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Sarina rolled her eyes. “That was for Taly, obviously. Really, Skye, you know how she is. Anyhintof worry comes across as some sort of critique of her frailty.”

“It’s a wonder she didn’t come to breakfast prepared with a ten-point list and a slideshow on why our worries are unfounded,” Ivain added.

“You’re right,” Sarina murmured. “That is concerning.”

“All mages with the Sight confront their share of Eldritch,” Ivain explained. “Tess’s first rumble was with a gloamharrow. She didn’t sleep for a week. Drawing a grimble, though, and on the first go…” He winced. “That’s brutal.”

They stared at him, faces full of worry and expectation.

“I don’t know,” Skye said.

“But you’re in her head,” Ivain pointed out.

“Not when she’s kicked me out of it.” Indeed, the bond between them wasclosed. Firmly. Like a door had been slammed shut. A hum of awareness, like a thin strip of light at the bottom, was the only indication that she was still on the other side of it.

It’s fine. I’m fine.

Yeah right.

He saw her hands shaking. Heard the tremor in her voice.

“I don’t know what to tell you,” Skye said. “She just woke up and started yelling. And cleaning.”

Sarina heaved out a sigh. “Well, that’s a small relief. At least, that means she’s working through her anger instead of, ahem, running from it. Ooh, maybe I’ll have the maids create little messes. It might soothe her.”

“Are we still sure she’s inside the city?” Ivain asked.

“It’s been five minutes. She hasn’t even left the house,” Skye said. A door slammed from somewhere far off. “Never mind. She’s in the wind.”

An all-too-knowing look passed between brother and sister. “Perhaps…” Sarina murmured.

Ivain nodded his agreement. “Just to be safe, I’m going to tell the guards manning the gate to keep an eye out.”

Chapter 44

Aiden took one look at Taly and sent her home. That’s not where she went.

The Cage wasn’t just a bar. Claimed by the salvager’s guild, it was a shrine to bad decisions and worse company—the last stop before a job, the first stop after one went south. The walls were a patchwork of old ship hulls and broken machinery. Battle scars from past brawls were etched deep into the wooden beams. Some looked fresh. Firelamps swung from rusted chains, their uneven glow pooling across mismatched tables.

She shouldn’t be here—sitting at this bar, drowning in rotgut.

Counter point? She’d beendeadtwelve hours ago.

She tipped the glass back, liquor scorching its way down.

She could still see it. The grimble. Every time she closed her eyes, those white voids met her in the dark. But each sip blurred the image. Every swallow softened the shape into something easier to ignore. The tinkle of glass, the slosh of amber liquid—they unraveled the horror enough to breathe around it, bit by bit. Burn by burn.

And since that was working so well, why not lobotomize a few other pesky memories?

Like Bill. His latest gift came that morning, timed perfectly to catch her on her way out. This time, it was a silver Gnoven music box. One she’d held just last week, turning it over in a dusty junk shop, debating the price.

The glass hit the bar harder than she meant it to. She reached for the bottle, missed the neck the first time, tried again, then dragged it closer.

He was getting bolder. He wanted her to know he’d been there. Watching. Close enough to see her hesitate. To see the moment she decided to leave it behind.

She scanned the room, half expecting to spot him in the shadows. Her pulse ticked faster with every glance that lingered too long. He could be any one of them—the man behind the bar, the loser sulking over his cards, even the woman serving ale.

He could watch her from any angle, in any crowd.