She adjusted the weight of the small sack over her shoulder. It held nearly everything she owned - some clothes, a pair of boots, her little stash of coin, a dull-bladed practice knife with a ribbon wound through the hilt. The important things were tucked deeper, beneath the false bottom she'd stitched into the lining. Notes. Names. Maps. Letters unsent.
Tenna trailed after her like a suspicious cat, arms crossed and a sly grin curling her mouth.
"You and Cade have your own places now?"
"Yes," Starling said matter-of-factly. "We've grown up. Flown the nest. You should try it sometime."
"Where've you moved to?"
"Just a little one-room thing. It has a window. And a door."
Tenna snorted. "Maker, you're evasive."
"It does have a window and a door," Starling insisted innocently.
Tenna gave her the kind of flat look that said she wasn't buying any of it. "So you can meet your lover somewhere private?"
Starling didn't miss a beat. "Yes. All ten of them. Nice private orgies."
Tenna laughed and rolled her eyes as they walked together down the long hallway that led to the exit. Morning sunlight streamed in from high windows, the kind of bright that made everything look more honest than it really was. Starling squinted against it.
"When will I see you again?" Tenna asked dramatically.
"Every day, since I still have to come here for practice. And probably to steal food."
Starling grinned. Tenna matched it.
"Spend all your coin on another roof, none left for food?"
"I'm frugal."
Tenna shook her head. "When are you going to invite me to see it?"
"Maybe once I've settled. And have furniture."
A voice, smooth as silk and warm as wine, slid through the air before they reached the door.
"And what might we be needing furniture for?"
Viago.
She didn't even need to turn to know. It was in the cadence. The tone. The smug, amused possession he wore in every word he directed at her.
Starling stiffened instinctively. So did Tenna.
Viago stood just off to the side, half-shrouded in shadow from a support beam like he'd simply bloomed there, arms loosely crossed, one brow arched in quiet, knowing interest.
"Nothing," she said. "Sir."
She hated how formal her voice sounded. Like a kicked-up reaction. Like it mattered. She kept her eyes respectfully averted, tried not to remember how his hand had fisted in her hair, how she'd had his cock in her mouth, how he'd told her - low, rough, commanding - to swallow everything he gave her. And how she had. Without hesitation. Without shame.
It always felt strange seeing them like this. Fully clothed, composed, the weight of their reputations like armour. No steam curling the edges of her vision, no slick heat between her thighs. Just stone walls and sharp eyes and that slow, knowing tone that pulled at something inside her she couldn't quite name.
The warmth crept into her cheeks anyway. Subtle, but she could feel it betraying her. She didn't dare glance up to see if he noticed. She was almost certain he had.
--
Viago watched her closely, the way her eyes stayed down, that subtle stiffness in her spine. The way she called him sir. It slid down his skin like warm oil - irritating and arousing all at once.
She had that sack over her shoulder, and he recognised it. He'd seen it near her cot before, tucked at the foot like a pet. It was pitifully small. She hadn't owned much to begin with - now everything she had fit in that single, slouching bag.
"Moving out?" he asked, voice smooth.
She gave a little nod, still not meeting his eyes. But he wasn't blind - he saw the faint flush colouring her cheeks. Not unaffected, then. Good.
"Where should we be forwarding your mail?" he asked, casual on the surface.
"No need," she said quickly. "I'll still be here every day anyway."
Evasive little thing.
He smiled, just a hint, letting silence press against her words. She didn't lie, exactly - but she never told the truth straight either. He wasn't sure if he admired that or wanted to press her against a wall until she started answering questions properly.
She was moving somewhere else. Somewhere he didn't know. He wasn't entirely sure he liked that. Not at all.
Not just because of the secrecy, though that had always been part of her charm. No, it was the way it cut him out. The distance of it. As if the moments they shared could be tucked away and contained like everything else in her damned little satchel. Neat and discreet. And easy to walk away from.
He cocked his head slightly, studying the line of her neck, the way her hair fell over it deliberately.
And then a thought struck him, and he smirked.
"I don't imagine you get much anyway," he said lazily. "I suppose everything could be said in person."
Her eyes flicked to his, quick, cautious. Weighing the words. Wondering if it was a warning. A threat. An implication. Would he really invite her to their bed out loud, where people could hear?
Good, he thought. She should wonder.
Beside her, Tenna's gaze pinged between them, trying very hard to be subtle and failing miserably. Viago didn't even spare her a glance.
"I suppose so," Starling said, polite and noncommittal, offering him one of those empty little smiles that said nothing at all. "I should go."
Then she turned and walked off, her steps light and deliberate. He watched her go, one brow lifted, the smirk still tugging at the corner of his mouth.
Clever, evasive, secretive little bird.
He was amused. He was also going to find out exactly where that nest of hers was eventually.
Viago stood at the edge of the corridor after she'd vanished from view, the smile tugging at his mouth far too indulgent for how irritated he actually felt. She said she'd still be around, after all, still slinking through Crow Hall with her sharp smiles and sharper blades, still letting them fuck her and pretend it didn't mean anything.
But just as he turned to head toward the stairs, something twisted low in his gut. A quiet, stubborn pull.
Better to know now.
