Page 137

“Keep still,” I say, raising the cloth to his face.

I work quickly, brushing the makeshift grime along the sharp line of his cheekbones. The intensity of his gaze sends a flicker of heat through my lower belly, and I have to hold my breath as I finish the task. “You’re enjoying this way too much,” I mutter.

“You’re touching my face, Poison,” he says. “I’m enduring.”

I snort softly but don’t look away. My hands linger—just a moment too long—before I step back in an attempt to break the tension that builds with every passing second. But the air between us feels too heavy, too full of the memory of his lips on mine, the feel of him—

“If you two are done, we’ve got a schedule to keep,” Maxim says, swiping the cloth from my hand and rubbing it onto his own face.

“Weapons,” I prompt, but before the word fully leaves my mouth, they’re already securing long, sleek daggers at their hips. Maxim’s movements are precise, his hands moving with the ease of someone who has done this a thousand times before. Kallias mirrors them, clearly having learned from him. The blades look sharp enough to cleave through bone, but my unease isn’t about the weapons. I eye him carefully, silently praying to the Anemoi that he actually knows how to wield them.

“Come on. Time to burn the Eagle’s plans to ash.”

I press my back against the warm stone wall, forcing my breaths to stay shallow and silent, even though my heart hammers against my ribs like it’s trying to escape.

My eyes dart to the rooftops, searching for any hint of movement. Every shadow, every flicker of light from a distant window seems like a threat. My fingers tighten around the hilt of my blade, the handle slick against my clammy palm. We shouldn’t be here. Not like this. Not without backup. But there’s no turning back now.

Kallias leans casually against the wall a few paces away, arms crossed, his posture too confident for the situation we’re in. His sharp eyes, strangely absent of his usual kohl, are his only visible feature beneath the hooded wrap he wears.

“Don’t look at me like that,” Kallias whispers, his voice low and teasing. I flinch, my head snapping up before I can stop myself. He pulls the front of the wrap down and steps closer, his boots making barely a whisper against the cobblestones. “I might get the wrong idea,” he adds.

“I shouldn’t have brought you here,” I admit, my own voice muffled by the fabric covering the lower portion of my face. The regret is sharper now that I’ve said it aloud. Neither of them should be here. Kallias least of all. He belongs anywhere but here, tangled in my mess of broken plans and shifting allegiances.

His smirk sharpens. “You think you could have stopped me?”

Before I can answer, his tone shifts, catching me off guard. “Promise me,” he says. “When this is done, we’ll talk.”

I nod before I can think better of it.

“Now,” Maxim hisses from the corner, snapping us both back to reality.

The fragile moment shatters, and I spring into motion, slipping from the alley and darting through the shadows toward the building. I split away from the two of them, gripping the edge of the building and hauling myself up. My fingers quickly find holds on the rough stone, the jagged edges biting into my palms as I climb. The night air clings to my skin, damp and heavy, as I pull myself higher. Below, Maxim vanishes from view, while Kallias crouches in the shadows. But the muffled sound of Maxim’s performance—stumbling, slurring, pounding on the front door—reaches my ears.

I ease open the upper-floor window and lower myself to the aged floorboards inside. The air is thick and stifling, carrying the faint tang of blood and something else I can’t place. I force myself to inch toward the muffled sounds beyond the door.

The layout is different from what I imagined. What I thought would be some kind of abandoned storage building looks more like an old pleasure house. As I creep down the hall, I glance in at the darkened rooms, checking each for signs of guards lying in wait but only making out the shapes of broken bedframes and other decaying furniture. My pulse pounds in my ears as I inch toward a staircase up ahead.

I freeze at the sudden silence from below, my instincts sharp, but a smile tugs at my lips when Maxim’s noise crescendos again. As I step onto the creaking stairs, the sound is quickly drowned out by the chaos of his escalating performance.

The scene unfolds in an instant as I reach the bottom: two guards squaring off against him, the doorway wide open, and then—his eyes lock with mine.

We strike simultaneously.

My dagger’s hilt cracks against the skull of the nearest guard with a sickening thud, and he collapses, lifeless, to the floor. A moment later, the other guard joins him, and Kallias slips inside, sealing the door shut.

“Tie them,” I whisper sharply. Maxim moves without hesitation, securing them both and gagging them for good measure.

I watch him work, a sense of apprehension creeping into my mind. Nudging their heads to the side with the toe of my boot, I examine their ears for piercings. When I find no sign of the Aviary’s mark, the unease deepens.

“What is it?” Kallias asks.

I shake my head and turn away. “Let’s get this done.”

We comb through the lower floor, finding nothing but abandoned rooms like the ones above. But when we come to a heavy wooden door with a new lock, my pulse quickens. Kallias passes me my lockpick set before I can ask. I crouch in front of the lock as I pull out the tension wrench and pick. My hands tremble, but I shove the nerves aside.

Focus.

Each click of the tumblers is a minor victory as I work. Sweat beads on my temple, sliding down as the seconds slip away. The lock sticks and I grit my teeth, adjusting the pick and applying the slightest bit more pressure.