The past few days had been a balancing act, one performed on a knife's edge. They'd planted the dossier in Elihu's house under cover of night. Nothing with names, no direct links to the ten of them, just enough to suggest that he had orchestrated something unsanctioned with outside help. It was subtle. It was smart. It should have worked.
Elihu was gone. And the more time passed, the more suspicious that fact became.
No one had said anything officially, but the air inside the Crow Hall had turned strange. Dense and watchful. She could feel eyes lingering a little too long, conversations shifting when she entered the room. The whispers hadn't started yet, but the silence was almost worse. Like the sharp intake of breath before a scream.
She hadn't seen much of Viago or Lucanis. They'd been busy. Meetings. Interrogations. Strategising whatever came next. And as far as she could tell, they hadn't looked her way. That had to be good. It meant she was still a shadow in this story. For now.
But the rest of them - the ten - were fracturing at the seams.
Alis was cracking. She flinched at every shift in tone, every stray glance from a superior. She'd seen her rubbing her hand like it burned, eyes darting like she was already rehearsing confessions.
Jacek was watching her. Closely. Like a cat circling a birdcage. He said nothing, but Starling didn't trust that silence.
She, Ridge, Cade, and Tenna had spent the last two nights trying to work out what came next. How to reinforce the lie. Cement Elihu as the rogue. They needed something public, something indirect - proof that he had ties outside the guild. Maybe fake a correspondence. Maybe plant a witness. They were still talking in half-sentences and glances.
And now, Starling was just trying to walk to the Maker-damned mess hall without her thoughts turning to ash in her mouth.
She rounded a corner, head down, when a presence eclipsed her. A hand caught her wrist. The wall kissed her spine. She blinked and Lucanis was there. Dark eyes sweeping the hallway. Checking. Assessing. And then they dropped to her.
His mouth found hers before she could form a thought. A sound. Anything. The kiss was consuming. His body pressed against hers like he could mould them together, heat and power and possession wrapped in the stillness of stone. And Maker help her - despite the fear simmering in her gut, despite her better judgement - she melted into it. Her hands curled against his chest. Her lips parted. She kissed him back like he was breath and blood and the last solid thing in a world crumbling around her.
Then, he pulled back, just enough to speak. His voice low, barely more than a thread of heat against her skin.
"Come to the estate tonight."
It wasn't a question. It wasn't even a request. Just a quiet instruction, absolute in its certainty. She nodded. Before she could think better of it. Before she remembered to be afraid.
He stepped back without another word and walked away like nothing had happened. And her back hit the wall again, this time under her own weight.
Fuck.
She should have said no. Should've made an excuse. They were working on this. What if they already knew something? What if that wasn't lust or longing but bait? What if it was a test?
But if she didn't show up? That could look just as suspicious. More so, maybe.
Damned if she did. Dead if she didn't.
She ran a hand down her face. "Fuck, fuck, fuck."
The mess hall forgotten, she turned and walked the other way. She needed time. She needed space to think.
--
They'd barely sat down before Lucanis had started pacing again. He was quiet, focused, his mind clearly still on the meeting they'd left only an hour ago.
Viago didn't blame him. The death of Linus Valchette, a diplomat with Crow protection, was a mess. But the theft of that chest of magical artefacts? That was something worse. It wasn't just about reputation or obligations now - it was about power. Power stolen from under their noses.
And now one of their own - Handler Elihu - was missing.
"Went to his house today," Viago said, lifting a glass of deep red wine to his lips before setting it back down, untasted. "Door was locked. No signs of a struggle. Everything in place… except for the things that weren't."
Lucanis turned, one brow raised.
Viago gestured idly, fingers dancing through the air. "Maps of the manor where the diplomat died. Guard rotations. Details on where the chest was being stored. Even the name of the mage contracted to protect it."
Lucanis frowned. "He just left those sitting out?"
"They weren't hidden, but they weren't out in the open either. Someone swept the place - cleaned out anything that might name names. But they missed the working materials. Or left them on purpose."
Lucanis sat, hands clasped in front of his mouth. "No leads on who might've helped him?"
Viago shook his head. "Not yet. No known external contracts. No correspondence. But this doesn't feel random."
Lucanis didn't respond. He didn't have to. They'd both seen enough to know a cover-up when they were walking through one.
The only good thing in the last three days - aside from a few rare hours of sleep - was the fact that Viago had managed to confirm Starling's absence had been a sanctioned mission.
Still, her absence had gnawed at him. Her quiet was louder than it should have been. And it had been too long. He was about to pour the wine after all when the soft knock came.
The steward stepped in. "Miss Starling, as requested."
Viago's shoulders eased before the sentence was even finished. And then she stepped into the room. Simple clothes. A little tired around the edges. But that spark of mischief in her eyes was still there - however carefully placed.
His blood hummed. She was always beautiful, but it was something else tonight. Maybe it was the way she carried her uncertainty. The defiance behind the caution. The way she tried not to look at him too long. Like he might see too much. He did. He always did. He crossed to her, every step measured, and took her hand gently before brushing a kiss against her knuckles.
"Now the evening improves," he murmured, voice velvet over steel.
