Page 61 of Smoke, Mirrors, & Misdemeanours

His gaze held hers. “I will. Just . . . not tonight.”

Understanding flashed in her expression—edged with something tender. He knew he owed her more. Their arrangement, false as it was, entitled her to answers. Still, she didn’t push.

“Alright,” she finally said. “I’ll wait.”

She returned to tending his hand, and Ark watched her in the firelight—this woman who didn’t flinch from the monsters at the Aetherium or strange wounds born from a cellar door. Who didn’t demand more than he could give, but somehow tempted him into giving it anyway.

From the hearth, Anuck made a little mrrreow, as if he witnessed and understood everything.

Carefully, Cassia tied a knot and secured the bandage. “There,” she said softly. “Try not to ruin it within the hour.”

He gave a small, lopsided smile. “No promises.”

She packed up her box and returned it to the kitchen. Ark stood slowly and crossed to a glass-front cabinet between two bookshelves. Something had caught his eye earlier: a gold trophy glinting behind the firelight. First Place—Little Mineola Winter Harvest Loaf Competition.

The date beneath it made him pause: precisely two decades ago, to the day.

“You won a competition twenty years ago?” he called out, approaching the kitchen. “We should celebrate the anniversary.”

But her expression changed the moment the words left his mouth. The warmth drained from her face. Her jaw tightened and she went very still, as though bracing herself, preparing for impact. More questions pressed against his teeth. What was it about that trophy? That date? He could feel the cold where a door had closed, but she gave him nothing to hold on to. And because he remembered how she’d let him keep his silences earlier, it felt right to offer the same grace.

“Another time, perhaps,” he said.

Cassia didn’t smile, but the tension in her eyes eased. “Another time,” she echoed, softer now.

They lingered in the pause. Outside, ward-lamps flickered to life. Inside, the air smelled of lavender and clove—more comforting than he’d expected.

He should leave. He also didn’t want to.

He made himself carry his mug to the kitchen and set it in the sink. “I should go.”

Cassia didn’t argue. She walked him to the door, arms folded loosely.

“Thank you,” she said. “For dinner. For the auction. For everything.”

His lips curved. “Thank you for letting me inside your house. For tending to my injury.”

And for being the only person who’d tempted him to expand his small circle of trust.

His hand was already on the knob but he didn’t turn it. Something hovered between them—close enough to touch, but not ready to be held. He looked at her. The firelight caught the copper in her hair, the shadows beneath her eyes. Her fingers toyed with the doorframe like she didn’t want to say goodbye.

He didn’t want to either, but he said, “Good night, Cassia.”

“Good night, Ark.”

He stepped out into the crisp night air. The scent of thyme and honey followed him down the path like a ghost he didn’t mean to take with him. The door closed behind him with a soft click.

It wasn’t until he reached the carriage that he realized how glad he was that this wasn’t a farewell—just a pause.

15

CASSIA

Cassia leaned her back against the door. The scent of him—smoke and cedar, warm spices—clung to the air. It curled around her like a question she didn’t dare answer.

She went to her bedroom to change out of the evening dress. On the nightstand sat a small green pouch. She picked it up and opened it. Ark’s hair caught the light, the lock he’d cut to seal their bargain. She toyed with the strands, wondering why she kept it so close to her bed. There was no real reason. Not one she was willing to admit.

This was ridiculous.