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Taly’s mouth twitched with a smile even as she tried to maintain her glare. “Fine,” she said with a grand sweep of her arm that signaled for him tolead the way.

His steps were careful, measured. The weight of the sword at his side was a steady presence, but he didn’t reach for it—not yet.

Taly’s heels clicked on the cobbles behind him. “I think I need a gun.”

“You don’t need a gun,” he whispered back.

“I’m just saying, if I’m the firepower, I should have, you know… firepower.”

“And if I’m the voice of reason, you should listen. We don’t even know what’s happening yet.”

Taly muttered something aboutkilljoys, but at least he didn’t hear the distinctive snap of a slide racking back.

Light from the shop window spilled into the courtyard, pooling around the figure of a man slumped against the alley wall. He was gasping, his entire body shaking and rattling with each useless breath. Blood frothed at his mouth, and blackened veins twisted across every visible inch of skin.

It was a symptom of the Shaking Fever that became more severe when the Curse made the jump. Humans got a few spots on their fingers and toes. But in Fey, what started as a rash spread like rot to cover the whole body.

The man in front of them was Lowborn and deep in the throes of it. Dark lines curled around his forearms, spiraling over his muscles like vines strangling a once-healthy plant. They fanned out from the base of his throat, crawling up his jawline and spreading across his cheeks.

Around his eyes, the lines deepened into dark halos, turning him into something haunted.

He was Cursed. And dying from the looks of it.

“Holy shit,” Taly breathed and tried to push past him. Skye pulled her back.

“We still don’t know how this thing spreads,” he hissed, and she stopped struggling. The anguish on her face made his stomach turn, but he didn’t let go. Just held her tighter as they bore witness to this man’s closing moments.

As he attempted breath after ragged breath until his lungs eventually failed, and his heartbeat faded with one final stuttering note.

The silence that came after was strange. Too quiet, like the world was holding its breath, bidding a quiet goodbye to the departing soul.

Behind them, the light inside the shop shone brightly. The letters stamped on the window read:Graythorn Antiquities.

“We should probably ask inside to see who he is,” Taly said, her voice wavering and unsure against the weight of that stillness.

“And to check for others.” The Curse was still new among Fey. Maybe they didn’t even realize they needed help.

The bell above the shop door jangled as Skye pushed it open.

The store inside was cramped, with islands of curios crowding the main room: furniture, racks of second-hand clothes, old books, and pieces of broken metal, pottery, and sculpture. Floor-to-ceiling shelves lined each wall, crammed with jars of buttons, dolls and other old toys, shoeboxes full of glameras, spools of ribbon, crystals, more books…

Antiquities—which in this case served as another word for junk. All of it scavenged from the far reaches of the island, all of it pre-Schism. The owner was most likely a collector.

A glass counter occupied the back corner, its surface clouded with age and fingerprints. Inside, a traditional Time Guild headdress sparkled.

Taly’s eyes locked on it instantly, and she made a beeline for the counter.

“Hello?” Skye’s voice carried through the quiet, dusty shop. “Anyone here?”

“I’ve seen this before,” Taly murmured, leaning over the glass to get a better look. “When I was scrying.”

“Taly, what are you—”

Too late. She was alreadybehindthe display case, kneeling and out of view.

He heard rummaging. Moments later, she emerged.

“Hey, look at this.”