Midnight was an unreasonable hour for business. It was cold, damp, and generally the sort of time associated with people who had poor morals, worse schedules, and an unfortunate attachment to hidden alleys. Respectable merchants slept at midnight. Respectable nobles slept at midnight. Respectable Grand Dukes, after a day spent dealing with a hidden mouth beneath the Capital, a terrified child with too many memories, a corrupt orphanage dean, and a priest whose silence had been branded into his soul, should absolutely have been asleep at midnight too.

Unfortunately, Fate had requested a meeting. And in the Capital, one did not ignore a person called Fate, not for philosophical reasons, but because she owned the Black Market. There was a practical difference.

I adjusted the dark cuff at my wrist as William followed me toward the eastern gate. He hadn’t said much while I prepared, which was far more concerning than if he’d started lecturing me on the dangers of meeting criminals beneath bridges. Silence from William usually meant he’d already delivered the lecture internally and decided I was too stubborn to benefit from hearing it out loud.

He was usually right.

"How are the children?" I asked.

"Mil has fallen asleep," William replied. "The other two remain at the west safehouse. The girl woke briefly and accepted water. The boy with the injured wrist has a fever, but the physician believes it’s manageable."

"Did they eat?"

"Some."

That wasn’t enough, though I knew better than to demand frightened children finish full meals simply because it would make me feel more efficient about the whole affair. Hunger didn’t disappear the moment food appeared in front of someone. Sometimes it took a while before a child believed a second meal was actually coming.

How irritating. Not the children. The people who’d taught them to expect otherwise.

"Have the physician stay through the night," I said. "And tell Bernard to send the foundation proposal through the secure Sonomi route before dawn."

William inclined his head. "The draft is already prepared."

Of course it was.

"What did you call it?"

"The Konstantin Ward and Training Program."

I stopped walking. William stopped with me.

"That sounds far too responsible."

"It’s meant to be responsible, Your Excellency."

"That’s the problem."

He gave me the patient look of a man who’d raised me long enough to know exactly when I was being difficult purely for entertainment. A proper name should hold meaning. It should make those children understand they hadn’t simply been moved from one cage into a slightly nicer one, that they could become more than whatever the charity, the temple, or some noble sponsor had already decided they were worth.

But it was too early for that.

Spiro would name it himself, once he understood what he actually wanted to build.

That much I’d already decided.

"Leave it for now," I said.

William bowed, and we resumed walking.

The eastern courtyard sat dim, though not entirely dark. Sonomi guards didn’t believe in leaving any entrance blind, so the lamps had simply been covered with bronze screens instead, keeping the light close and the shadows deliberate. Two knights stood at the gate. Three more had already melted into the city, invisible the way good operatives are supposed to be.

Abi waited beneath the archway, hands folded behind his back, dressed in black robes far too elegant for a midnight meeting under a bridge. Silver embroidery traced his collar and caught the lamplight every time he shifted his weight, which he did often enough to make sure I noticed.

He’d chosen that outfit specifically to be irritating. It worked.

"You took long enough," he said.

"I was speaking with William."

"You were being managed by William."

"There’s a difference."

"There really isn’t."

I turned to face him properly. Abi smiled, thoroughly unrepentant, and William, traitor that he was, didn’t even bother pretending to disagree.

"You’re both becoming unbearable," I said.

Abi pressed a hand to his chest. "Brother, I’ve always been unbearable. It would be dishonest to change now."

Regrettably true.

I turned back to William. "You know the instructions."

"Yes, Your Excellency."

"Keep the estate wards active. No letters reach the children’s wing without inspection. No temple personnel, palace messengers, anonymous petitioners, traveling musicians, or stray cats."

Abi frowned. "Why cats?"

"Because cats are suspicious."

William’s expression didn’t so much as flicker. "Understood."

Abi looked personally offended on behalf of every cat in the Capital. "Cats are not suspicious."

"They walk into rooms without asking and stare at people like they own the property."

"That’s confidence."

"That’s trespassing with fur."

One of the knights coughed, and it sounded suspiciously like a laugh he was trying very hard to swallow. I decided to be merciful and let it go.

"Also," I added, looking at Abi directly, "you will not turn anyone into mist unless it’s necessary."

He raised a brow. "You’re not leaving me behind this time."

"I’m not."

"Then why are you giving instructions like I’m a dangerous household appliance?"

"Because you are."

His expression brightened immediately. "That’s almost affectionate."

"It’s preventative maintenance."

William’s mouth twitched, just barely. Everyone in this household had started developing terrible habits, and I left before those habits could get any worse.

