"Nobody follows the schedule," someone mutters from the back.
"Then we need a better schedule." The shadows around me are moving between the two groups. One pats Yarrow on the head. "Monday, Wednesday, Friday for Shadow Guild. Tuesday, Thursday, Saturday for former Copper Hands. Sunday is for everyone because misery loves company."
"That's not fair—"
"Fair is everyone getting training time without losing teeth." I look around the room, noting injuries. That one's breathing shallow—bruised ribs. That one's bleeding from his ear, which is concerning. And someone in the back is definitely hiding a dislocated finger. "Anyone else need medical attention while I'm here?"
The door slams open hard enough to make the cracked mirror finish breaking. Everyone reaches for weapons.
Arthur stands in the doorway, and he looks terrible.
His face is swollen on the left side, purple-black bruising that goes down into his collar. He's holding his ribs with one arm, breathing carefully. His knuckles are split open, still bleeding. And his boots—the left sole is actually flapping, held on by maybe one stitch.
"Weapons down," I snap, already moving toward him. "That's my brother."
"That's Tide Runner leadership," Vetch protests through his newly healed nose.
"That's my dehydrated, probably concussed brother who hasn't eaten vegetables in days." I catch Arthur as he sways. He's lost weight since last week—I can feel his ribs through his shirt. When did he last have protein? Actual protein, not whatevertavern scraps he's been living on. "How much water have you had today?"
"Livvy—"
"That's not an answer. Yarrow, get water. Finn, is there bread in the kitchen? Real bread, not the flat stuff." I'm already cataloging—at least four cracked ribs, his eye socket might be fractured, that left hand has broken bones. "We need privacy. Library. Now."
I steer Arthur out while everyone stares. The shadows follow, making worried movements around his injuries. One keeps pointing at his boots. My hands won't stop trembling now—partly exhaustion, partly seeing my little brother looking like he went ten rounds with a brick wall.
The library has books everywhere, morning light through actual glass windows, leather chairs that only squeak a little. And in the furthest corner, behind stacked adventure novels, is Tooth.
He's got his finger under each word, lips moving: "The... brave... little... rabbit... looked... at... the... big... dark... forest."
He looks up, sees us, and goes red all the way to his bald head. The book drops. There's a notebook beside him with words written in careful, shaky letters.
"I was just—this isn't—"
"Oh, that's a good one!" I'm genuinely delighted despite Arthur bleeding next to me. "The rabbit finds his courage in chapter two. Keep reading, we just need the alcove for medical privacy. Is the light good enough here? You'll strain your eyes if it's too dim."
Tooth clutches the book. "You don't... mind?"
"Mind? Tooth, literacy is wonderful. Besides, you're past picture books now. That has actual sentences." I guide Arthur to the alcove, noting that Tooth has bookmarks in several otherbooks scattered around. "Just maybe stay? In case we need another person."
He nods, pretending to go back to his rabbit book, but I can feel him listening. He moves his finger back to reread a line, mouthing the words slowly.
Arthur collapses into the chair and immediately winces. Definitely those ribs.
"Shirt off." I'm already pulling supplies from my bag. When did my life become constant triage? "What happened?"
"Territory dispute. With my own people." He winces pulling his shirt over his head. Someone worked him over systematically. "Some think I'm too soft on the Shadow Guild situation."
"You mean on me." I press my hands to his ribs, letting golden warmth flow. The bones are worse than I thought—one's actually cracked in two places. This is going to drain me completely. He gasps as they start moving back where they belong. "This is going to hurt before it helps."
The healing pulls hard. The magic wants to fix everything, not just the immediate damage. I can feel old injuries trying to heal, childhood scars wanting to disappear.
"Livvy, listen—" He grabs my wrist. "The Radiant Court isn't waiting anymore. They're moving. Now."
My light flickers. "What do you mean now?"
"Someone's been feeding them information. Detailed information." His eyes are serious in his bruised face. "They know you go to the garden at six in the morning. Which paths you take to market. Which guards you send away during meals. They know which windows you stand at when you're thinking."
From behind his book, Tooth speaks up: "Been seeing the same watchers every day. Seven-thirty at the east corner. Noon by the baker's. Four o'clock near the well."
