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No, Seph wasn’t strong. She was selfish. And rash and foolish and proud. Linnea had quietly denied herself, for their family’s sake, never once showing signs of her own misery.Thatwas strength. But not even Linnea’s ties to Lord Bracey could save Seph from the baron’s inevitable wrath. Saints above, they’d be fortunate if Seph was theonlyone he punished. She wished her grandfather was awake. He always knew what to do and what to say, and…

Seph remembered the coat.

She lifted her head and looked to her grandfather, who still sat unconscious and slumped in his chair. Wiping her eyes, she stood and made her way to him, kneeling at his feet as she grabbed his hands and searched his face. He was so familiar to her, every crease and every plane, and yet…

She suddenly felt as though she did not know him at all.

“What in Ava’s name were you doing with an enchanted coat?” Seph whispered.

Of course, he didn’t answer.

Seph found it odd that for all the stories he’d told, he’d never shared any about a coat.

Give my regards to your grandfather.

The high lord’s parting words set her nerves on edge. As if he’d known Seph’s grandfather once, as if he delighted in some irony of the moment, but they couldn’t possibly know one another.

Only…did they?

She really had no idea who her grandfather could have known in his youth. He never spoke of it. He’d always smiled and said his life began with Nani.

Seph’s gaze moved over her grandfather as if the answers to these questions were hidden in the lines of his face, and, after some time, when the answers did not come, she sighed and stood instead, bending over to kiss his forehead. “I love you,” she said, and just as she was letting go of his hand, he squeezed hers.

Seph startled as she looked back at him. His eyes were still closed, but his grip remained firm. “Grandpa…?”

He moaned something indecipherable, and his grip became desperate, as if he were fighting to cling to this sudden thread of consciousness he’d been granted.

Seph leaned in and grabbed his other hand too. “Grandpa, it’s me…Sephie. I’m here.”

His head turned to the side, his features strained as he moaned again, only this time she caught a word:pile.

“Pile…?” She studied him intently. “What pile?”

His head turned to the other side, as though he were in pain. “Back…p-pile…”

“Back pile? Grandpa…what are you talking about?”

He murmured a word that sounded strongly liketime, and then his grip went slack, his head drooped, and he fell unconscious again.

Seph stared at him, bewildered, and then there was a sharp knock on the door.

Alder knocked on Josephine’s front door. He’d waited until Massie had gone, until there was no chance that he or his witch could return, but they’d been so enraptured by the coat now in their possession, Alder probably could’ve walked right in front of them and they wouldn’t have noticed. In fact, that’s whereheshould be heading right now—trailing Massie—but alas, Alder had a promise to fulfill.

One he’d had plenty of time to fulfill earlier, and a whole host of excuses as to why he hadn’t. There was no time for excuses now.

He had rats to trap.

But Josephine’s door still hadn’t opened. Alder frowned and rapped again, louder this time. He didn’t know what could be taking so long. The home was impressively small, and he’d just heard the sisters arguing?—

Floorboards creaked, the door cracked open, and Josephine’s face filled the narrow space. Her eyes widened at the sight of him, then promptly narrowed as she gasped. “You.”

“Me.” Alder smiled.

Unfortunately, Josephine wasn’t charmed. In fact, she looked like she was about to shut the door in his face.

“Sephie, who is it?” a woman asked from farther inside. The mother, Alder presumed, though he couldn’t see much past the door that Josephine gripped like a shield.

“I’ve come on behalf of Rys Alistair,” he said.