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Grace first made her way to the closed shops on the north of the main road and found little but frames and facades. Furniture and goods were long gone, and bits of wood had been scavenged from the inside.

Grace felt an odd kinship with the buildings. She knew what it was to hide loss behind a pretty exterior.

Soon, Grace came to the old mayor’s home. Mayor Kavanah had been Mayor Nautin’s predecessor. From what she’d gleaned from the stories her parents told, he wasn’t a bad man, but he’d been easily manipulated. When he was ousted from office by the man he’d raised to the role of sheriff, he’d withered away, alone in his home. He had no family, and none of her parents’ efforts to encourage him to stand up to Mayor Nautin had worked.

In the end, he’d died before Grace was old enough to remember him.

Grace entered the home. It was different than the others. Much inside had still been scavenged, but it wasn’t as empty.Pictures still hung on the walls, crooked and dusty, but evidence of a life lived.

All big pieces of furniture were gone, but trinkets, worthless to all but those who knew their story, sat in piles in the corners of the room. The lack of dust and the organized nature of the odds and ends made Grace smile. Someone had cared enough to respect Mayor Kavanah’s memory.

Grace bent down to examine the items in one corner: There were a few wooden figurines, a corn husk doll, and a some letters. Gingerly, Grace picked up each item in turn, holding them in the moonlight streaming through the window, and wondered what life would be like now if the man who’d once owned these things had seen through Orville Nautin all those years ago.

Crouched as she was, her eyes caught on a glint of silver under a crooked side table.

Grace scurried over to retrieve the item.

Her breath caught in her throat, and she stood, half-dazed.

In her hand, she held a metal cloak clasp in the shape of two oak leaves back to back. She’d seen this clasp a hundred times—had one in her trunk with her verdure cloak.

“The Rogue,” she whispered.

“Grace!” With an impulse well-rehearsed, Grace sprang, turning to face whoever had caught her snooping. It occurred to her midair that it might be the Rogue. But that hope fizzled once she landed and scanned the gorgeous, brown-shirted man before her.

“Garrick?” She couldn’t hide her incredulous tone. Here he was again. Where she was. At night. When no one should be out.

Fear and shame surged through her. Garrick Clairmont had followed heragainand caught her. Self-preservation demanded she hurl accusations at him, but something delayed the verbal assault.

For once, the snobbish man looked her straight on, his light-brown eyes wide. He stood awkwardly stiff, frozen mid-step.

Understanding dawned. He hadn’t expected her to still be in the room. She’d taken the time to look at the old mayor’s things, and Garrick had miscalculated.

“Grace?” As her name left his lips, he unfroze. He tucked a long bag under his arm. Despite its size, she hadn’t focused on the white cloth sack before, but now, she was very curious what was in there.

“What’s that?” Grace gestured at the bag. Too late, she realized the clasp was still in her hand. Garrick’s eyes locked onto the metal in her hand.

Grace coughed and folded her arms, hiding the clasp between her arm and body.

“What are you doing here?” Grace’s whispers came like arrows released from a bow, quick and piercing.

“What? I’m… well. I’m… What areyoudoing here?”

“Clearly, I’m…” Curse her empty mind. What could she say that wouldn’t land her in jail when Garrick told his father?

Seeing her panicked discomfort, Garrick relaxed. He approached Grace and held out his hand. “You’re not pilfering, are you?”

Grace looked pointedly at the white sack. “I’m not the one with something to stuff things into.”

“This?” Garrick tried to sling it over his shoulder, but something in it was stiff, and the bag stuck out behind his head.

“What’s in there?”

“I just picked up a new walking stick from Mr. Dahl.”

Grace shifted to look at the bag at a different angle, but Garrick moved with her, keeping them facing one another.

“Wouldn’t you… I don’t know,walkwith a walking stick, rather than stick it in a bag?” Grace tried to skirt around Garrick again, but he kept pace with her. His back now to the window,a soft glow shone about him. She let her arms drop to her side casually, tucking the clasp in a hidden pocket in her training dress. “Very protective of a walking stick, aren’t you?”