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I could not let myself fall for this.

“We need to leave,” I said, turning my head away as his hand fell back to his side.

He cleared his throat, dragging a hand through his hair. “Lead the way.”

WetetheredtoFolkveinStreet, landing in a shadowed alleyway between Rinbridge Inn and Grimehal Tavern. It was still early and night had not fully slipped into the sky, which meant we would have time to find our targets before we needed to act. My eyes caught on Cyloe perching on the roof of the inn as I shed my skin.

“We should split up for a few hours, gather whatever intel we can find on what target will make the most ripples, and meet in Grimehal to make a plan,” I said, lifting the hood of my cloak over my now auburn curls. “Cyloe will go with you. If you need me, she will come find me.”

Dukovich nodded as I glanced over my shoulder at him and my heart stuttered in my chest as his eyes caught mine.

“Be careful, love,” was all he said as he slipped into the shadows.

I took a deep breath, forcing myself to focus as I slipped on to the growing crowd filling the streets. Merchants were setting up their booths for the nightly rush as my eyes scanned the buildings lining each side of the road. For now, I would find the most crowded establishment and listen for any whispers of events happening tonight.

I weaved through the throng of people, keeping my head down and my ears sharp. The din of laughter, chatter, and music filled the air as I passed by tavern after tavern, each one more crowded than the last. My eyes focused on Millstrong. It was the rowdiest of them all, and just like I had expected, it was already full to the brim with men stumbling out of it—drunk before the night had even begun. Light from the open windows and raised voices spilled out onto the street as I slipped inside. The musty smell of ale and sweat hit me like a wall, assaulting my senses as I made my way to the far corner.

These men were fucking disgusting.

Drinking, fornicating, and never bothering to shower off the stench of their nightly activities. The smell of them alone was enough to make me want to spill their blood.

I slid into the chair, my back facing the worn stone wall and a small window as I pulled the hood further over my face. I had never worn this skin in Sethros before, but I wouldn’t take any chances.

A group of men, clearly deep in their cups, sat at the adjacent table. Their boisterous conversation drifted over to me in slurred fragments.

“I tell ya, Lord Varek is in the city. Saw him myself, ridin’ in with his fancy entourage. The prick shut down the whole street,” one man drawled, slamming his tankard on the sticky tabletop for emphasis.

“Aye. I heard he’s headed to some ball at the House of High tonight. Somethin’ about a last celebration before war,” another man at the table slurred. “All the cunts of the realm will be there, dressed in their finest, to celebrate a fight they don’t have the balls to participate in.”

A barmaid approached as I listened, her face tired and drawn. “What’ll it be darlin’?” she asked, her voice rough.

“Just an ale,” I replied, keeping my voice low. She nodded, disappearing back into the crowd as a woman approached the table directly in front of me.

I watched as she lowered her hood, anxiously looking around the tavern. Her mossy eyes locked on mine and I froze. There was something familiar about her, but I couldn’t place her—didn’t recognize her face. She smiled softly as she approached me and my spine straightened.

“Hi.” Her voice was soft, shaking slightly at the edges, and I could see beads of sweat building around her chestnut hairline. “Could I borrow this?” she asked, wrapping her slim fingersaround the back of the empty chair across from me. I nodded, gesturing my head toward it without speaking.

“Thank you,” she said with a small smile as she pulled it from the table and dragged it over to her own.

I didn’t know how, or from where, but I knew her.

I angled my head so that my hood covered my eyes from her view, while still being able to watch her from under it. She wasn’t supposed to be here, I could tell by the way her eyes nervously flickered around the room while her tan fingers tapped rhythmically against the table.

Abandoning the conversation on the three men, I focused solely on her.

My eyes discreetly tracked her every movement, waiting for some sign of why she was here—who she was meeting with. The barmaid returned with my ale, setting it down in front of me without a word before moving on to the next table. I wrapped my fingers around the cool metal tankard, bringing it to my lips but not drinking.

I wouldnevermake that mistake again.

It had been at least a half hour since she sat and I could sense the agitation rising in her with every minute that passed.

Seems like she had other places she needed to be.

The worry etched into her face slowly smoothed as she looked across the tavern. I followed her line of sight to see a man weaving through the crowd toward us.

I could feel the color drain from my skin.

The man looked exactly like Landers.