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Before I could frame a retort, she drove her fist straight into it.

Stars burst; hot iron flooded my sinuses. I staggered against the wall, biting back a curse.

“There,” she said, flexing her knuckles with a wicked little smile. “Now the story rings true.”

The young girl’s eyes went wide. I steadied myself and met Adeline’s gaze through the haze of tears and copper.

“You—” I swallowed copper. “Was that necessary?”

She wiped her knuckles on my waistcoat. “You were ambushed. They don’t need to know Adeline Wolfe maimed August Hawthorne.”

She reached for the girl’s shackles, producing a pick so slender it looked spun from moonlight. Two quick turns—the irons fell. “I’ll take her.”

“That’s insanity,” I hissed, dabbing blood on my sleeve. Adeline’s tone softened—almost. “You’re already wobbling on a knife-edge, August. Let me bloody my boots for once.”

“Laundry port. Ten minutes. I’ll stall the guards.”

Adeline offered a quick, soldier’s nod, then pressed a hand to my sleeve—strange, gentle. She guided Marigold into the passage, melting into torch-dappled dark.

I straightened, pain splintering behind my eyes, and forced my spine tall. Above, Father’s orders cracked like thunder.

Let him demand explanations.

I finally had one worth lying for.

I did exactly what I told Adeline I would do. Sending the Hunters in a chase in the opposite direction, quickly returning to the ballroom.

The chandeliers were blazing again when I re-entered the ballroom—too many flames, too much gilt.

Father commanded the floor exactly where I’d left him, cane-sword upright, a court of uneasy nobles arrayed like chess pieces at his back. The void where Marigold had knelt was already being scrubbed by servants: blood and child-sized footprints rubbed into nothing.

When the crowd saw me—bloodied nose—conversation died mid-breath. Fans ceased fluttering; whispers calcified into brittle silence.

Father’s emerald stare speared straight through me.

I advanced three measured steps, boots echoing off marble. “A blackout hit as I was escorting the girl. Several people jumped us in the dark.” I lifted my stained cuff. “By the time torches were relit, they were gone.”

A collective hiss rippled through the nobles: ambush, inside of Oxford?

Father's brow barely twitched, but fury coiled beneath his calm like a viper.

“Weavers?”

“The only thing that could explain the blackout, sir.” I let the words hang, implying a leak—anything to steer suspicion away from Lily.

“And the woman you brought, the Wolfes’ cousin. She questioned the unraveling. Where was she?”

Garrick stepped forward, holding Lily by the arm. “She never left my side.”

The ballroom’s hush thickened, ears stretching toward the confrontation forming at the foot of the dais. Garrick’s fingers circled Lily’s elbow in a courteous parody of restraint, but the knuckles were white; he understood exactly how fragile the moment had become.

Father’s gaze slid from my bloodied cuff to Lily’s storm-bright eyes. He took her in—single glance, entire worth assessed—and the temperature of the room seemed to drop.

“So, the spirited guest who dared interrupt judgment.”

Lily lifted her chin, refusing to shrink. “Interrupting murder is hardly a crime, Unraveler.”

A muted gasp feathered through silk and brocade. Garrick’s grip tightened.