Page 66 of Smoke, Mirrors, & Misdemeanours

When a few minutes later a flower still hadn’t come, he sighed and headed for the side hall. All three of them kept rooms here—carved out from the old, converted building with its rustic brick walls and protective wards. Caius had claimed the corner loft, Rhodes the attic. Ark chose the room at the back where the light came in softest and no one ever knocked unless it mattered.

He showered carefully around his bandaged hand, then dressed in the spare clothes he kept for nights like this. When he emerged from his room, he caught himself glancing at the desk—and forced himself to look away.

Still no flower.

Not that he expected one. He didn’t even know why he kept checking.

A week ago, he might’ve laughed at the absurdity of it. Now, the enchanted flowers felt like the only real colour in his world of carefully curated grey. A small smile ghosted across his lips. He didn’t miss the irony.

A demon who unraveled curses for a living—who traced old magics through abandoned places and spent years coaxing silence from houses that screamed—now kept blooms that smelled of baked goods and a comfort he’d never allowed himself to want.

He forced himself to sit and work. Around ten, the door swung open, slicing through the quiet.

“What in the Four Ancestors’ names is that divine smell?” Caius’s voice drifted in first, silken and amused. “Ark? Did you summon breakfast?”

“I smell cinnamon.” Rhodes quickened his pace and appeared around the corner. “And brown sugar.” He slowed to a stop, his gaze landing on the array of blooms clustered neatly inside the vase. “These weren’t here yesterday.”

“They’re Cassia’s magic missives,” Ark told them.

Caius tilted his head, studying the soft shimmer of spellwork. “Inscribed blooms that smell like confections,” he murmured. “How elegant.”

He leaned in, gaze narrowing in appreciation. “And they’ve been stabilized.” He straightened, pale eyes focusing on Ark. “You preserved them.”

His tone held the kind of awe that rattled Ark.

“It’s an enchantment archive,” he replied, the defensiveness creeping in despite his efforts. “For research purposes.”

Rhodes snorted. “Love notes, you mean.”

“They’re not love notes. They’re strategic correspondence. For the engagement.”

“The fake engagement?”

Ark opened his mouth to confirm it, but the word ‘fake’ coated his tongue like curdled milk.

He didn’t answer.

Caius’s gaze slid over his damp hair, the freshly changed shirt. “You didn’t go home.”

“I didn’t feel like it.”

“The auction didn’t go well?”

Ark looked at him. “We got a million gildens for the Lens.”

Caius didn’t speak for a moment. “Good, but you know that’s not what I was asking.”

Ark stared at the preserved petals. He could leave it at that. A professional report. But the memory of Cassia’s posture, straight and unyielding under the weight of sneers, rose swift and punishing.

He dragged a hand through his hair. “It was worse than I expected. Dinner was manageable, but during the break . . .” He exhaled, the air leaving him in a rush. “It was supposed to be pretend. Just a performance. But when she stood there, taking it—every insult, every look of contempt—and didn’t so much as flinch . . .”

His eyes dropped to his bandaged hand. He had wanted to tear the room apart. It had taken every ounce of his control not to shatter the marble floor beneath their feet.

Heavy silence followed. Then came the sound of Rhodes cracking his knuckles, sharp in the quiet. Ark looked up to see him rubbing a fist against his palm.

“Alright,” Rhodes said. “Who do we need to beat up?”

Ark let out a rough laugh. “This isn’t that kind of fight.”