She gave a tight smile, but didn't pull away. Lucanis hadn't spoken yet, but Viago felt the tension in him uncoil slightly. She was here. That was enough for now.
Viago kept her hand in his as he led her further into the room.
"We were just discussing work," he said, glancing back at her, his tone deceptively mild. "Not very thrilling, I'm afraid. A dead man, a stolen chest, and a vanished Crow."
He let that hang there, just long enough to see if she flinched. She didn't. Not externally. But her grip on his fingers tightened - just for a second. Subtle. Most people wouldn't have noticed it. But he wasn't most people. And she wasn't just anyone. He turned slightly toward her, tilting his head in that thoughtful, feline way he knew unnerved most people, though she was getting better at withstanding it.
"Word around the Hall is Elihu is missing," she said.
Her voice was casual. Of course she'd heard. How could she not? The Hall was a hive, a place where secrets whispered themselves into ears, where truth and rumour wove the same threads. It wasn't just a den of assassins, it was a sanctum of observation. And she was good at her job.
Viago gave a low hum. "Did you know him well?"
Her nose crinkled just slightly. "Not really. Wren gives me most of my assignments."
That part was true. Viago had confirmed it himself more than once. Starling's handler of record was Wren. He didn't push yet. Just nodded slightly, brushing his thumb along the ridge of her knuckles. Her hands were always warm. Calloused from training. Nimble from locks and blades. And just now, ever so slightly tense.
"But he did give you one recently, yes?"
She nodded. Didn't elaborate. Didn't flinch either. Disciplined. But that was Starling, wasn't it? Tasks were tasks. She didn't talk about them, didn't dwell on them, didn't wrap her identity around any one job. It was always just something to do, and when it was done, she moved on. Detached and efficient.
It was admirable. And frustrating.
Viago glanced at Lucanis, who was watching her with that intense, silent weight of his. Measuring. As always. A single blink from Lucanis could say more than a page of Viago's poetry.
Viago turned his eyes back to Starling. Her hair was falling over her shoulder, catching the candlelight. She looked tired again, but beneath it, there was still that coiled-wire energy - tightly wound and carefully tucked away. She didn't ask what they'd found. Didn't offer thoughts on Elihu. Just waited, like she wasn't sure what the invitation tonight had been for. Or maybe she was sure and was bracing for it.
Viago smiled faintly and released her hand.
"I suppose you wouldn't know anything about what he was working on, then?" he asked lightly, as if it didn't matter.
She shrugged. "Nothing that ever made it to me."
Not a lie. Not quite the truth, either. But still, he didn't smell guilt on her. Not yet. Not fear. Not the kind that meant danger. Just… restraint. Viago sank onto the couch, letting one arm sprawl across the back.
"Good. Because the way things are going, not knowing might be the safest place to be."
She gave a soft huff through her nose and shrugged. "With the way gossip works in the Hall, I'll probably hear soon enough anyway."
Viago let out a quiet laugh, tipping his head in concession. She wasn't wrong. In the Crow Hall, secrets didn't last long. Not truly. They lived brief, whispered lives before being picked clean by sharp ears and sharper tongues. And Starling - quiet as she was - was far from deaf.
He followed her gaze to the table where a small bowl of candied almonds waited. She didn't move toward them, just looked, and that was enough. He reached out and slid the bowl closer to her. She blinked at him, as if caught in the act of wanting.
"Where does your fondness for these come from?" he asked, voice light, as he folded one leg over the other.
There was a beat, then she said, softly, "Nostalgia."
Her fingers had already curled around the bowl, settling it on her crossed legs. The word slipped out of her too easily, and she winced - just slightly - as if wishing she could snatch it back.
Viago's brows lifted. Interesting. So often, she kept everything close to the chest. But not this time. He glanced at Lucanis, who had straightened slightly, eyes sharpening on her in quiet interest. They didn't speak, just shared the moment like a silent thread pulled taut between them.
"No favourite place," Lucanis murmured, "but a favourite food, then."
Her eyes flicked up, and the mischief returned like a sunbeam breaking through storm clouds. "Looks that way."
There it was again - that glimmer. The thing that had them both so caught. She wasn't all sharp corners and deflection. Sometimes, she gave you this. That gleam in her eye, that hint of playfulness just waiting to be coaxed out.
Viago leaned back, draping one arm across the couch behind her. "I like to imagine you as a child with pockets full of stolen sweets, crumbs around your mouth, lying your way out of trouble."
Her lips curved, betraying her amusement. "That's very specific."
"Oh, I imagine you specifically quite often," he replied smoothly, his voice dipped in lazy silk. "Especially when you're not here."
Lucanis snorted softly beside them, but it wasn't derisive. Just amused and warm. Starling looked at the almonds, plucked one from the bowl, and popped it into her mouth. Viago watched the movement - small, simple, intimate. She was here, curled on their divan, with her knees drawn up and her shoulders soft, the tiniest bit of her armour lowered.
They'd missed her. And despite the pressure of the investigation, the hunt for a killer, the silence of a vanished handler, this felt like something real. Something grounding.
Viago reached for an almond himself. "Well, then. Nostalgia it is."
They wouldn't push her. Not tonight. But they'd keep coaxing those little truths out of her, one almond at a time.