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He glances toward the door of Kallias’s bedchamber. When he looks back, he holds out his hand, and I look down at the small wooden medallion dangling from a leather cord. There’s an intricate carving of a phoenix etched into its surface. It’s similar to the one Kallias wears, only more delicate.

I blink, surprise tightening my throat. “Did you make this for me?”

Maxim shrugs, brushing off the question like it’s nothing, though his expression softens. “Figured it might bring you a little luck.”

I take it, turning it over carefully. My heart warms at the remarkable details, at the care etched into every curve. “Why a phoenix?”

“Kal might have literal fire,” he says, a faint smile tugging at his lips, “but you’ve got your own kind. It burns just as hot.”

I swallow hard, pulling the cord over my head and tucking the medallion beneath my tunic. Its weight settles comfortably beside the goiteía charm from Aella.

“Thank you,” I say. But my words aren’t enough—not for something like this.

Maxim nods. “Now,” he says, pushing off the wall, “I’ll walk you back so the servants don’t start speculating about where you spent last night.”

I narrow my eyes at his back, but the corners of my mouth tug upward as I follow him toward the passage door.

Maxim stops me at the entrance to the Artery with a chaste kiss on my cheek, his lips barely brushing my skin. The gesture is light, fleeting, but perfectly timed as a pair of servants pass by.

I’m certain the chasteness of it doesn’t match the way I must appear—disheveled, my hair slightly mussed, my cheeks still faintly flushed, and the scent of citrus and smoke clinging to my skin. But hopefully Maxim’s calculated display is enough to ensure that any lingering whispers of Kallias and me are snuffed out.

He steps back, his eyes dancing with amusement. “Try not to get into too much trouble.”

I offer him a smile, though my chest feels tight. “No promises.”

As he turns and disappears into the shadows of the corridor, I press my fingers to the spot where his lips touched my cheek. The warmth is already fading, but the weight of what it meant lingers. A shield, a distraction, a carefully placed move in a game we’re all playing.

And yet, as I step into the Artery, the buzz of servants filling the air, I can’t help but feel like the whispers Maxim sought to extinguish are still smoldering.

I shake off the thought, heading toward the servants’ quarters. But my feet slow at the sight of Thena.

She stands near the edge of the corridor, her slight frame rigid as she faces a guard. His tall figure overshadows hers, the interaction charged with an uneasy energy. Their words are too distant to catch, but their movements speak loudly. The guard’s posture is stiff, his expression hard. She steps closer, her hands moving in sweeping gestures, urgency in every motion.

My eyes narrow, and I stride toward them. But the guard has already turned his back and retreated when I reach her side.

“Is everything all right here?”

I turn to Thena. She drags a hand over her face, jaw tight, red-rimmed eyes fixed on a patch of stone beyond my shoulder. But despite her best efforts, her cheeks still glisten with tear tracks.

My chest tightens. “What happened?”

“It’s fine.” The words come out clipped. She shakes her head, tucking a stray curl behind her ear with trembling fingers. “He owed me a favor. He disagrees. That’s all.”

“About what, exactly?”

I’ve never seen Thena like this; she’s normally so composed.

“Deke,” she says, so softly I almost don’t catch the name. “He’s missing.”

The world tilts, staggering beneath me. Deke—the nymphai who delivered the medicinal herbs. I’d had an inkling there was more beyond his flirtations and her blush. My stomach turns sharply as the memory of the nymphai Maxim and I saw carted into the building resurfaces. The horns and limp, lifeless curls burned into my mind.

I catch myself before the shock can show. “Missing how?” I ask, my words softening.

“I don’t know.” Her shoulders lift a fraction, then lock back into place. “He always makes the deliveries, but the man who came today said they haven’t seen him in a week. His family hasn’t seen him either.

“He’s…careless sometimes,” she says, like it’s a defense she doesn’t believe. “He’ll turn up.”

The ache in her voice nearly breaks something in me. It takes all of my will to tamp down the immense guilt and pain I feel and to not tell her what I saw.