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Shan shrugged. “Well, ideally you’d have Anton’s help, but…” She placed her hands on his shoulders, steadying him. If only there was another option. But Isaac was still a wreck, and Bart was too common for this role. “I believe in you, Samuel. You are sweet and charming, and you can handle this. Just act naturally and listen. That’s the most important part.”

He looked up at her, so trusting, and nodded. “And what will you be doing?”

“I’ll be working it from the other side,” she stepped back, pulling open her cloak to reveal the outfit underneath.

Samuel’s eyes widened as he took it in—the tight corset, the short skirt. The lace and the faux diamonds, the scandalous amount of bare skin visible. His eyes snapped to her face, suddenly taking in the makeup, the curled hair.

She had dressed herself up as a tart in uniform of the ladies of the Fox Den, and Samuel looked as if he were about to faint.

“I— uh— wait—”

Some of the tension faded from her as she smiled fondly at him. “Don’t worry, Samuel, I’ve done this many times before.” She dropped the cloak, stepping back. “I know what I am doing.”

“That wasn’t the issue.”

“Oh, I know.” She pressed a kiss to his cheek, and enjoying the blush that painted his skin red, more effective than any rouge she had ever used. “But now is not the time for that.”

Dazed, Samuel could do nothing but follow, her fingers entwined in his as she pulled him along.

When Shan walked into the Fox Den, there was an unusually solemn air amongst the workers. The matron looked at her sharply, sighing in relief, then pointed at a tray of goblets. Doing her best to look slightly confused, she stepped up to the tray.

One of the kitchen workers, a young boy, no more than eighteen or twenty, leaned forward. “Don’t worry,” he said. “She’s been doing that all night, every time a familiar face walks in. Doesn’t matter if they’re a regular or a part-timer, like you, Sparrow.”

Shan flashed him a small smile—Gerome, his name was. “Thanks. Has something happened?”

“One of the dealers never showed up,” he said, casting his dark eyes low. “It could be anything, but…”

“With the murders,” Shan finished for him. That was one thing the papers didn’t leak, the name. The Unblooded were already twitchy enough; they didn’t need to add more fuel to the fire.

“Yeah, exactly.”

“Enough gossiping!” The matron snapped. “We’re here to work, not gab.”

Shan hoisted the tray of wine upon her shoulder, turning towards the floor. The matron grabbed her elbow, dropping low to whisper in her ear. “My office, end of the night. I’ll tell you what you need, Sparrow.”

“As you say, matron,” she said, inclining her head. Information from the matron wasn’t unprecedented, but it was rare. Normally the matron just let her work, allowing the Sparrow to flit in and out. But times were desperate.

Her elbow was released, and she swept out into the Fox Den.

Out there, the atmosphere was completely transformed. All the shades of worry and sorrow were gone as the workers pasted false smiles on the faces—the dealers running their games with confident hands, the servers carrying food and wine between tables. Shan moved through the crowd, taking in the clientele, and noticed something strange.

Usually, the patrons of the Fox Den were Blood Workers—easily nine out of ten being someone she recognized from society—yet there was the occasional Unblooded among them. But tonight there were none. Every single person gambling there was a Blood Worker, and their friends and family who didn’t have the gift? They just didn’t show up. And worst of all, the Blood Workers didn’t seem to miss them.

They continued their gambling and their revelries like nothing was wrong, like people were not being brutally murdered and violated simply for the blood in the veins. They didn’t care that people they knew—and presumably cared about—were too afraid to leave their homes.

It sickened her.

She passed by Samuel, surrounded by a crowd of preening sycophants who were eager to latch onto him, now that he was out in public without a chaperone. There wasn’t a LeClaire to ward them away, de la Cruz to charm them, the King to awe them. For the first time, he was truly out in Aeravinian society on his own, and Shan realized that he had done it for her, simply because she asked.

She did not deserve him.

Swooping by his table—roulette—to trade empty cups for full ones, she listened in as he spoke. He was calm and confident, despite the pale cast to his cheeks, and he held up well against the barbs the others threw at him, dancing lightly out of their stings and offering little in return. He was unfailingly polite, and it would only make him a further attraction.

What a novelty this young Aberforth was.

She slipped away, offering a passing smile of comfort, and slid back into her role, none of the other nobles any wiser. Samuel watched her for only a moment as she moved away, then turned back to his entourage.

She allowed herself a breath of relief. He would do well after all—she hadn’t been the instrument of his destruction.