Page 70 of Smoke, Mirrors, & Misdemeanours

“It’s Ark,” he said gently. “He’s been injured.”

The words struck clean through.

“How badly?” she asked, already reaching for her coat by the wall.

“Bad enough,” Caius said carefully, eyes tracking her every movement. “You are a Kitchen Witch with healing skills. Can you help?”

She didn’t hesitate. “Matilde,” she called over her shoulder. “You’re in charge until I return. Keep the children inside.”

The woman looked up. “But—what about the children’s skating trip this evening?”

Cassia glanced at the clock. One PM. The bus would pick them up at five.

“I’ll be back before then,” she said, rushing back to the kitchen to pour some bone broth into an insulated jar and tucked it into her bag.

She didn’t even button her coat before she was out the door. The chill bit at her skin, but she didn’t care. Caius fell into step beside her as they crossed the street and entered Eldryn Gardens. She matched his brisk pace, her heart thudding louder than her boots against the pavement.

“What happened?” she asked.

“There was . . . an accident,” Caius said, gaze fixed ahead. “During a job.”

She frowned. “What kind of job?”

He glanced at her. “He never told you?”

“No. He’s good at deflecting.”

Caius offered a flicker of a smile. “That he is.”

The path narrowed, and just beyond, the spires of the Elf District rose in pale stone and stained glass, catching the afternoon light.

“Is he badly hurt?” she asked.

“He’s stable. But what he’d come up against . . . it wasn’t gentle.”

Caius veered off the main path, guiding her toward a quiet street that edged the Elf District. Cassia glanced around. Despite the proximity to central Angelene, the street was quiet. Caius stopped in front of a derelict building on a small plot of land between two rows of townhouses. It looked long abandoned—its stone façade streaked with browning ivy, the shutters askew. The windows were cloudy with dust, panes smudged as though the building had been forgotten for decades.

Cassia stared, brows knitting. “This is it?”

He offered a faint, sheepish smile. “I do apologize about the entrance. Pardon me.” He reached for her elbow, firm enough only to guide. She resisted, feet rooted to the pavement, gaze flicking to his hand and back to his face.

She was achingly aware she was about to intrude upon Arkenoth’s private life, the part he had hidden away from prying eyes. Whatever lay beyond the door, it wasn’t meant for her.

“Should I even be here,” she whispered, “when our engagement isn’t real?”

He looked at her for a moment. Then, quietly: “Just before he fainted, the only name he uttered was yours.”

Cassia went still. The words sank, and she was aware of their significance: in that brief moment while darkness dragged him under, he’d called out to her.

She gave a firm nod. Caius opened the door and pulled her inside.

The moment she stepped through the door, the world shifted. A rush of vertigo washed over her—magic rippling like a velvet curtain pulled back. In the blink of an eye, she went from cracked flagstone and dust to warmth and stillness. The space inside was breathtaking: all dark wood and green velvet, with a soft ambient glow from sconces shaped like gilded wings. She breathed in cedar and ink and old parchment. Masculine, comforting, and unmistakably . . . him.

She didn’t have time to ask anything, couldn’t even take it all in, because her eyes caught something on the floor near the entryway.

Blood—just a few drops, dark and beginning to dry.

Her stomach churned.