None of us slept.
Not really.
Even the ones who closed their eyes tossed through the night, caught in loops of half-formed thoughts and clenched jaws. I heard the footsteps in the hall—Vale pacing like a wolf. Lysandra murmured something in her sleep and startled herself awake. Link was humming some lullaby he'd probably picked up from a festival stall. Syd's quiet sobs, the kind he thought no one could hear.
I didn't sleep at all.
Just stared at the ceiling and waited for the sky to change.
When the morning light finally bled through the windows, it didn't feel like morning.It felt like another layer of weight dropped onto our shoulders.
We met in the courtyard, eyes bleary, mouths silent.I didn't need to say it out loud.
We weren't opening the stand today.
No one argued. Jake was already pulling the 'closed' shutters over our stock crates.Vale didn't even bother straightening his collar.Link wore mismatched shoes and didn't realize it.
The city outside kept moving—its usual festival pulse rising with drums, cart wheels, and market chatter—but we weren't part of it.
Not today.
Not until we found him.
Around midmorning, the Marquess sent for me.
He didn't wait. Didn't posture.
When I reached the estate courtyard, Marquess Albert was already leaning over a war table littered with parchment, city plans, and small colored markers. His hair was undone—silver strands loose across his shoulders. He looked like he hadn't rested either.
Alfon stood nearby, eyes still swollen, hands clenched into fists at his sides.
Marquess Albert didn't ask me how I felt. He didn't speak gently.He just gestured to the map.
"This is every alley, passage, and substructure around the arena. My men have been searching all night. So far—nothing."
I nodded.
He pointed again, stabbing toward three circled buildings.
"These locations are possible holding sites—old cellars, abandoned warehouses, merchant tunnels. We're checking them one by one. Quietly. I won't risk tipping them off if they're still in the city."
I didn't respond. There wasn't anything to say.He was doing what I would've done—if I had that kind of reach.
"I've spoken to the Guard Captain," Albert continued. "They've issued a discreet perimeter watch. Any attempt to move someone out of the city under enchantment or disguise will trigger a scry net."
"Good," I said.
He looked up. "I don't make empty promises, Eamond. If Garret is still within these walls, I'll find him."
I nodded once, then turned to leave.
"Wait," Alfon said suddenly.
I stopped.
He stepped forward, voice low but steady. "I'm… I'm sorry."
"I know."
"I should've stayed close. I shouldn't have—"
"It wasn't your fault," I said flatly.
"But it was my seat," he whispered.
I didn't answer that.
Maybe that mattered.
But right now, I didn't care who the target had been.
I only cared that Garret was missing.
That somewhere out there, he was alone. Tied up. Terrified.
That we were still empty-handed.
I spent the rest of the day checking alleys.Pacing rooftops.Talking to drunk workers. Shady shopkeepers. Sifting through old rumors and fresh lies.
At one point, I detoured through the moss-cracked back alleys and down the cellar steps behind a shuttered tavern.
The old Information Tavern.
They'd helped us once before—during the rescue of the Albert twins.
I thought maybe… maybe someone there had heard something.A whisper.A face.Anything.
I gave the signal knock. Stepped inside.
Flickering lanterns. A tired-looking man behind the bar—one I didn't recognize.
I gave the name. The code phrase. Flashed a gold piece.
He shook his head once, slowly.
"Nothing. Not a peep. Whoever did this is quiet—real quiet."
I pressed harder. He leaned in.
"Look, kid. If this was a snatch job done by street scum, I'd know. Hell, if it were the Red Fang coming back, I'd smell it. But this? It's too clean. No noise. No panic. Like the kid just… blinked out of existence."
I left the coin anyway.
Then I left the place, more tired than before.
Lysandra and Vale worked the other side of the district.Jake, Link, and Syd combed the merchant rows.
Nothing.
No footprints. No clothes. No blade. No scent.
No trail.
As if the boy had vanished into mist.
By sundown, we returned to the orphanage—exhausted, dust-streaked, and no closer than we were yesterday.
I dropped onto a bench beneath the courtyard lantern, the ledger still untouched in my satchel.
The sky was starting to darken again.
The streets felt too loud.
Too bright.
