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We followed him here to Wales. He landed early this morning, but didn’t show his face outside his hotel until midday, when he took a train to Yaäuper—coincidentally, the busiest time of day for the museum. I’m not entirely sure what he’s planning, but I have my suspicions. If I’m right, the blood of hundreds could be on my hands.

“It’s a shame what they’ve let come to this place,” Charlie says beside me. He is the most seasoned in today’s flock of Draguns. His short black beard has peppered significantly since I saw him a month ago. His usual stocky stature has slendered, his meaty arms hardly noticeable in his sleeved top. Before I finished at House of Perl, Charlie guided me on upholding Beaulah’s rules. Since I’ve left, we’ve only butted heads. But this time, I don’t disagree with him.

“A damned shame.”

Loitering bystanders bottleneck nearby, drunk with the sight of Yaäuper’s ornately carved architecture, endless arched windows, and flying buttresses. Charlie’s thumb runs back and forth across his commissioning coin, its silver minted with a cracked column. My jaw clenches. It should be a talon. He notices my glare and smirks, amused.

“Is he working alone?” Charlie asks, slipping the coin into his pocket.

“Appears so. But we need to follow him, let his plans start to unfold, to know.” The team surrounds me and I count heads. Five here, plus one at the entrance scoping out the scene. Far too many for a raid in broad daylight, but the Dragunhead wouldn’t be argued with. I had grabbed a few familiar faces: my former mentor and Yaniselle, my first of many things, both from Hartsboro, the seat of House of Perl. Both Draguns with extraordinary skill. Despite our pasts, they’re unarguably the best. I selected a few others with impressive raiding records who had finished from various Houses.

The shortest tagalong, who isn’t taller than my elbow, has dark scruffy hair, pale ruddy cheeks, and big hazel eyes. The Dragunhead insisted he join.

“How old are you?” I ask when I spot the boy, his collar pinned by a cracked column, magically changing the shape of his nose in the reflection of a puddle.

“Too young,” says one of the others as he runs his nails back and forth over the tally marks tattooed prominently on his bald head—marks of his achievements. Boastful like a typical ’Roser. “It isn’t the way it’s done.”

Charlie pulls out his coin and flips it before blowing Tally Mark a kiss.

“He’s a kid,” I say.

“He’s a spawn of Perl perversion. Another training to wear the talon as a costume.”

The boy’s eyes widen.

“You sound jealous.” Charlie smirks.

“Enough,” I say.

“You Perls think you’re above the way of things.”

I flinch at the surname I was born with. A stain on everything I stand for. My father lost our family name when I was younger. The only thing he’s ever done that I’ve wanted to thank him for.

“That boy’s a Wexton,” Charlie says.

I step closer to Tally Mark, and the pounding organ in his chest batters his ribs.

“Another word of division on my raid and—”

Tally Mark crosses his meaty arms. I can feel the hatred and judgment rolling off him: for the House that bred me, for the privilege that I have as a Headmistress’s nephew to rise in position so swiftly. A crater vibrates in my chest. Words move through me like bile that needs to come out. I hate my House, but I can’t say that. I can’t shout how deep my aunt’s obsession with power has become, how there are no rules she won’t bend and few she won’t break. She and my father were cut from the same cloth.

The Dragunhead is the only one who actually cares about protecting magic. But some things are too destructive to admit out loud. The face of the girl I have to kill comes to mind like a summoned ghost. Many things.

I allow some distance between Tally Mark and me.

“Regardless of your disaffinity for my name, you will do what I say, as I say it. And I’ve said enough.” I don’t need his approval. I need to finish this raid, apprehend the target, and ensure no Unmarkeds are harmed. That puts me a step closer toward having the reputation and influence I’ll need to flush the corruption out of this Order.

The boy stares at me with fear in his eyes. I lower myself to his level.

“You were saying?”

“You asked my age, sir. I’m nine.”

Beaulah’s sending them younger and younger.

“Mother says I have a better shot of being invited to join the brotherhood if I’ve got raid practice under my belt.” It’s true. I’d done so many raids by the time I was seventeen, an invitation from the brotherhood had seemed like a given. Perl débutants who become Draguns outnumber other Houses ten to one. My aunt is as subtle as she is strategic.

“Target spotted, but he’s a ways off from the doors,” Yani says over the speakerphone in my hand. “Stand by.”