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“Wildest flower,” I murmur, the phrase pulling something loose from the corners of my memory.

“Does it mean something?” Maxim asks.

“I think it does,” I say. “It’s almost what Lady Calliope calls me.”

“A nickname?” Kallias drawls. “Hardly the encrypted code I’d hoped for.”

“So, you’re saying this isn’t from Myna?” Maxim’s face falls slightly, and he shifts where he stands.

“Not necessarily,” I say, my grip tightening on the letter’s edge. “I’ve never seen Myna’s handwriting. But the phrasing…”

Meet me where the Lady spills her soul in music, where her voice unravels the dusk.

Excitement ignites in my chest. “It’s not from Calliope. It’s about her. She owns the Muse on Maricious, and it’s packed until dawn most nights.”

I glance at Maxim and Kallias, and my enthusiasm falters. Maxim’s brow is furrowed, the sharp line of his mouth betraying his doubt. Kallias, with his arms crossed tightly, watches me, his skepticism clear in the tense set of his mouth.

“A pleasure house,” Kallias says dubiously.

I roll my eyes. “A pleasure house run by a lady who helped your sister with a jailbreak. The important thing is that it’s the only location that makes sense.”

“But we don’t have assurances this comes from your friend,” he says.

“No,” I admit. “But unless Maxim has a secret lover we don’t know about, it’s the most logical assumption.”

Kallias pauses thoughtfully before nodding in agreement.

Maxim scoffs. “What about the first lines, then?”

I turn my focus back to the letter.

What grows in silence is not forgetfulness, but obsession.

“It feels like a warning,” I say.

“You think it’s about Lord Malis?” Maxim asks.

“It lines up with what I overheard in the gallery about him sending Songbirds all over the isles. He’s been hunting, and I imagine he isn’t too pleased that I haven’t fallen prey.”

Neither of them answers.

“Bring your shadows.” I run my finger under the words. “I can’t figure out what it means.”

“Maybe it’s literal,” Maxim says. “Something physical.”

“Or metaphorical,” Kallias counters.

Either could be right. Or neither. Or maybe…

I glance between the two of them, their faces cast in moonlight and…shadows.

“It’s both,” I say, looking out the window toward the full moon. “It looks like we’re going to the Muse. And we’re going tonight.”

Despite the confidence I’m projecting, the last line of the letter haunts me.

Bring your shadows. I will bring mine.

If I’m right about the rest, then the question isn’t where Myna wants to meet and whether she’s willing to help us.