Of course it was. His expression hardened slightly as his thoughts circled back.
A missing dragon heir, gone for years, hidden well enough to evade everyone else, and now somewhere in this town she was hiding because it was the only place left to check.
“Tomorrow,” he said quietly. “We observe the locals, listen for gossip, and hopefully find this heir before the week is out.”
Mark nodded, swirling his drink. “And if she doesn’t want to be found?”
Spencer didn’t hesitate. “We weren’t hired to ask what she wants.”
The words landed flat between them, it felt wrong to say it out loud. Yet it was true.
Mark studied him for a second, then sighed. “Yeah. Alright.”
Spencer leaned back slightly in his chair, gaze flicking once more toward the sea beyond the walls. That deep, ancient awareness still brushing faintly against his senses.
The guardians would feel them eventually. Of that, he had no doubt.
Which meant time wasn’t a luxury they had. He took another slow drink, eyes narrowing just slightly.
“Let’s just hope,” Mark said under his breath, “this job doesn’t turn into something messier than it already is.”
Spencer didn’t answer, because it already had, they just hadn’t seen how yet.
3
Edith did not run,running attracted attention and made people look at you like you had grown an extra tail. So she absolutely didnotrun. There was no need, unless it involved cake, then she would have ran like the wind. Instead, she just exited the pub at a speed that could generously be described asurgent but dignified, slipping through the door of Ferret’s Mott the second no one was looking her way, and launched herself into the night air like a very small, very determined purple missile.
“Not running,” she muttered as her wings beat furiously. “Strategically relocating.”
Her wings burned almost immediately, of course they did, she hadn't done this much cardio in well, forever.Practical, she corrected herself pointedly. These wings were practical. Subtle. Inconspicuous, and also currently on fire.
“Fantastic,” she wheezed, flapping harder.
The hollow wasn’t far, and she thanked every mildly benevolent force in existence, but it felt like crossing an entire continent with every aching beat of her wings.
She pushed harder anyway. Because behind her… in that pub… were two very specific problems.
Twin problems. Hooded, silent, terrifyingly competent problems. Edith didn’t look back, admittingthe very clear, very immediate understanding that if you stayed in the same room as them for too long. You would be found.
Her wings faltered slightly, a piercing sting running through them. “Keep going,” she hissed to herself. “Nearly there.”
The Hollow came into view at last, tucked safely into the curve of the land, hidden enough that you had toknowit was there to find it.
Home, her chest tightened at the thought.
Edith angled downward, landing a little less gracefully than she would have liked, more acontrolled tumblethan elegant descent, but she didn’t care.
She scrambled inside, claws skittering against stone before she finally came to a stop. Edith stayed still for a moment, breathing hard, her wings twitching as they protested the abuse she’d just put them through.
“Ow,” she muttered faintly, before she scrambled to her corner in the living room.
“Well,” she added, flopping unceremoniously onto her side, “that could have gone better.”
Her gaze drifted to the small pile of odds and ends she’d collected over time; trinkets, shiny bits, the occasional questionable snack wrapper she refused to throw away for entirely sentimental reasons, and there, organised neatly… her winnings. Or rather, whatshouldhave been her winnings. Edith’s eyes narrowed.
“Denzel,” she said darkly. She’d had anexcellenthand… abeautifulhand, in fact A hand that practically screamedvictoryand what had she done?
Folded. Abandoned it and fled the scene like a dramatic heroine in a badly written play.
