I force it back, the effort leaving me gasping. Black spots dance across my vision. When I can see clearly again, my shadows have reformed around me, sullen and strange.
The contracts still wait. Executions to plan. Territory to defend. But all I can think about is bay leaves and the way she called us malnourished like it personally offended her.
Tomorrow I'll stop this. Close the doors. Make clear what happens to civilians who think my killers need mothering.
But tonight I sit in my cold room, stomach full for the first time in weeks, watching my shadows form her smile over and over.
The tremor spreads to my shoulders. Then my chest. I let it. No one's here to see the Shadow King shake from something as simple as soup made with care.
No one except my shadows, and they're too busy remembering her to judge.
I should plan her removal. Calculate the cleanest way to eliminate this threat. She knows too much, seen too much. One quick strike and my guild goes back to normal. Back to fear and hunger and dying young.
Instead I find myself thinking about hidden vegetables and someone who calls assassins "babies" while planning their nutritional salvation.
My reflection in the dark window shows the truth—a dying man fed soup by someone who doesn't know she should be afraid.
The smart move is killing her.
But my shadows won't form blades anymore. Only bowls. Only her hands stirring soup.
Only warmth I can't afford to want.
Tomorrow. I'll handle it tomorrow.
Tonight, I'm just another guild baby who finally ate dinner.
Chapter 8
Matthias's left eye is twitching. The one that means I've said something perfectly reasonable that he's decided to find alarming.
"Antifungal treatment. Industrial strength." I pile another bottle on his counter, reading labels. "And something for respiratory infections. Preventative, if you have it. The black mold situation is really quite advanced."
"Black mold." His voice comes out flat. "You're treating black mold."
"Well, someone has to. They're just living with it, Matthias. Like it's a decorative choice." I find what I'm looking for—a thick salve that promises to kill 'even the most persistent fungal infections.' Perfect. "Can you imagine? Sleeping next to patches of actual death spores because nobody taught them about proper ventilation?"
He sets down the jar he's holding very carefully. "Where exactly is this mold problem?"
"My friends' place. You know, the ones I mentioned? They live in this compound that's basically held together by damp and poor decisions." I count out coins, making neat piles. "The kitchen's better now—I cleaned that yesterday—but the sleeping quarters are disasters. One room has mushrooms growing in the corner. Actual mushrooms, Matthias."
"Your friends." He's using his careful voice now. The one he saves for when Mrs. Wickershaft insists her cat can talk. "The ones who lurk outside your window."
"They don't lurk. They maintain professional surveillance distance." I add another bottle to my pile. "Anyway, I need you to come look at it. You know more about structural mold than anyone."
"No."
"But you haven't even heard where—"
"The Shadow King's compound." He says it like a diagnosis. Terminal, probably. "You're asking me to voluntarily enter the Shadow King's compound to critique his housekeeping."
"His what now?" I pause in my coin counting. "No, this is just where my friends live. The ones who've been eating my soup. Very nice people. Terrible living conditions."
Matthias grabs my shoulders. Gently, but his hands shake slightly. "Olivia. Sweet, impossible girl. The Shadow Guild. You've been feeding the Shadow Guild."
"Don't be dramatic. They're just—" I stop. Think about the shadows. The knives. The way they call someone 'Boss' with that particular flavor of terror. "Oh."
"Oh? That's all? Oh?"
