The folder was thinner than usual, the edges of the parchment slightly frayed like it had already passed through several hands. Wren laid it in front of her with a neutral expression, then leaned back in her chair, arms folded like always.
"You're to leave tomorrow. Should be clean."
Starling flipped it open. One glance at the target's name, location, and movement schedule, and her chest loosened in subtle relief. Still in Antiva. Rialto. Busy, rich with secrets, perfect for slipping in and out unnoticed. And more importantly - not Treviso.
She could stop in Antiva City on the way. See if her message for him was still where she left it. Touch the stone. Check the hollow. Just to be sure. And maybe... Maybe talk to a few more bards, slide the song into new hands, let it travel.
She tried not to let that flicker of hope take root. Tried not to imagine a moment where Zevran stood in that market and understood.
But then her eyes drifted back to the contract. Crisp, official looking, tidy. And not shown to Lucanis or Viago. Her jaw tightened slightly.
They asked me to bring them everything first. Every contract. Every assignment.
She hadn't promised, exactly. But they'd said it after Vasha. After Jacek. After the blood and the near-death and the sheer, humiliating helplessness of realising someone had set her up and she hadn't seen it coming.
And honestly? Neither had they. But they were smart. They were careful. And they'd wanted her to be safe, even if it grated. Even if it felt like a leash when it came from them.
Starling chewed the inside of her cheek. Wren had always seemed reliable, efficient, quite direct. Not overly warm, but never cruel. But then so had Elihu. That was the problem, wasn't it? It was starting to feel like she couldn't trust anyone's mask.
She tapped the corner of the folder once against her thigh, eyes narrowing.
This could be clean. This could be fine. It probably is.
But probably wasn't enough anymore. She glanced back at Wren. "Any objection to me confsulting on this with another handler?" She asked lightly, tilting her head.
Not a challenge, just a question. A test in which Wren didn't even blink.
"You want to go through Jaiteh or Cas? Be my guest."
Starling nodded once, all casual acceptance. But something inside her unfurled, just slightly. Good. Because she would check. Not because she needed permission. But because she was learning to value not dying, and not walking blindly into the next open wound.
She tucked the contract under one arm, her smile razor-light. "Appreciate it," she said, and turned on her heel.
--
She came in through the balcony like a thief, which - given who she was - tracked. Lucanis looked up from the parchment he'd been pretending to read, already aware of her presence before the latch clicked. That particular thrum of attention always lit behind his teeth the second she was near. Her shadow fell across the room. She swung a leg through the window.
"You're allowed to use the front door," he said dryly, leaning back in his chair.
She didn't dignify that with much. "You climbed in through my window."
She had him there.
Lucanis arched a brow. "And you've been impossible ever since."
She crossed the room without ceremony, pulled the strap of her satchel over her head, and let the leather bag drop onto the table between him and Viago. She pulled a single folded sheet from it and dropped it like it might bite.
"Wren gave me this today."
Viago - ever the diplomat - took it first. His eyes flicked across the page, mouth drawing into something thoughtful.
"Rialto," he murmured. "You'd be gone for weeks."
"Two, if that. I've already spoken to Cas and Jaiteh. Pretty sure this one's not a trap." She hesitated, then added, quieter, "But you'll probably get pissy if I don't show you."
Her tone was deliberately casual, but he saw the sharp gleam behind her eyes.
Lucanis gave her a flat look, one brow arched, his boot tapping once against the leg of the table. She was always doing this - balancing the knife-edge between obedience and independence. Showing them enough to make it look like she was playing fair, while leaving just enough room to disappear again. He hated how good she was at it.
Viago handed the contract over without a word. Lucanis skimmed it, every word a little itch beneath his skin. It wasn't a fake. Not a forgery. Not a death trap, either. It was a clean contract - Rialto's politics were petty, but the target was simple enough. Still too far. Still too long. Still away from them.
Viago's fingers drummed lightly against the edge of the page before folding it with the kind of care that made Lucanis's jaw tighten. Then Viago tucked it neatly into the inner pocket of his jacket.
"We'll verify it," he said lightly.
Starling gave a nod, like that settled it, like that was all she came for. She grabbed her satchel and turned, already heading for the balcony again. Lucanis didn't move at first, just watched her, her lean figure framed by the orange cast of the setting sun, the line of her shoulders loose, casual, like this was nothing. Like they hadn't just stood on opposite sides of another unspoken standoff.
"Where are you going?" He asked, voice sharp enough to still her for half a beat.
She looked back over her shoulder, cool and unbothered. "Home."
The word grated. She hadn't called the estate that. Not once. Not even after she bled all over their sheets, not after she curled into the centre of their bed like it had always belonged to her.
"Good night," she added, as if that was enough, as if she wasn't walking away again.
Lucanis watched her disappear across the garden and up the outer wall like a shadow peeled off the skyline. Quick, quiet, and confident.
He didn't say a word until she was gone. Then, flatly, "She would've taken it."
