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He just grinned and dragged her beneath him, moving aside that flimsy bit of lace.

“Stupid, smug, shadow mage asshole,” she muttered, but her hands were already working between them.

Skye lifted his hips as she pushed down his trousers, hissing when her fingers wrapped around him and squeezed. His aether flared, and he grabbed the headboard, white-knuckled as heat tore through him.

It had been years since he’d had to think about his own strength—since his grip or the tension in his muscles felt like something that could go wrong. Every time she caught him off guard, his body just… reacted .

“We talked about taking me by surprise like that,” he bit out.

Her mouth skimmed his jaw, lips brushing the sensitive hollow beneath his ear. “You did the talking. I never agreed.”

Wood groaned, threatening to crack.

She didn’t know. How could she? To her, his strength was just there , something steady, something to lean into. She didn’t see how his instincts shifted around her, how he was constantly recalculating.

But one slip—one moment where instinct overpowered reason—and he could hurt her.

Her thighs squeezed around his hips. The heat of her pressed into him, slick and searing. He dragged his focus somewhere else— anywhere else.

Quantum glyph drift theory. Goblin tax law. Ivain in a towel. Shards .

His aether still thrummed, hot beneath his skin. But he had control of it now.

Slowly, carefully, Skye let go of the bed.

“We’re going to need to have a talk about safety,” he managed, letting out a shaky laugh. “For both our sakes.”

Her nails raked impatiently up and down his back. “I bet you say that to all the ladies.”

“No. Just you.” And with a single thrust of his hips, he was home.

Taly was having some morning-after regrets. Skye could club a bear with that thing between his legs. She really should’ve stretched before she let him put it inside her. Repeatedly and with wild abandon.

If Sarina noticed her hobbling along behind her as they pushed through the crowded Swap, she didn’t say anything.

The seamstress did. She’d known Taly all her life and leaned in to whisper slyly, “Now there’s the walk of a woman who had a good night, eh?”

Thankfully, the dress fitting didn’t take long.

And the dress Sarina picked out… well, it wasn’t all bad either.

Not overly heavy or a beast to move around in, though that was probably more a function of the scarcity of materials than any deliberate attempt at comfort.

The voluminous, multi-layered skirts popular in Arylaan just weren’t practical given the current constraints on their supply chains.

While Sarina was explaining to her tailor of the last 75 years that yes , it was perfectly normal for a human female to grow nearly three inches at the age of 21—actually 22 after a year in the Queen’s palace, but who was counting—Taly wandered out into the hall to wait.

Apparently, growing up human had stunted her growth, and now her body had some catching up to do.

She could only cross her fingers and pray that she just might make it to average.

They were deep into the second floor of the old greathouse, where instead of tables, long-term tenants had set up shop.

The atmosphere was different now than the last time she was here, practicality overriding nostalgia.

Down the hall, the old drawing room, with its towering marble fireplace, had been repurposed into a storage space for dried herbs and medicinal supplies.

No bouquets of blossoms to perfume the air anymore—luxuries like fresh flowers had become nearly impossible to come by.

The library, once lined with rows upon rows of dusty tomes, now served a more pressing need. Shelves had been cleared to make way for crates of rations, with a few vintage books shoved into corners, forgotten amidst the necessity.

On the third floor were the artisan galleries, now filled with makeshift workshops—craftsmen desperately mending tools or sewing clothing.

Her current destination, the Tune & Trade, was wedged into what used to be the music room.

The high ceilings still gave the space an airy feel, but most of the grandeur had been crammed to the edges of the room, where sheet music lay in haphazard piles and music stands leaned against the walls.

The grand piano was still there, but it had been covered with fabric and crates of supplies, now more a hindrance than a centerpiece.

The person behind the counter barely looked up as Taly entered, just nodded toward a cluster of mismatched crates. No labels. No prices. Just whatever someone had decided was worth setting out.

She crouched beside the nearest crate. At the top of the pile, a Draegon music crystal caught her eye, its once-bright surface now dulled.

She turned it gently, then set it aside—she didn’t have the right player.

The collection of dwarven metal discs sat in a dusty, weighty stack.

She shifted a few, listening to the metallic scrape as they slid against each other.

But it was the human records she gravitated towards—by far her favorite medium. No other race could match the sheer range and variety of genres they produced. Her fingers brushed over the top of the stack, tracing the faded labels on the paper sleeves before lifting one.

Taly had accepted a long time ago that her taste in music veered towards the eclectic.

To her, music had always been more than just melody and harmony.

It was rhythm, layered and recursive, that moved like a tremor beneath her skin.

And she wasn’t alone. As it turned out, most time mages were drawn to unique deviations in tempo and structure.

The more chaotic the sound, the more it prickled against their sense of time.

It was easy to get swept away in that pulse, which was why Azura had never allowed music inside the loop beyond what one could make themselves.

She needed Taly focused, she said, not getting high on mechanical-dwarven opera.

Then, just as Taly shifted to a new stack— “What the—”

She ducked behind the pile of crates as a flash of a familiar, small figure passed by the arched window at the front of the shop—the same prepubescent psychopath from her nightmare in the woods.

No way. What was she doing here, in the middle of the city? How had she even gotten in?

Taly picked up her stack of records and handed them to the man behind the counter. “I’ll be back for these.”

Moving to the door, she pushed her way into the hall.

The girl was there, a few paces ahead, her small frame weaving in and out of view between the opposing streams of bodies.

