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Before Remy can respond to my comment, a tiny figure scampers up to us. The child is too small to be Jessa, and she’s the youngest person I have in my employ.
My eyes dart questioningly to the filthy face of what I’m fairly certain is a young boy. I might think he was here to pickpocket my earnings for the day, but mingled in with the dirt caked onto his cheeks is the unmistakable track of tears.
I lift his chin, studying him for any injuries while he looks back with fear in his eyes.
A group of nobles passes by with disgusted expressions, as if the child is rabid and might lash out at any moment. Remy shifts, turning us away from their prying eyes and gently guiding us to an alley near the cobblers.
People like that are the reason I prefer to be Gemma. It’s been more than eight years since I was on the streets, but the nobles are exactly the same.
I shove aside those thoughts and the feelings that creep in with them, focusing on the boy.
Fresh, silent tears track down his face as I bend down again to get on his level.
“What is it?” Wariness sharpens my tone, and I try to will my face into something a bit softer.
The boy’s blue eyes well up. “Jessa said — she said I should tell you, if—” He stops, sniffling.
I try for a gentler voice. “To tell me what?”
“If she dis—dis—a—”
Dread pools in my stomach. “Disappeared?”
The boy nods, and I curse. It doesn’t escape my grasp that in my work for Madame, I have contributed to this very situation.
And now another girl has been taken.
For some reason, images of Zaina flood my mind. Slavers didn’t take her, but she was traded all the same while I did nothing to stop it from happening.
“Where did you last see her?” My tone is nowhere near gentle now. It’s quiet, lethal, and already dripping with the promise of what will happen to the slavers I haven’t had time to deal with yet.
Suddenly, I have all the time in the world.