Viago hummed from the side, the folded contract still in his coat. "Of course she would have. Alone. With half her ribs still healing. And still convinced she's the only one who knows how to move in the dark."
Lucanis's jaw ticked once. "We should've locked the damn balcony window."
"She would've found another way out." Viago's voice was mild, but the undertone wasn't. "And you would've broken the lock just to chase her."
Lucanis didn't deny it. He stepped towards the balcony and leaned both hands on the stone, gaze fixed out where her figure had vanished. A weight pressed under his breastbone, familiar and sharp-edged. She hadn't run this time, but she hadn't stayed either. And he didn't like how easily she toggled between the two.
"She's not ready to give Rialto up," Viago said quietly behind him.
"No," Lucanis agreed. "But she's not ready to lose us either."
That was the only reason she'd brought it. She was trying, in her own way. And if she had to pretend it was her choice to yield, then they'd let her pretend, so long as she did yield.
He turned from the balcony at last. "We'll swap the contract. Something in Treviso. Better paid."
"And talk to the handlers?" Viago asked.
Lucanis nodded. "Again. They need to stop assigning her work outside the city unless it's cleared through us."
Viago sighed, dragging a hand through his hair as he moved towards the sideboard. "They won't like that."
"I don't care."
Because Starling would've taken this job. While injured. Bleeding. Proud. Still pushing too hard, too fast, like dying in Rialto would've proved something to someone. She didn't see the trap, not this time. But Lucanis did. He saw the pattern forming, the thread stretching taut. So they'd cut it before it snapped. Quietly and strategically. She could keep the illusion of choice. They would let her think she could leave if she wanted.
But he would do what he had to. He always did.
--
They were waiting for her near the stairwell, both too casually posed not to be deliberate, like they were part of the architecture, like they belonged here more than any of the Crow insignias etched into the marble.
Lucanis held the contract out first. She took it. The paper was the same, the wax seal the same, but… she felt it before she even saw it. Her stomach curled inward, breath catching low in her chest. She unfolded the parchment and scanned it once, twice.
Treviso.
Her jaw tightened. "This isn't the one I gave you." Her voice was flat. Careful.
Lucanis didn't blink. "This one's better. More lucrative. Closer to home."
Closer to you, she almost said. But didn't. The weight of it sank slow and thick in her chest. She wanted to go to Antiva City - not just for the bards, not just for the monument. She'd needed the distance. She'd needed the space to think, to move, to carry out her own agenda. Rialto had been her pretext. Her opening.
And now they'd closed it. Of course they had... Her fingers curled tighter around the edges of the contract.
"You're welcome," Viago said smoothly, like he'd handed her a gift instead of caged her with silk and good intentions.
"Hm," was all she said as she walked away.
A low hum of tension buzzed at the base of her skull, but her stride was even, casual, like nothing had cracked. Because she couldn't rage. Not here, not in the Hall where every eye might catch a glimpse of something personal. And because - damn it - the contract was better. More coin. Less travel. Easier exit when the time came. But her skin still prickled with that same old itch - the one that came when she realised her decisions were no longer hers alone.
She would let them think they'd won, that she was being good. But she'd still find a way to Antiva City. One way or another.
--
She didn't argue. That was the first thing Viago noticed. No eye roll. No clipped comeback. No sarcastic thank-you with teeth hidden just beneath the curve of her lips. Just a nod, just that little hum. And she walked.
Viago watched her go, arms folded loosely over his chest, his weight leaning into the stone like he had all the time in the world. But beneath the calm, something in him ticked.
"That's not submission," he murmured to Lucanis without taking his eyes off her. "That's retreat."
Lucanis didn't reply, not that he needed to. Viago could read him as easily as a mirror. The twitch in his jaw. The way his eyes tracked her all the way down the corridor like she might vanish again if he blinked. Like if he called her name, she might run.
No, Viago thought. Not run. Disappear. Because Starling was good at that. Too good. Not just vanishing over rooftops, but folding herself into spaces no one could follow. Hiding in plain sight.
She hadn't fought them for the contract, and that was what worried him most. If she'd yelled, it would've meant she still believed in the fight. Still felt tethered. But that little "hm"? That was venom. Quiet, slow-moving poison.
"She's planning something," he said finally, more amused than concerned. "Or trying very hard not to."
Lucanis let out a grunt that could've meant obviously or let her try.
Viago tilted his head, thoughtful now. He could feel the leash slipping in her hands - because they hadn't fastened it. They'd let her hold it, let her believe she could drop it whenever she liked. But what Starling hadn't realised yet was that they weren't trying to trap her. They were trying to root her. To bind her in ways that didn't look like chains. And whether she knew it or not, she was already knotted into them.
Viago's smile was small, half-shadowed as he turned to Lucanis.
"She'll stew for a while," he said. "Pace. Plot. Maybe try to find another route."
He began walking, hands in his coat pockets, like there wasn't blood in the walls and hunger in his chest.
"But she'll come back."
And when she did, they'd be waiting.