When he saw Emrys, he broke into a crooked grin and bowed low—deeper than any servant I had ever seen.
“You finally came, Master,” he said, his voice breathless. “It’s been… many years.”
Emrys inclined his head but said nothing.
“Master Liang already left. He said he will act according to the plan.”
“Was he followed?”
“No, Master. None of the Eclipse Order’s scum,” the old man whispered.
“Make sure you watch the sky too, Mister Hearth. Hollowborn are flying in the night.”
“Aye. London is not safe anymore. As my task here is done, I ask permission to leave, Master.” The man’s narrow eyes glowed with hope.
Emrys’s face softened. “What do you have in mind, old friend?”
The man reached into the pocket of his worn jacket and placed two photographs on the dusty glass display before us. One was a beautiful opera house beneath strange tropical trees. The other was of a stunning young woman with dark hair that cascaded past her narrow waist. Of course, she was gorgeous. Of course, Emrys’s breath caught when he saw the picture. I rolled my eyes.
His fingers lingered on her face. “Camille,” he whispered, then paused as if afraid to ask the next question. “She’s still alive?”
My stomach twisted with something sharp and stupid. I barely understood what I felt for Emrys. But whatever it was, I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of seeing it.
“Alive and well. Living in Brazil and performing at the opera house in Belém.”
Now, it was my turn to draw a sharp breath. The dark-haired woman wasn’t only beautiful—she was obviously talented. And connected to Emrys in some way I couldn’t stop thinking about.
“So it’s Brazil for you, old friend?” Emrys smiled, and the man nodded.
“It is. At my age, tropical heat is better for my old bones than the fog in London. Let me get your things, Master.”
The tobacconist vanished into the back room with surprising speed and returned moments later with a thick, iron-bound strongbox clutched to his chest. He set it down on the counter with a grunt and opened it with a small brass key he wore on a chain around his neck.
I craned my neck to peek inside. Stacks of crisp banknotes, several rolls of sovereigns, travel papers, a sealedenvelope marked with an old wax sigil, and a velvet pouch that clinked softly when moved. Obviously, Emrys had prepared everything for this moment.
The tobacconist closed the box and placed it in a large leather bag. “I’ve kept it just as you left it. Safe travels, Master.” Then, with a sly glance at me, he added, “May your path remain… interesting.”
I wasn’t sure if it was a blessing or a curse.
Emrys nodded with a smile, and without another word, he turned around and walked out of Hearth & Hollow. The fog had thickened, swallowing the alley whole. I glanced back once. The shop’s lamp still burned behind the warped glass, but the interior was empty. The sign was gone too—as if the shop had never existed.
Emrys offered me his arm.
“To the station,” he said.
After everything that had happened today, I gave in to the temptation and leaned on him, grateful for the support. Since part of his power had entered me, I sensed this strange connection. Somehow, I’d taken a piece of him inside me. I didn’t know what that meant yet—but I could feel it now, like a tether humming under my skin.
We crossed the street toward Charing Cross as the clock tower tolled eight, the din of arriving carriages and hissing steam rising ahead of us.
Emrys
Ten Minutes to Dover
The rhythmic clatter of the rails was pure music to my ears. After decades caged in Duskmere’s crumbling bones, the stale scent of smoke and steel felt like a miracle. I was no longer bound by stone and spell—no longer dreaming of escape.
I had escaped.
All because of her. My little thief.
