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One hand gripped the feathery mass of her skirts as the other held the edges of her cloak tight against the chill. Her brows bunched together in a frown as she stared up at a corner signpost.

“Of course!” Skye called out. “Of course, you would be way the hell out here. Not any of the normal places, which I checked, by the way. The toilet, the food carts, the bars. Although, I did find a very drunk Sarina…” And that was all he was going to say about that particularly unique experience.

“Oh, and I drank your wine. I got thirsty walking all the way from Rosegrave to…” He looked around. “Where are we exactly?”

“Ricks and Jackshaw,” Taly answered, studying a pole stacked with mismatched signs, each one pointing in a different direction—toward shops squirreled away in hidden alcoves, tucked into basements, and perched at the tops of stairs.

“And why are we at Ricks and Jackshaw?”

“I smelled nutmeg.”

“Right. That’s a totally normal reason to be here.”

Taly rolled her eyes, shivering and pulling her collar higher. “It was in my vision, jackass.”

Skye could’ve pointed out that now probably wasn’t the best time to chase down vague clues from cryptic visions.

But he also wasn’t all that interested in returning to the town hall.

He and Taly had already done their part for the evening.

The pledges had been made. The second half would most likely devolve into further infighting and petty sniping, each House vying to outdo the others with their contributions.

“Look, I don’t care if you go off chasing visions,” he said. “But the same rules for wandering off still apply. Wait for me. Yeah?”

She glanced over her shoulder. “You caught up, didn’t you?”

It was… not exactly the arrangement he’d envisioned, but he’d take it. As long as she stayed findable, he wouldn’t complain—much.

Coming up behind her, he slung an arm around her shoulders. She leaned into him, stealing his warmth and using him as a shield against the biting wind.

“Why don’t you tell me what you’re looking for,” he said, leaning closer to reclaim some of the warmth she’d taken. “Maybe I can help.”

“It’s a… a shop, I think. When I was scrying, I heard a bell—like on a door when it opens and closes. It smelled like metal and dust.”

“And nutmeg?”

She nodded. “Someone passed by me earlier, and the smell was the same. I mean, just like it. So, I asked them where they were coming from, and they said the Shadowspire District. And now I really wish I’d asked for more information.

I thought I’d recognize it when I got here, but I forgot what a maze this place is. ”

Okay… he could work with that.

Skye closed his eyes and inhaled deeply: rain-soaked stone, fry grease still clinging to the walls of a shuttered food cart, smoke curling from a chimney four rooftops over—sweet, resinous, not a wood he recognized.

“Skye?”

He raised a hand, focusing. Sorting. The scents were layered thic k : garlic crushed into brick, tanned leather still sweating out its dye, something syrupy and scorched, burned sugar or maybe spiced nuts.

And there beneath it all—he found it. Warm. Subtle. Faint but distinct.

Nutmeg.

“This way,” he said.

Taly gave a little hop of excitement, following him as he followed the scent trail, letting it guide him through the labyrinth of crooked, winding streets and alleys. “Seriously, who needs a dog with you around?”

Tight turns led to even narrower passageways, a perfect maze of cobblestone paths lined with shuttered stalls and closed shops. The scent of nutmeg was his beacon. He moved with purpose down every twist and turn, ignoring Taly’s insistence that he was a “very good boy.”

Finally, they reached a small, secluded courtyard.

The scent of nutmeg was strongest here, emanating from a quaint, unassuming little tea shop tucked into the corner.

The lights inside were dark, though the smell permeated the entire area, enough that it would stick to anyone who spent their days here.

Overhead, red and white lanterns swayed slightly in a gentle breeze, casting dancing shadows on the walls.

“Well?” Skye asked as Taly chewed her lip, looking around at the darkened store windows.

Across the courtyard, a bell clattered as a door slammed open, followed by a crash as a shadow stumbled out, banging into the opposite wall before slumping to the ground.

Taly pointed. “That looks promising.”

Skye breathed deeply, scenting blood, pain, fear. He could hear the galloping beat of a panicking heart. “Taly—”

“Don’t say stay here.”

He didn’t know why it still surprised him when she insisted on charging straight into danger. “Fine. But stay behind me.” She opened her mouth. “And no arguing. We talked about this. I’m the meat shield; you’re the firepower.”

It was the compromise they’d reached. Amazing what a little time tangled in the sheets could do for communication. As it turned out, Taly didn’t mind hiding behind him—provided it was her choice, and he stayed out of her line of fire.

