Ah.There.
Her heart gave a hard thump. Not with guilt. Also not with anticipation. She couldn’t quite describe what she was feeling. It wasn’t just one thing, but several things so fused she couldn’t name the bundle of nerves gathering in the pit of her belly.
Let’s not think about that right now.
A prickling sensation kissed the back of her neck. Again. It hadbeen doing that since he left her shop.
She paused and turned.
Besides people going about their business, a child darting across the street, and a shaggy dog sniffing at a wheelbarrow, nothing else.
Still.
Thatfeeling.
A flicker of unease clung to the prickles on her neck. An unmistakable itch. Calliope knew that feeling. She’d lived with it for years—on stairs that creaked wrong, in rooms where doors locked from the outside, hearing whispers in corridors. She had learned to trust the itch. To move before it became a snare. But that was in another life.
“See?” she muttered under her breath. “That man is already a disruption to your peace, and he’s not even here.”
How on earth was she going to get through the next six months? Leave that man behind and let someone else fall under his unwanted scrutiny. For now, it was time to rid herself of the curse in her reticule. Calliope stopped beside the alley and reached into her bag for the slipper, her fingers circling the object, but she couldn’t move. Her fingers curled, loosened, then curled around the slipper again.
Blast it.
Why was it suddenly so hard to let go of a shoe? This wasn’t about sentiment. She couldn’t cling to that forever. It wasn’t about... abouthim, either.
It was about erasing evidence.
So why did tossing the slipper away feel like casting off a piece of herself she hadn’t yet finished mourning?
Because it is proof.
Proof she’d escaped her fate.
Calliope swallowed hard, thumb brushing the fabric.
Then, instead of plucking the slipper out and disregarding it as she ought, she withdrew her hand.
She couldn’t do it.
Not yet. It hurt too much to do it in this very moment. Hurt in a way she couldn’t explain. This small, seemingly insignificant footwear was proof of where she’d been. Of what she had been willing to risk. And yes, in the wrong hands, it could undo everything.
Calliope wasn’t ready to erase that truth.
The road seemed to lengthen as she continued on her way. Her heart, on the other hand, had unburdened some. If she could survive Duvessa and her brood, she could survive anything.
The prickle on her neck flared once more.
Her steps softened, just as they had when she’d stolen moments of play outside, lowering her presence. Necessity had taught her well. Years of practice had made moving without drawing notice almost second nature. That didn’t mean she enjoyed honed responses. No one should have to be good at shrinking smaller. But still, that odd sensation chased her as she made her way back home.
She glanced over her shoulder again.
Still nothing.
Urh, Calliope!Of course no one was watching. Of course she hadn’t been followed. Her nerves were simply on edge from being upturned by that beast in black. Nothing more.
Her shoulders had just eased when a voice stopped her in her tracks.
“Miss Turner.”