Festival streamers flapped in the breeze above my head like they had no idea someone was missing. Laughter echoed off the stone walls. Somewhere nearby, a lute player was butchering a song about spring wine and blooming lovers.
I kept walking, one hand in my pocket, the other gripping the strap of my satchel tighter than I needed to. My eyes scanned the crowd out of habit, but I wasn't looking. Not anymore.
Then I turned a corner too fast—and slammed into someone's shoulder-first.
"Ow—gods!" the girl snapped, stumbling back a step. "Why do I always run into you?"
Aile.
Of course, it was her.
Her sleeves were rolled up. There were ink stains on her fingers, and her hair was pulled back in a hasty twist that had mostly given up halfway through the morning. She looked half-done, half-ready, and fully irritated.
I gave a slight nod and stepped aside to keep walking.
"Hey, wait," she said behind me. "Why's your stand closed? I was going to get breakfast."
I paused. Just for a second.
Then I muttered, "We're… inventorying stock. Restocking. Won't open today."
"That's a crap excuse," she said bluntly.
I kept moving.
But she moved faster—slid in front of me with a single pivot, blocking the narrow alleyway. Arms crossed. Brows raised.
"Try again, Tart Prince. That was the worst lie I've heard this week, and I've been eavesdropping on drunk nobles for three days."
My jaw tightened. I wasn't in the mood for this. Not today. Not with her smug tone and relentless questions.
She opened her mouth again, but I spoke first.
"Garret was kidnapped."
The words hit like a stone.
Her mouth shut.
I stepped back, letting it hang in the silence for a moment before continuing—quieter now, lower, more controlled, but just as raw.
"Taken from the arena. No one saw. No trail. No magic trace. We've searched every alley, talked to guards, paid informants, and even checked the old contact who helped with the Red Fang. Nothing."
Her expression shifted. The anger dropped off like a snapped branch.
"…When?" she asked, voice tight.
"Yesterday. Late afternoon."
"And you…" She blinked. "You were working?"
"I let him go with someone we trusted. I thought it would be fine."
She didn't mock me for that. Didn't say anything snide.
Which almost made it worse.
"Okay," she said after a long pause. "You need a tracker mage. Or one of those forensic augurs from the magistrate's circle."
"Already asked. Too expensive. Or not available. Or it didn't work."
"A scrying grid, then?"
"City guard put one in place."
Aile clicked her tongue in frustration. "Fine. Then—then maybe a memory dive. Find someone who was near him and use projection recall—"
"Too slow. Too many people. Too much noise. The mages say it'll take weeks to isolate the right moment."
She cursed under her breath and paced once, hands pushing into her coat pockets.
"Then you've done everything," she muttered.
"Yeah," I said flatly. "I've done everything."
Aile fell silent again, biting her lip. Her eyes flicked toward the sky for a second, thinking.
Then—"No. There's one option you haven't tried yet."
I turned to her, frowning. "What?"
She met my gaze.
And the way she said it felt like she was handing me a blade wrapped in silk.
"Something a little less legal."
I stared at her.
"What method?" I asked, voice low.
Aile glanced sideways, as if checking the nearby windows and eaves for curious ears.
Then she leaned in.
"There's a real information guild," she said, her tone quieter than before. "Not the street-level ones you've used. Not even what the nobles whisper about. I'm talking about the deep network. The kind of place where even the highest lords pay in secrets instead of coin."
I narrowed my eyes. "That sounds like fantasy."
"It's not. They've got dossiers that could bring down entire noble houses. Countries, even. If your friend was taken by someone that careful—someone that clean—there's a chance they know."
I studied her face.
She wasn't joking.
No smug grin. No dramatic flourish.
Just Aile. Serious. Grim.
Dangerous.
"And what's the price?" I asked.
She gave a thin smile. "You don't ask for favors from them. You owe them afterward."
"And how do I find them?"
Her eyes met mine again.
"You don't. But I can."
I looked at her with a skeptical expression and distrust at that statement.
"Fine, I used to work with them for a few jobs. And what do you have to lose?"
"Sigh," I sigh. "Well, at least I got a lead, sort of."
I followed her. Praying this wasn't another dead end.