Taly’s mouth twitched with a smile even as she tried to maintain her glare. “Fine,” she said with a grand sweep of her arm that signaled for him to lead the way .

His steps were careful, measured. The weight of the sword at his side was a steady presence, but he didn’t reach for it—not yet.

Taly’s heels clicked on the cobbles behind him. “I think I need a gun.”

“You don’t need a gun,” he whispered back.

“I’m just saying, if I’m the firepower, I should have, you know… firepower.”

“And if I’m the voice of reason, you should listen. We don’t even know what’s happening yet.”

Taly muttered something about killjoys , but at least he didn’t hear the distinctive snap of a slide racking back.

Light from the shop window spilled into the courtyard, pooling around the figure of a man slumped against the alley wall. He was gasping, his entire body shaking and rattling with each useless breath. Blood frothed at his mouth, and blackened veins twisted across every visible inch of skin.

It was a symptom of the Shaking Fever that became more severe when the Curse made the jump. Humans got a few spots on their fingers and toes. But in Fey, what started as a rash spread like rot to cover the whole body.

The man in front of them was Lowborn and deep in the throes of it. Dark lines curled around his forearms, spiraling over his muscles like vines strangling a once-healthy plant. They fanned out from the base of his throat, crawling up his jawline and spreading across his cheeks.

Around his eyes, the lines deepened into dark halos, turning him into something haunted.

He was Cursed. And dying from the looks of it.

“Holy shit,” Taly breathed and tried to push past him. Skye pulled her back.

“We still don’t know how this thing spreads,” he hissed, and she stopped struggling. The anguish on her face made his stomach turn, but he didn’t let go. Just held her tighter as they bore witness to this man’s closing moments.

As he attempted breath after ragged breath until his lungs eventually failed, and his heartbeat faded with one final stuttering note.

The silence that came after was strange. Too quiet, like the world was holding its breath, bidding a quiet goodbye to the departing soul.

Behind them, the light inside the shop shone brightly. The letters stamped on the window read: Graythorn Antiquities.

“We should probably ask inside to see who he is,” Taly said, her voice wavering and unsure against the weight of that stillness.

“And to check for others.” The Curse was still new among Fey. Maybe they didn’t even realize they needed help.

The bell above the shop door jangled as Skye pushed it open.

The store inside was cramped, with islands of curios crowding the main room: furniture, racks of second-hand clothes, old books, and pieces of broken metal, pottery, and sculpture.

Floor-to-ceiling shelves lined each wall, crammed with jars of buttons, dolls and other old toys, shoeboxes full of glameras, spools of ribbon, crystals, more books…

Antiquities—which in this case served as another word for junk. All of it scavenged from the far reaches of the island, all of it pre-Schism. The owner was most likely a collector.

A glass counter occupied the back corner, its surface clouded with age and fingerprints. Inside, a traditional Time Guild headdress sparkled.

Taly’s eyes locked on it instantly, and she made a beeline for the counter.

“Hello?” Skye’s voice carried through the quiet, dusty shop. “Anyone here?”

“I’ve seen this before,” Taly murmured, leaning over the glass to get a better look. “When I was scrying.”

“Taly, what are you—”

Too late. She was already behind the display case, kneeling and out of view.

He heard rummaging. Moments later, she emerged.

“Hey, look at this.”

The metal box landed on the counter with a faint, metallic thud, shedding sand and fragments of barnacles that scattered across the surface. It would’ve been utterly unremarkable if not for the Time crest etched into the top.

“This belonged to Azura.” She traced the edges of the crescent moon. “This is her seal.”

“Wait,” Skye said.

Taly paused. “Are you saying you don’t want me to open it?”

“Yes. I mean—no, that’s not what I’m saying.” She knew about her other-self by now, but he still grappled for the right words to explain. “I think you brought that here.”

Her brows pulled together. “I’m pretty sure I didn’t.”

“No—I mean other- you.” He knew now not to say Cori’s name unless pissing Taly off was the point. “You sent Calcifer to fetch it from the ocean. The last time I saw that box, it was hanging from his mouth.”

“Well, now I’m even more curious.” Taly flipped back the lid. The hinges groaned. Her eyes lit up as they lifted to his. “Holy shit.”

“What?”

Her grin was so wide it took her a moment to find her voice.

