She lifted a shoulder, turning away to examine a pile of books. “No one was as good as my brother. Ask my parents. If you spend your whole life on the Nexus fields, practicing in the shadow of a legend, somewhere along the way, merely being good loses its luster. I never quite knew how to get away from it until now. But maybe there’s a new purpose for me here, on this hunt.”
“Maybe,” I echoed, trying to keep from seeming too eager as I sidestepped toward Vitoria’s room. My eyes found Wickett across the cluttered living space. “Vitoria’s room is the one on the left.”
He moved toward it without hesitation, and I followed. Of course.
“What are you doing?”
“Searching.” I pushed past him into the small bedroom, my chest tight. “Or did you think I’d wait in the hall?”
The room smelled of her. Lavender and smoke. Her bed was unmade; blankets twisted like she’d left in a hurry. Books stacked everywhere. Poetry mostly, the tragic kind Mrs. Deliana had mentioned. A scarf hung from the mirror. Her daggers’ empty sheaths sat on the desk.
I forced myself to move methodically, hands steady despite the grief clawing at my throat. I basically lost her and Eda Mire in a span of days and my heart was hurting for both. Mourning both, though one still lived.
I started with the desk. Pulling out drawers, dumping them, checking for false bottoms. Nothing. I really didn’t think I wasgoing to find anything, but I desperately needed to. And I was racing a hunter to find clues he wouldn’t recognize while he searched for... Furies knew what. He worked the other side of the room with practiced efficiency, but I could feel him watching me. Measuring my reactions.
“Check under the floorboards,” I said, dropping to my knees beside the bed. “She was paranoid about hiding things.”
“Paranoid or careful?”
“Does it matter?” I shoved my hand under the bed frame, fingers searching.
He knelt across from me, close enough that I caught the scent of rain still clinging to his coat. His hands moved with surgical precision, testing boards, searching cracks.
I found myself tracking those movements. The way his fingers pressed and probed, the controlled strength in them. The way his hair curled at the ends because it was wet.
Focus.
I yanked my attention back to the search, pulling books from the shelf beside her bed and shaking them. Pages fluttered. Nothing fell out. I threw each one onto the growing pile with more force than necessary, hiding my wince as they landed. I was desperate for answers, and I knew there had to be something here, but... books were precious. Burned to nothing every single time a Phoenix rose, it took ages to rewrite and rebuild. That was why most of my favorite stories came from my father’s whimsical mind instead of from fresh ink on pages.
“Thorough,” Wickett observed, drawing me back into the room.
“I’m not a fan of wasting my own time. I want answers. Don’t you?”
He studied me for a moment too long. “Yes.”
The mattress sat there, mocking me with its ordinary appearance. Vitoria would have hidden things where no onewould think to look. Where destruction was required to find them.
“Give me your knife.” I held out my hand.
Wickett’s eyebrows lifted. “Excuse me?”
“The mattress. I need to cut it open.”
“You realize what you’re asking?”
“Since when is a hunter unwilling to cause a little damage?” I kept my hand extended, steady, knowing the destruction wasn’t why he hesitated. Arming his enemy was. “Hand it over.”
Something flickered in his eyes. Challenge accepted. He pulled the blade from his belt and placed it in my palm, handle first. Our fingers brushed. Just for a heartbeat. Just long enough for heat to spike up my arm. I couldn’t believe the Ripper had just handed me his knife. Fool.
Turning away quickly, I moved to the bed. The knife sank into the fabric with a satisfying rip, and I dragged it down the length of the mattress. Stuffing spilled out like guts from a wound.
“Vicious,” Wickett said approvingly behind me.
“Effective.” I cut again, crosswise, then began pulling out handfuls of batting, my hands moving quickly, desperately. There had to be something. Some clue. Some direction.
Come on, Tor. Let me help you.
Wickett joined me without comment, making quick work of the mattress’s far side. We worked in rhythm cutting, pulling, searching. As the mattress stuffing flew everywhere, the room seemed to grow smaller.
