expect repercussions.”

  Lucius turns back to the table. “Wyrda. What makes you so certain Edgar is involved?”

  “While you withdrew into your shell,” Signora replies smoothly, “I kept climbing. I was invited to the Concord.”

  She inclines her head, the moment already behind her.

  “At the Academy exhibition, Edgar proudly displayed his pet project. A unique lifeform—able to drain Vire from the living and convert it. He used what he learned from dissecting her to improve his dolls.”

  She dismisses the thought with a flick of her fingers.

  “Council-backed. The latest exhibition had him gifting dolls to every councilor present.”

  Her gaze sharpens.

  “Which makes it very likely that sending the girl east was a council decision. Edgar gains nothing from razing a place he’s never set foot in.”

  Lucius leans back, eyes closed. Silence stretches.

  When he opens them, his gaze sweeps the room.

  “We will put this to a vote. Captain Ulric—your voting rights are suspended for this meeting.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “My vote,” Lucius continues, “is non-intervention. We report our concerns to the Aureate and proceed only under their guidance.”

  He turns to Saria and Tilemachos.

  “That bastard killed Eleni. He killed Zeno,” Saria snaps, slamming the table. “And you want to sit on your hands?”

  Lucius does not flinch. His gaze moves to Til.

  “Commander Tilemachos. The decision is yours.”

  Til rises slowly, surveying the room. When his eyes meet mine, they linger. I look away.

  “Under any other circumstances,” he says carefully, “I would agree with you, sir. Any other.”

  He straightens.

  “But the Chariot Squad was singled out. Our mercenaries are being targeted.”

  A nod.

  “My vote is to intervene. Actively.”

  Lucius’s gaze flicks to me—brief, measuring—then returns to the table.

  “Wyrda,” he says flatly. “You mentioned a proposal.”

  “Well, well, well,” she drawls as she leans back into her seat. “What do you do when your enemy holds a position so strong that no matter what you try, they start with the advantage?”

  She spreads her hands wide.

  “Spare us the theatrics, Wyrda,” Lucius says curtly. “Speak plainly.”

  “Oh, my dear chum,” she chuckles softly. “The theatrics are the point.”

  She leans forward again, elbows resting on the table.

  “What do you think happens if we simply insert ourselves into the same circles as Edgar—shake hands with all his favorite friends, smile for all the people he’s desperate to impress… and never act against him at all?”

  Her lips curl.

  “After what he pulled? He won’t be able to convince himself it means nothing. He’ll start to panic.” She clicks her tongue. “And when he does?”

  “I kind of like that,” Saria says with a sharp grin, slamming a fist into her open palm. “Let the bastard sweat. Knowing we’re there and not knowing when we’ll strike.”

  Lucius waves a hand dismissively. “Specifics, Wyrda. We do not command that level of prestige.”

  “I have favors to spend,” Signora replies easily. “Friends who loathe official functions, yet attend anyway—just to stay informed. Others who wouldn’t mind sitting one out for the right incentive.”

  She clasps her hands together atop the table.

  “In two days, it will be Lady Lioren’s birthday. Her dear uncle is quite eager to parade her before every notable figure in Vellaris so the suitors start lining up.”

  Her gaze flicks around the room.

  “I can get four of you in,” she adds lightly. “Aside from myself. And of course—your dates.” She winks.

  Lucius grunts, displeased. After a long moment, he exhales.

  “This plan is… acceptable.” He rubs his temple. “We attend. We take no action against the Nuras. Perhaps I will use the occasion to promote our interests and confer with allies.”

  “Don’t look so glum, old chum,” Signora teases. “You’ll look dashing once you put in the effort.”

  Lucius pointedly ignores her.

  “That settled—captains, objections?”

  “None, sir,” Ulric answers promptly.

  “Sounds like fun to me.” Saria adds.

  “…Captain Tilemachos?”

  Til hesitates. His expression tightens, like he’s tasted something sour when he wasn’t expecting it.

  “Sir,” he says carefully, straightening his shirt. “A… ball?” He clears his throat. “I will defer to your judgment, Commander.”

  As he finishes, his eyes flick briefly across the room. They land on me for a heartbeat before I look away.

  “Very well,” Lucius says. “I will spend the remainder of the day conferring strategy with our…” He hesitates, then exhales heavily. “…guest.”

  He stands. “You are dismissed. I may require your presence tomorrow—remain within reach.”