Taly kept her distance, ducking back when the girl glanced over her shoulder. She followed her through the winding corridors of the old greathouse, past storerooms and makeshift stalls.

Until they came to a shadowy, forgotten corner.

The girl looked around—left and then right—before walking through the wall.

Well, a glamour of a wall. The stairs beyond it led to the fourth floor. The backrooms.

Taly had been up there plenty. Ivain used to let her and Skye sit in on meetings with the clients he deemed “less dangerous”—those who weren’t likely to throw knives or spells if things went south.

And during her days as a salvager, she’d ventured up there solo more than once.

That’s where she’d found a shadow mage crazy enough to make her pistols, no questions asked.

Taly slowed as she reached the top of the stairs, keeping her footsteps light. The air here was different—hushed, tense, carrying the weight of whispered trades and guarded glances.

She slipped behind a half-open door, cracked to let out the smell of heated metal and burnt herbs.

A Nephilim blacksmith stood hunched over a cluttered workbench, his tall, bony form almost skeletal in the low light.

The flickering glow of embers in the small forge cast sharp shadows across his gaunt face.

The blacksmith looked up. His eyes were dark pools against paper-white skin, like the hollow sockets of a skull. He muttered something in a garbled, guttural language, the sound fizzing through the air like static.

“Shut up,” Taly hissed. “You’ll blow my cover.”

The Nephilim let out a low, rattling grumble. Then he shrugged, clearly uninterested in prying. These were the backrooms, after all. Some things were better left unexplained.

He turned back to his work, the metallic clink of his tools filling the air once more, as if to say, whatever trouble you’re in, it’s none of my concern.

Taly peered out into the hall, watching as Luck approached a nondescript door at the end of the hallway. She hesitated momentarily, her hand curling into a fist before knocking sharply. The sound echoed against the quiet.

The door opened with a creak, and a hobgoblin in a fine suit stepped out. He was broad and wrinkled, standing roughly even with the girl.

“Do you have it?” Luck asked, hushed and urgent.

The hobgoblin wore a scowl that seemed permanently etched into his wrinkled face. “Ol’ Grizzlethorn’s workin’ on it, runt. Ain’t somethin’ you just pull out of thin air.”

Luck frowned, her small face hardening. “My master won’t be pleased.”

Grizzlethorn snorted. “Yer master’s already killed half my bloody contacts. He can either wait, or he can wipe out the rest and get nothin’.”

The girl’s lips pressed into a thin line, her eyes flickering with something—annoyance, maybe fear. She didn’t say anything else, just gave a curt nod and turned on her heel, her coat sweeping around her as she marched back down the hall.

Threads rippled around the girl, coiled and frayed in all the wrong places. Who the hell was this kid? What was she?

There wasn’t time for answers. Stepping out from behind the door, Taly blocked the girl’s path.

Luck didn’t startle. She simply stopped. Her eyes flicked over the impediment.

Then came the smile. Small. Joyless.

“There she is,” Luck said, soft as a curse. “Do you ever get tired of being so predictable?”

Taly ignored the bait. “Bold move, showing your face here.”

A small shrug. “One of us has to be.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“It means you’re nothing. Just lucky. And too dumb to see it.”

Taly shook her head. She wasn’t sure what she’d done to earn this child’s loathing, but fine. Two could play. “Look, I don’t know who told you mercenary work was a viable career path, but there are easier ways to cry for help.”

That wiped the smile right off Luck’s face. For the first time, her expression hardened. “You think this is me asking for help ?”

“I think you’re ten. You should be fingerpainting, not running errands for Daddy Evil. It’s still not going to make him love you.”

Luck’s glare was sharp enough to slice.

“Alright,” Taly said. “I’m done with the games. You’re coming with me.”

She stepped in and grabbed the girl’s wrist.

The Weave buckled. She felt it twist, then split, her magic snapping to the side so hard it nearly took her balance with it.

Pain lit up her nerves. Her breath seized as her knees hit the carpet.

For one blind, pounding moment, nothing made sense. Not up, not down, not her own damn heartbeat.

When she looked up—Luck was gone.

Mist curled in the hallway, cold and wet and clinging.

“Shit.” Taly stumbled to her feet, waving her arms through the dissipating fog. “Damn it.”

She was alone.

She could still feel the shape of the girl’s wrist in her palm—like static, like heat. Her whole body buzzed like a tuning fork out of key. “What the fuck was that?”

Behind her, a slow, deliberate clap echoed. Taly spun around to find the hobgoblin still in his doorway.

“I wouldn’t take it personally, girlie. That one’s got more tricks than you’ve got time.”

Taly’s eyes narrowed. “Really, Grizzlethorn? Taking coin from the enemy while Ivain gives you the freedom to run your business? That’s not going to sit well with him.”

“I work for whoever pays me best, girlie. Ya know that. And that’s why I was plannin’ o’ givin’ your da first pick, seein’ as he’s interested in them riftways now. Don’t mean I ain’t takin’ my cut, though—business is business.”

Practical, transactional, and, in its own twisted way, almost loyal. It was the closest thing to allegiance any of the denizens of the backrooms ascribed to—giving someone the first chance to pay up before selling them out to the next bidder.

“What exactly was the tiny terror looking for?” Taly asked.

Grizzlethorn’s mouth twisted into something between a smirk and a scowl. He pushed the door open wider, gesturing her through. “Don’t go touchin’ nothin’. You’ve got the look of one that likes to go meddlin’ with what you’re not supposed to.”