So he followed.
It started on foot, through the open marketplace outside the Hall. She wore a loose cloak now, her hood pulled up, but it was her all right. He recognised the shape of her shoulders, the way she carried her bag like she was ready to bolt at any moment. She didn't take the straight path. Wound her way instead through merchants and vendors, never so quickly as to draw attention, but never so slow as to be relaxed either.
Just… careful.
Viago let her get ahead. Dipped into shadows, slipped through doorways, and scaled a low roof when the crowd thinned. From the tiles above, he tracked her through the narrow streets like a game. She moved like she expected to be followed. The question was, was that just caution? Or did she know?
He couldn't be sure. Her head didn't turn. She didn't slow. She vanished into a tailor's shop and reemerged a minute later in a different cloak, simple and charcoal grey. Not suspicious, just… practical. Someone else entirely now.
Viago huffed out a breath and leapt to the next rooftop. She moved again, threading through alleyways, dipping behind a tavern, into another crowd, and out the other side.
And then she was gone.
Viago dropped down to the street level, scanning. No sign of her. He chuckled low under his breath, shaking his head.
"Amusing little thing."
But it wasn't just amusement now. Not really. That strange twist in his gut still lingered. Why did she go to such lengths to hide everything? Not just this place - everything. Her smiles were surface-level. Her stories were absent. Her pleasure was generous but never vulnerable.
He didn't even know if Starling was her real name.
That wouldn't do.
He leaned against the stone wall, gaze still on the path she'd taken, brow faintly furrowed in thought. If she wanted to play this game of secrets, that was fine. He liked secrets. Especially when he got to pry them open like jewellery boxes and see what spilled out.
He would figure her out. Find every little gear that ticked inside her clever, maddening head. Her soft spots, her favourite meals, the lullabies someone may or may not have once sung to her. Who she was before the knives, before the Crows. Before them.
Knowing, after all, was half the battle. And Viago intended to win.
--
Lucanis was in the study when Viago found him, going over a map with Teia's notes in one hand and a short glass of whisky in the other. He barely glanced up as Viago entered, slipping inside with that soft-footed elegance of his. But the way Viago lingered by the door - smirking - told Lucanis he wasn't here for wine or war.
"She's moved out," Viago said. "No longer nesting in the Hall."
Lucanis raised a brow, eyes still on the map. "That so?"
Viago made a soft noise as he drifted toward the liquor cabinet. "Mm. Saw her packing up. Asked her where she was going. Got a smile full of teeth and no useful answer. And when I followed her…" He poured himself a measure of brandy, swirled it lazily. "She lost me."
That got Lucanis's attention.
He looked up, slowly, letting the silence stretch a beat too long. "You lost her."
Viago shrugged, half amused, half irritated. "To be fair, she's rather good."
Lucanis sat back in the chair, the leather creaking beneath him. "No one's that good." A pause. "Except her, apparently."
There was annoyance simmering low in his chest - but not the violent kind. No, this was colder, coiled. A bolt hole they didn't know. A bed that wasn't theirs. Privacy they hadn't given her.
"Is it safe?" he asked, already knowing Viago didn't have the answer. "She sleeping with a knife under her pillow? Locked windows? Does she even have locks? What if someone follows her home?"
Viago tilted his glass toward him. "All good questions. I would have asked... if she hadn't vanished into the goddamn bricks."
Lucanis exhaled through his nose. He was annoyed. He was impressed. And he hated both of those feelings.
"She's hiding it for a reason."
Viago nodded, leaning against the edge of the desk. "And I'd wager the reason isn't because she trusts us with her whole heart."
Lucanis's jaw flexed. His fingers drummed once against the glass. "She lets us inside her but won't tell us where she sleeps." His gaze darkened. "It's galling."
Viago's smirk returned. "I thought you liked them elusive."
"I like them obedient."
Viago lifted his glass in toast. "And yet."
Lucanis let his head fall back against the chair, staring up at the ornate plaster ceiling. "What do we actually want from her?" he asked, voice quieter but not uncertain. Just… tired of not naming things.
Viago didn't answer right away. Neither of them had said it out loud. Not in so many words. That they wanted her more than in passing. That they weren't looking for something brief. That maybe they weren't planning to let her go at all.
Lucanis lowered his head again and met Viago's eyes. "We want her here. With us. Nights she stays, she stays. None of this vanishing before dawn. None of this trapdoor bullshit."
Viago arched a brow. "Planning to cuff her to the bed?"
Lucanis's mouth twitched. "I wasn't joking about the silk rope."
Viago laughed. Low, delighted. "You romantic."
Lucanis downed the rest of his drink and set the glass aside with a soft thunk. "Tomorrow. We find her. We bring her back."
Viago tilted his head. "And if she resists?"
Lucanis stood, cracked his neck, the tension riding down his spine like a loaded bowstring. "She won't. Not if we do it right. We invite. We coax. We use her favourite damn almonds if we have to. But once she's in that bed, she's not leaving it until we're done."
Viago grinned, swirling the last of his drink. "So… next week then."
Lucanis didn't smile, but the gleam in his eyes was dark with promise. "Tomorrow," he said again.
And this time, she would stay.