  Ulric rises and makes his way toward us, shoulders heavy with fatigue.

  “Captain—good work,” I say quickly. “And… sorry about the scolding.”

  He waves it off.

  “Tonight, I’m going back to my room,” he mutters. “And pretending the world outside doesn’t exist.” A sigh. “We’ll talk tomorrow.”

  “I mean,” I add awkwardly, “a ball doesn’t sound so bad. Could be… relaxing?”

  Ulric winces. “Right. That.” He glances at Cinna. “Would you mind?”

  Veil looks positively miserable, ears twitching, and says nothing.

  Cinna nods easily. “Vellarian high society is very… traditional,” she explains as she looks toward me. “It’s complicated. We should avoid causing a scandal.”

  Oh.

  “Then you won’t mind me taking our pretty boy myself, right, ’ric?” Saria grins, looping an arm through Veil’s.

  Veil lets out a low, wounded grunt. “Tha’s just cruel, that.”

  Ulric visibly deflates. “He’s right there. Talk to him. I’m going to my room.”

  He turns to leave—only for Til to step in.

  “Captain Ulric, may I—”

  “Can’t hear it. Don’t care. Tomorrow.” Ulric walks off, pace quickening.

  Saria drags Veil away. Cinna, alarmed, hurries after them.

  Til approaches me and Cattleya. Leonie glances our way before following Saria.

  Cattleya frowns. Til offers an awkward smile.

  “Quite a turn of events,” I say, trying to lighten the mood. “When was the last time you attended a ball?”

  “You’d know better than most,” he replies, just as awkward. “Same time you did.”

  Heat rises to my cheeks. Gods. That must have sounded strange.

  “So—well…” he starts, searching for footing.

  His words trail off as Cattleya stares at him. He glances her way, silent for a long moment. I follow his gaze.

  Her jaw is tight, nostrils faintly flared. Not fear—resolve. The kind she wears when she’s ready to face something head-on.

  “Cat?” I murmur, reaching for her shoulder, touch gentle.

  The tension drains from her almost at once, replaced by something softer. Sadder. She looks away.

  My chest tightens.

  “Cattleya, dear—please?” Signora calls, beckoning her closer.

  I look back. Signora’s smile is apologetic. Careful.

  Cattleya grumbles under her breath. Her fingers catch my sleeve, tugging once—awkward, reluctant—before she turns and walks away.

  Cat…

  “You’ve made good friends,” Til says quietly. He steps closer, resting a hand against my back. “Dinner? Nothing fancy. Come as you are.”

  I glance toward Cattleya and Signora. They’re too far now to hear.

  “Yeah,” I say, after a moment. “Yeah. That sounds fine.”

  He guides me toward the stairs. Once we reach them, his hand slips away.

  The streets of Vellaris are calm tonight. Peaceful—nothing like last time. My thoughts drift back to Cattleya. What she’s doing. Why Signora looked at me like that.

  So lost in it that I only notice, late, how Til has been subtly shielding me—walking half a step ahead, easing us through the crowd. I follow in his wake.

  We stop at a tavern. Warm light spills out. Live music hums inside—a violin carrying the melody. For a moment, I imagine Cattleya standing there, tail swaying with the rhythm.

  “I wasn’t expecting this,” Til admits softly, surveying the well-dressed patrons. “I thought tonight would be… just another night.”

  “It’s fine,” I tease. “It’s not like we care about appearances, right? Remember that pasta place after the beach? We were still damp, sand everywhere. The waiters stared—but they served us anyway.”

  I chuckle. The memory helps.

  Til laughs too and leads me to a table, waiting—as always—for me to sit first.

  “It’s good,” he says, waving a waitress over for menus. “Remembering things like that. This past year it’s been nothing but work. No time to breathe.”

  “What?” I grin. “Getting you to relax was hard even back then. You showed up to that party in full armor and called the waiter sir.”

  He flushes, just a little.

  “I’ve changed,” he says. “But so have you.” His smile softens. “I’ve never seen you that close with anyone before. You told me about your old friends—I believed you. But seeing it…” He pauses. “I’m happy for you.”

  “Things have been good,” I say easily. And I mean it.

  I set the menu down—and only then notice his hands, gently enclosing mine. His thumbs trace slow, careful circles.

  “Will you be my partner at the ball?” he asks, voice low.

  My eyes widen. My thoughts lag behind the words.

  “Til…”