The carriage waiting beyond the eastern gate was plain enough to avoid attention but expensive enough that the wheels didn’t complain over uneven stone. Some standards weren’t negotiable. Abi climbed in first and stretched across the opposite seat like a man who’d never once encountered the concept of furniture etiquette. I sat down with the dignity he clearly lacked, and the carriage pulled forward.

For the first stretch of the ride, neither of us spoke. The Capital slid past the window in blurred smears of gold and black, shops shuttered, street lamps burning low.

Somewhere down the avenue two drunks argued with the seriousness of men negotiating imperial borders. I almost admired their commitment.

Then Abi spoke.

"The creature called you by a name."

There it was.

I looked out the window instead of at him. "It called me many things. Ancient entities like theatrics."

Abi watched me a beat longer than usual, long enough that the silence started to mean something, though not quite the uncomfortable kind. Then he leaned back against the seat.

"Yes," he said quietly. "Theatrics."

That was all. No follow-up questions, no forced explanations, no attempt to press his fingers into old wounds and call it concern. I was grateful for that, though I would never say so out loud.

The carriage crossed into the eastern district, where the broad avenues narrowed into older streets built before the Capital learned to decorate every visible surface with marble and bad decisions. The canal ran dark beneath the moonlight through this quarter, bridges arching over it at intervals, each one numbered only in old municipal records and the memories of people who conducted illegal business after sunset.

Fate had chosen the third eastern bridge. Of course she had.

We left the carriage two streets away and continued on foot. The bridge itself was modest, stone worn smooth and damp from river mist. A few old lanterns hung from iron hooks, but only one still burned, its flame weak behind clouded glass. The third arch waited below in near total dark.

Abi glanced toward it. "Romantic."

"It smells like wet stone and fish."

"Many romances do."

"How unfortunate for romance."

He laughed softly, and a moment later a figure stepped out of the shadows beneath the arch. Fate wore a charcoal cloak, her hood low enough to hide her face from the street above. Her gloves were grey, though unlike the ones the dean had described, these were clean and well fitted, without a trace of ritual marks or crimson glass dust.

She stopped a few paces away and looked at me, then at Abi, then back at me. For a moment she said nothing, and I didn’t blame her. The last time she’d met me, I’d been an unremarkable man with ash brown hair, green eyes, and a face deliberately built to be forgotten. Tonight I stood in front of her as myself. A courtesy. A warning. An admission, whether I meant it as one or not.

Fate’s smile was faint beneath her hood. "Your Excellency."

"Lady Fate."

"You look considerably less average than the last time we met."

"That disguise served its purpose."

"I suspected it might have." Her gaze drifted to Abi again. "Anima crystals aren’t usually offered as payment by ordinary customers. Neither is Vita’s Tears purchased by men pretending to collect for an apothecary."

"Then you recognized me from the crystals?"

"I recognized the possibility," she corrected. "Your letter made the possibility difficult to ignore."

Abi pressed a hand to his chest. "My brother does have a flair for subtlety."

"I don’t," I said.

Her eyes moved between us. "And this is Lord Abinatha Konstantin?"

"Unfortunately," I said.

"That’s correct," Abi said, entirely too pleased with himself.

Fate didn’t ask what he was. Smart woman. She’d survived the Black Market long enough to know that some questions weren’t answered so much as remembered, filed away by whoever asked them until, much later, they came to regret their curiosity.

"You asked about preservation salts, ritual grade bone, ward stones, temple incense, and forged child transport papers," Fate said. "That combination wasn’t subtle either."

"I wasn’t aiming for subtlety."

"No. You were aiming for something else."

"What gave it away?"

"You offered anima crystals."

I smiled faintly. Fate might have been practical, but she was also sharp enough to be dangerous in a way I could genuinely appreciate. She reached beneath her cloak and drew out a narrow leather folder bound with dark thread instead of a clasp. No metal. No glass. How thoughtful of her.

She didn’t hand it over right away.

"Before we discuss the contents," she said, "I’d like it understood that I don’t enjoy getting tangled in temple business."

"Neither do I."

"I don’t believe you."

"You shouldn’t."

Abi made a satisfied sound at that.

"Fine," Fate said, exhaling through her nose. "I don’t enjoy temple business because temple business has a habit of turning into dead merchant business. The Black Market profits from corruption. It doesn’t profit from divine nonsense."

"An excellent distinction."

"Thank you."

She looked down at the folder in her hands. "The name Halwen Grey doesn’t belong to one person."