“I’ve suspected for a while now that Grizzlethorn wasn’t Bill’s only supplier.

For something as rare and obscure as the riftway keys, he wouldn’t rely on a single set of eyes.

He’d need a network, people with access to forgotten relics who would know what they were looking at.

It’s why these dusty, little junk shops keep popping up when I scry. ”

She turned the box around. “Look.”

Inside, four slots were carved into the velvet, cradling what, to the untrained eye, might have passed as amulets.

Skye, of course, knew better by now. Each was a different shape—one jagged like a lightning bolt, another curved like a scythe.

Yet they all shared a material consistency: at their core lay a shard of shadow crystal, dark and opaque, and encircling it, a clear ring of hyaline.

A sharp bang echoed through the ceiling.

Skye’s hand shot out, his fingers splayed in silent command.

Taly didn’t hesitate. She snatched the box from the counter and pivoted around the corner.

He grabbed her hand when she was near enough, pulling her behind him—putting himself between her and whatever was cursing and stumbling down the stairwell.

The woman who appeared was Lowborn, dressed for bed with a faded robe cinched tight over her nightgown. Her face was pale and worn, strands of auburn hair slipping loose from the curlers perched at odd angles on her head.

She gave them a single glance. “You’ve got to be kidding me,” she muttered, limping stiffly forward. “As if this night didn’t already have its difficulties…”

Reaching the counter, she braced a hand, clearly favoring her right leg. “Store’s closed.”

“There’s a man dead in the alley outside,” Skye said. “We saw him come from this shop.”

“And why’re you telling me?” she snapped.

“In case you know him.”

“Bah.” The woman waved off the suggestion and ducked behind the counter. She began to rummage, grumbling to herself, slamming drawers, lifting boxes—searching like someone who didn’t have time to waste.

When she straightened, her eyes swept over the room—then narrowed. “Store’s closed,” she repeated, sharper this time.

Taly stepped out from behind him, holding up the box. “We’ll go, but I’d like to purchase this first.”

The woman’s gaze locked onto it. “So, that’s where that got off to.” Her mouth tightened. “It’s not for sale.”

“I’ll give you whatever you want for it.”

“That’s being held for another client.” The woman jerked her hand, all impatience and expectation. “Give it here.”

“Taly, let me handle this,” Skye said, stepping between them. It was an unfortunate reality of their world that humans were not always seen as legitimate buyers. “If it’s a matter of price—”

“It’s not a matter of price. It’s a matter of customer loyalty. Now give it—”

“You know what, it’s fine,” Taly said.

Skye blinked. She blinked back, moving around him.

The woman glared, hair spilling into her eyes as Taly stepped forward and placed the box on the counter before turning for the door.

“We should file a report. About the man in the alley.” She grabbed Skye’s hand and didn’t look back.

“Not so fast,” the woman growled.

“Keep walking,” Taly hissed, not that Skye needed to be told.

“First rule of running a mercantile,” the woman said. “Always double-check a time mage’s pockets.”

Skye’s blood turned to ice.

“ All of them.”

There was a soft plunk as something dropped. Then three more in quick succession.

Taly gasped and fell to her knees, feathery skirts billowing as she scrambled to gather the riftway keys as they tumbled from their hidden pocket dimension.

But it was futile. They flew across the room, shimmering as they spiraled toward the box the woman held aloft.

One by one, they slotted back into the velvet.

The woman smirked. “Dead crystal,” she said with smug satisfaction, “always knows its master.”

Then a sharp, wet cough tore through her. She clutched the counter for support, her skin rippling as dark marks bloomed across her hands and wrists, spreading upward.

The woman’s breathing turned ragged. She glanced down at her hands. “Spent already?” she panted. “Blasted halfbreeds.”

The next time her head lifted, black lines fractured across her face, branching like cracks in glass. More surfaced by the second, rising from beneath her skin as if dragged.

That’s not normal, Taly whispered into his thoughts.

What do you mean? Skye shot back.

The marks. That’s not the Curse. It’s spreading too fast.

Something fell then—a layer of pretense.

“And here we are again, I see.” The rough northern accent gave way to a smoother cadence, steeped with subtle old-world elegance. “You know, time mage… I’m beginning to remember just how annoying your kind can be.”

Through the bond, Skye felt it—the realization. Cold and absolute. His heart stalled in his chest as Taly tilted her head, saying ever so softly…

“Hello, Bill.”