She frowned. “It’s… layered on?” Her hands hovered just above the base of the statue. “There’s a lot of you here, Emmaline.”
“Well, yeah.” Emmaline wrinkled her nose. “I was here.”
“No.” Cassidy’s brows furrowed deeper. “I mean a lot of you. Way too much for a single moment in time. It’s painted over the whole area like… like he took a handful of you and just coated it on.”
“So, he just dumped residue of my essence all over the crime scene and figured that’d be enough to crucify me with iron?” Emmaline’s gut twisted. “That arrogant, lazy, prick.”
Cassidy nodded slowly. “Sloppy. But paired with a confession and… any essence you would have left in the manor? It would be enough. Especially if the nobles are involved.”
Emmaline pressed her fingers against her temple, resisting the urge to laugh at the utter lack of subtlety. “Bastard.”
Cassidy stepped back, placing a hand on her hip. “Well, at least we know what we’re dealing with.”
Emmaline hopped down from the statue, brushing the dust from her dress. “Can you undo it?”
“Lara can clean it. It’s not complicated. I’ll come back out with her tonight.” Cassidy rubbed a hand over her face. “You said he’s usually gone until early morning every Wednesday night?”
“Yes.” Emmaline crossed her arms. “He has a standing appointment at the House of Midnight Pleasures.”
Cassidy’s brows shot high. “Wait. Madame Whisper’s?”
“Yes.” Emmaline’s mouth flattened before she sighed. “Madame Whisper’s House of Midnight Pleasures.”
Cassidy let out a low whistle. “That’s a brothel.”
“It is.” Emmaline started walking back the way they came, her steps brisk now that stealth wasn’t necessary.
“And you knew he went there? Regularly?”
“Yes.”
Cassidy hurried to catch up. “And you still thought he was your mate?”
Emmaline clenched her jaw. “Yes, Cassidy. I think we’ve established that I’m both delusional and an idiot. No need to rub it in.”
“That’s not what I meant!” Cassidy shook her head. “It’s just—you’re you, Emmaline. You analyze everything. You plan everything. You don’t just jump into things blindly. This doesn’t sound like you.”
Silence stretched between them.
Cassidy was right. She was usually careful, meticulous, even. She never made choices without understanding every angle, everyconsequence. And yet, with Caelith, she’d hurled herself headfirst into a fantasy, ignoring every sign, every inconsistency, every red flag waving in her face.
“I guess I just wanted it so bad.” Her voice was quiet, brittle at the edges.
“Caelith?” Cassidy asked.
“No. Just the idea of him.”
Beside her, Cassidy leaned in, her shoulder nudging against Emmaline’s.
Their footsteps fell in sync, steady and unbroken, a wordless conversation of their own. Emmaline kept her gaze ahead, fingers hanging loosely at her sides.
Finally, she exhaled. “My parents were mates.”
Cassidy slowed. Emmaline didn’t talk about her family. Not since the War. Not since she lost them.
“Really?” Cassidy’s voice was gentle. “Mate bonds were rare even before the War.”
Emmaline’s throat bobbed, unable to confirm with words.
