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I walk through it.

The space is illuminated by a single computer monitor that’s showing a feed from the front gates. A moth flutters in front of the camera, sending a ghostly blur of a trail across the screen.

Squawk. “Hungry bird.”

I yelp, practically jumping out of my skin as I whirl around, finding Effie peeking out of the bottom corner of her cage. There’s a sheet over it, but one corner has caught on the gate, leaving her an opening.

“Jesus, Effie,” I whisper, pressing a hand to my chest.

“Gentle,” she croons, the sound of her wings flapping loud in the silence. “Gentle pretty bird.”

Hugging my middle, I cast my eyes about the space, searching for her treats. The bag isn’t too far–maybe Danner feeds her while they’re all away–and I pluck one out to give to her. “Quiet,” I whisper as she takes it. Then, I fix the sheet, turning to the computer.

When I navigate to the directory, it’s nothing like what I’m used to. The operating system looks old and complicated, and I don’t know any of the keystrokes. It doesn’t help that I’m trembling, and in my efforts to be swift, I’m just clicking around rabidly, hoping something catches my attention.

I force myself to pause and breathe, scanning the directory of oddly named folders. There are hundreds, with nothing but random letters and numbers. Then, it hits me. I sort by the most recently modified, scooting closer as I search the dates for Thursday night.

Unfortunately, the first folder I click prompts me for a password.

I bite back a groan, wracking my brain.

Ashby, I try.

Invalid passcode.

Wicker. Whitaker. Lex. Lagan. Pace. Kayes. WickerKayes. WhitakerKayes. PurplePalace.

Invalid passcode.

Biting my lip, I cast my eyes around the room before reluctantly trying:Verity. VeritySinclaire. Princess. Rosilocks.

Invalid passcode.

Stomach sinking, I know it’s hopeless. Pace is paranoid. His passcode is probably fifty characters long and completely random, and I bet he could probably still recite it in his sleep. Then again, maybe that’s what he’d expect an intruder to think. Maybe it’s actually something simple.

Looking down at the keyboard, I intend to see if there are any particularly well-worn keys, which is when I see it. The F12 key is missing–as it usually is, because Effie likes to tear it off and run away with it. I’ve seen her do it a couple times, treating it like a game she’s just won.

Pausing, I poise my finger over the little naked nub of a key.

Then I press it.

The room explodes with light and I gasp, shooting up from the chair. But it’s not the overhead lights, nor the lamps. It’s another monitor flaring to life, a directory of files appearing. Exhaling shakily, I sit back down, squinting at the bright screen as I read the contents.

They’re videos, some recent, others much, much older.

The recent one is titled ‘Evidence237-Deposits’.

With an unsteady hand, I open it.

An image of four people appears from a bird’s eye view, as if in the corner of a room. One is King Ashby, sitting behind a desk, and the others are the Princes, on the opposite side of it. It takes me a long moment to realize the whispers I’m hearing are coming from a set of headphones sitting on the desk beside me.

Cautiously, I pick them up and put one of the cups to my ear.

“And how is our mutual project coming along?” a voice asks.

King Ashby.

Pace offers him a bounce of his chin. “Slow but steady.”