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his head. There was no blood, no wound that I could see, no obvious sign of what had killed him. But as I watched, he convulsed

once more and went still, and I knew he would not be getting up.

The screams were spreading as everyone in the square started to realize what had happened. Citizens fled or froze in place,

gaping stupidly at the body. Guards raced toward the commotion. Everyone’s attention was riveted to what was happening in

the square.

Without really knowing why, I looked at the rooftop directly across from me.

For a split second, I saw a figure. A hooded silhouette, pale against the surrounding stones. Just as it drew back and vanished

into the shadows.

My stomach churned, a chill sliding up my spine. Instinctively, I knew who it was.

“Sparrow!”

I jumped. Jeran was on his feet, eyes narrowed as he gazed at the chaos below. “Come on,” he snapped, holding out a hand.

“Let’s get out of here before the guards show up and start asking questions.”

Standard thief procedure: Flee from any crime or disturbance, even if you had no part in it. No guild member wanted to deal

with guards on a normal day; whenever there was trouble, our kind tended to mysteriously vanish into the cracks, crowds, or

shadows. But I hesitated, heart pounding, searching the rooftops for a glimpse of that elusive figure. Even though I knew

I would never find him.

“Sparrow!” Jeran’s voice held a thread of desperation.

I scrambled to my feet, as screams and cries of alarm continued to ring from the square below.

Most everyone was fleeing now, except for the guards and a few brave, curious, or foolish citizens.

The body lay motionless where it had fallen; a man of average height and considerable girth, his features hidden, planted into the stones.

There was still no blood, no wound, nothing to show how he had died.

Two guards stood over him with their swords drawn, glaring around the square as if they could somehow catch the one responsible.

Drawing back from the solemn sight, I turned and fled, following Jeran across the roof. We scrambled down the wall, sprinted

across the road, and vanished into the darkness of the alleyways beyond.

We headed straight back to the Docks District like mice fleeing to their hole to escape the household cat, not stopping to

think or talk. We nearly crashed into Dahveen in an alley, and the three of us continued to the warehouse without speaking

until we were safely within its dingy walls.

Staggering into the tavern, we headed toward the corner barrel. My heart still pounded as I plunked into the seat, relieved

to be back in familiar territory. Rala took one look at our panting, sweaty faces, set down a trio of mugs, and said she’d

get the story out of me later.

Jeran downed the contents of his mug and set it on the barrel with a thump. “Well, that was interesting,” he said. His tone

was flippant; death was no stranger to any of us, but the sudden, unexpected way it had happened back in Highmarket had taken

us by surprise. “They’ll be talking about this for a while. Any idea who died back there?”

Dahveen snorted. “Some fat, rich noble,” he muttered. “Probably choked on one of his candied palm nuts.”

I sensed Jeran’s gaze on my face, worried and appraising, and my cheeks warmed. “What about you, Sparrow?” he asked. “You’ve

been awfully quiet. What do you think happened?”

The iylvahn’s face flashed through my mind, pale eyes cold and blank as he stood before the high priestess. A kahjai in Kovass only invites death.

But I couldn’t talk about the iylvahn without revealing where I had seen him, which was strictly forbidden. “I don’t know.”

I shrugged. “There wasn’t any blood, though. No wound I could see. Maybe he did choke on a palm nut.”

Vahn abruptly strode into the tavern, startling everyone. The Guildmaster rarely came here, preferring to spend most of his

free time alone in his office. Glaring around the room, he spotted us in the corner and immediately headed in our direction.

Jeran and Dahveen stiffened as he stalked toward us, his expression frighteningly intense.

“You three.” His voice was sharp, making the other two flinch. Neither Jeran nor Dahveen looked him in the face, their gazes

darting everywhere but to Vahn. I glanced up and saw anger in his eyes. Anger, but also a hint of fear, which made my heartbeat

quicken. I had never seen Vahn react fearfully to anything. Something had shaken him to the core.

“You were at the firedancer circus tonight, correct?” Vahn asked, glaring around the table. “Did you see the murder?”

Dahveen shook his head, but Jeran and I both nodded. “We were on a rooftop when it happened,” Jeran told Vahn, whose gaze

sharpened. “We didn’t see how it happened—one second, everything was normal, and then there was a body on the ground and everyone was running away.”

“Did you see who did it?” Vahn asked, and though the question was for the group, his gaze was on me. From the corner of my eye, I saw Jeran’s lips tighten, a dark expression crossing his face. But I couldn’t focus on Jeran under the weight of Vahn’s glare.

“I thought I saw... someone,” I confessed. “On the rooftops across from us.” For a second, I considered telling him what

I had overheard in the Temple of Fate. The conversation between the high priestess and the iylvahn. But Jeran and Dahveen

were right there, listening. I didn’t want to get any of us in trouble by revealing things I shouldn’t.

Vahn’s gaze continued to pierce through me, expectant. And I was not going to disappoint him. Even if I wasn’t certain of

what I had seen. “I... couldn’t really see them clearly,” I began, stumbling over the words. “It was dark, and they were

far away. But... it... it might’ve been... an iylvahn?”

Dahveen gave a snort of disbelief, but Vahn’s face went pale. He straightened, gazing around the tavern, as if the iylvahn

could be lurking among the barrels or under the countertop. “It’s here,” he growled, mostly to himself, though I felt a chill

run up my spine at the words. “It’s already in the city.” His jaw clenched, and he glanced back at us, narrowing his eyes.

“Do not leave the guild tonight, Sparrow,” he said, making me blink. “That’s an order. Understand?”

Bewildered, I nodded. “What’s going on?” I asked, but Vahn had already turned away.

I watched him stride back through the tavern and duck out the curtained doorway, and tried to ignore the feeling of anxiety spreading through my chest. I considered running after Vahn to ask him more questions, but I knew the Guildmaster.

Until he was ready to explain what was happening, I would have to wait and try not to worry about it.

Dahveen blew out a breath and gave me a disgusted look. “You did not see an iylvahn tonight,” he accused. “Stop lying—everyone

knows the iylvahn hardly ever leave their hidden city. Why would one be here in Kovass?”

I shrugged. “Maybe to kill a fat noble,” I said, and he snorted again.

“You really saw one?” Jeran asked, sounding warily hopeful. “An iylvahn? You didn’t just say that to impress the Guildmaster?”

I frowned. I didn’t really care if Dahveen believed me, but Jeran’s words stung. “I wouldn’t lie to Vahn, Jeran,” I said.

“Especially when someone just died. You know me better than that.”

His gaze dropped, and he immediately raised a placating hand. “You’re right,” he said. “Sorry. Forget I said anything.”

I relaxed and gave him a forgiving nod. He and Dahveen continued talking, about the circus, the performers, and the unexpected

death, for several long minutes. I sat there, nursing my drink, and thought about... other things. The iylvahn, the Circle,

Vahn’s ominous behavior and his order not to leave the warehouse.

But also, I thought of the brief touch Jeran and I had shared on the rooftop. The look on his face when his eyes met mine,

and the strange fluttering in my stomach. And I wondered what might’ve happened, what might have started, had we not been

interrupted.