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Bart simply hummed to himself, and Shan glanced his way. “What?”

“It’s just… he did well for himself.”

Shan turned around, taking in the space. The furniture was well made, sturdy and solid. The space itself was fairly large, and there was even a private washroom. It was, admittedly, a nicer home than she had expected, though it was perhaps unfair of her to judge it. Her only real experience was with the flat that Samuel had rented—and, well, he had been practically destitute.

“I suppose so,” Shan said, “but he was a foreman.”

Bart continued to search through Menken’s things.

They worked together, letting the silence grow, as they carefully searched every corner of the flat. They were meticulous to leave everything as they had found it, though Shan wasn’t sure it mattered—the Guard had already been through, and they hadn’t found anything suspicious.

And neither did they.

“Everything is perfectly normal,” Bart said, rubbing his hand across his eyes. “There is nothing here to suggest why him.”

“Exactly like the others,” Shan said. “It must be random, then.” It made a certain kind of sense. Whoever this murderer was just wanted them for their blood. There was nothing else to it.

“Unfortunately, this means we have nothing to go on as to who they’ll target next.”

“Perhaps it’s for the best,” Bart muttered.

Shan whirled on him. “What?”

He hesitated, gnawing his lip. “Never mind.”

“Oh, I will mind.” She stalked forward. “Speak your piece.”

For a moment she thought he wouldn’t, thought he would turn away from her. But he jutted his chin forward, his eyes alight with a burning fire. “Hasn’t it occurred to you that this is a trap?”

“A trap?” she repeated, eyes narrowed.

“Yes!” he glanced away, running a hand through his short curls. “Isn’t it odd that the King turned to you for this?”

“He took a chance on me, when I found Samuel.”

“And how long before the King realizes who you are?” Bart hissed. “Lady LeClaire is not this well connected. Lady LeClaire is not the type to run about Dameral, breaking into people’s homes for information. Lady LeClaire is not the type to find a killer.”

Shan didn’t hesitate, the words flying from her lips. “That’s irrelevant. If we succeed I could have my father’s role.” How could he not see the value in that? “It’s a risk worth taking.”

“And when he discovers you’re the Sparrow?”

Shan rolled her eyes. “He won’t. No one will.” Aside from a handful of her birds—and Isaac, now—no one knew who the Sparrow was. No one would dare think that it was Shan LeClaire.

No one would expect her to have that kind of ambition. She played her part well, too well sometimes. It chaffed at her, pretending to be what she was not. But it brought her ever closer to her goals.

Bart was just watching her with a sad look in his eyes. “He will. One doesn’t remain King for this long by being a fool. You’re playing right into his hands.”

“I have everything right where I want it,” she spat.

He just shook his head. “Your pride will be the death of us, Sparrow.”

“You’re wrong.”

Bart stepped away, and she let him go. “I hope I am.” Pulling his hood up, he turned towards the door. “We’re not going to find anything else here, and I have birds to see.”

Shan watched him go, not calling him back, not fighting him any longer, though his doubts cut her to the bone. It was bad enough that Anton had been turning away from her—she didn’t need this from Bart. Now not.

They were the pillars that had held her up her whole life, and now the very foundation she stood on was cracking just as she was reaching new heights.