Page 98 of Smoke, Mirrors, & Misdemeanours

Ark sighed and reached for his cup, trying not to glance back at the kitchen.

He failed.

Rhodes snorted. “I take that back. We have lost him.”

Ark couldn’t help but chuckle, the warmth of the moment settling into his chest. His gaze swept the bakery—this place Cassia, and her mother before her, had loved. Anuck had saved it in time, but the memory of last night’s incident lingered. It was a reminder of how low Alderrath was willing to go—and that wasn’t something Ark could let go.

He set his cup down with a quiet clink.

“So,” Caius said, his lips thinning, “what’s the plan for today?”

Ark met his gaze. “It’s time to see Alderrath at his office.”

The table went still. Rhodes’s grin vanished. Caius’s hands stopped moving.

“You’re going to start a war in his building?” Rhodes asked.

“I’m going to deliver a message.” Ark’s voice was flat. “He sent a Construct here last night—a destructive glyph. It could have levelled the building.”

It could have reached her.

Caius leaned in. “Ark, that’s not a message. That’s a declaration. Walking in there alone⁠—”

“He needs to be reminded,” Ark cut in, “that feeling unsafe in one’s own home is a courtesy I can easily return. He needs to be reminded that threatening Cassia has consequences he hasn’t calculated.”

Breakfast ended. Plans were made. Caius and Rhodes offered to go with him, but this was something he needed to see through alone. They said goodbye to Cassia and filed out, the bakery door chiming behind them. Ark stopped at the counter. Cassia stood there, her gaze fixed on him.

“I overheard you,” she said, her voice low. “You’re confronting Alderrath. Is that wise?”

Ark said nothing.

She searched his face, and he saw the fear there—not for herself, but for him. Then she exhaled, her shoulders easing, her body allowing itself to believe in his capability, if not his safety.

“Just . . . be careful,” she said.

The words grounded him. He stepped toward the counter, his hand going to his coat pocket. “You’ve held up your side of the bargain. Let me start working on mine. How much do I owe you for breakfast?”

Her brows drew together. “I’m not charging you.”

“Why not? We ate a lot of food.”

“You and your friends installed protection at my house and my business.”

He placed a bill on the counter. “You needed protection because of me. Alderrath wouldn’t have threatened you if I hadn’t provoked him.”

“Still no.” She pushed the bill back. “A friend can buy another friend breakfast, can’t she?”

Friend.

He’d used the word himself, and now he hated it.

The word was a gulf, kindly meant but vast. Polite and utterly inadequate for the raw, protective urge she ignited in him. Two weeks ago, he hadn’t known her name. Now he stood in her bakery, wanting to be . . . what? He didn’t know, but he knew with a sudden, hollow certainty he wanted to be more than the word she’d just used.

He slid the bill back into his coat. “In that case, thank you. For breakfast.”

Her lips curved. “Anytime.”

Even before he left, he knew he’d remember this moment—the sound of her voice, the quiet way she’d called him ‘friend.’ Part of him wondered if it would be enough—if it would ever be enough.