The Villain Who Seeks Joy

Pierce exhaled through his nose. "They're small fish," he said.

"Small fish swim near docks that feed larger nets," Dorian said, first words of the hour.

Liora turned a page in the ledger. "We have enough for warrants," she said. "We will let the crown run ahead of us. We are a school. We will stay a school."

"Does that mean we stop?" Cael asked, not arguing, just checking the edges of the order.

"It means," Liora said, "we do our work where we stand. We keep Refuge honest. We drill our gates. We teach our hands to move when our minds are steady. And we pay attention."

Pierce slid three folded notices across the table. "Tonight, donors arrive for a tour. They will ask about safety and competence and any story they can repeat at supper. We will give them quiet confidence. We will not give them blood."

Mira raised a hand slightly. "We need eyes on their folios," she said. "They always carry ledgers at these things. One page tells us more than ten gossips."

Pierce lifted an eyebrow. "And you plan to read them by osmosis?"

"Moth," I said. "Twelve seconds."

Liora's gaze came to me. "Explain."

"Bone Moth," I said, simple. "No buzz on the leash if I keep it short. It can land on a ledge long enough to look at a page and leave. We've done it before in Workshop. Not on donors."

Pierce made the face of a man who had swallowed something that was not water. "You will not—"

Liora lifted a hand and he stopped. "What do you need?" she asked.

"A high mirror," I said. "A decent angle. A place to stand where I won't be the show. And someone to ask a donor a question they like answering."

Mira was already writing a list. "Angles, heights, walk paths. We can map the reception hall before they set the tables," she said. "I'll draw the mirror placements. Lyra will know the best places to stand without blocking flows."

"Lyra is at Refuge," Pierce said.

"She can spare ten minutes," Mira countered, calm. "Then she can write the updated flow."

Liora considered me for a long beat. "You will not touch a guest," she said. "You will not use your leash for anything but the moth. You will not be seen. If anyone notices, you will blame me and stop."

"Yes," I said.

"If a donor asks you to speak," she added, "you will speak plain and short. You will not perform."

"I can be charming without performing," I said before I could help it.

Cael's mouth twitched. Mira didn't hide a smile. Even Dorian's eyes softened by a degree.

"Do that," Liora said. "Charming is allowed. Dishonest is not."

Pierce ticked his slate. "Dress uniforms," he said. "No weapons in view. Warden stays in the workshop. Moth in a tin with a latch."

"Copy," I said.

Liora closed the ledger. "We have one hour to map the hall," she said. "Armand, Mira, go now. Cael, walk with Pierce to brief the guards. Dorian, fetch Lyra for ten minutes and send her back. Then we all disappear and act like this is any other evening."

We rose. The door opened on the guards' knuckles. The hallway outside was busy with the small rush that happens before people pretend to be unhurried.

Mira matched my pace. "Mirror?" she asked.

"Workshop has a long glass with a chip," I said. "We can hang it high. Bone Moth can catch the print if the page is held flat."

"Seraphine will angle her book away from you," Mira said. "She enjoys that."

"I'm not after Seraphine's book," I said.

"You should be after everyone's," she replied.

We cut across the yard to the reception hall. Workers rolled out carpets and set low tables for display: cut pins under glass, clean tools with tags, a coil of rope with pretty knots tied wrong on purpose so a proctor could fix them for applause. The hall's high beams offered shadows and angles. A balcony faced the floor. Two mirrors already hung for donors to admire themselves.

"Those," I said. "If we shift one a hand-span, we get a line to the lectern."

Mira climbed a stool and nudged the mirror with two fingers. "There," she said. "Now if a ledger opens on the lectern, the moth can land on the frame and read. Twelve seconds."

"Ten," I said. "I don't want fuzz."

Lyra arrived at a half-trot, hair pinned, eyes taking everything in. "Flows?" she asked.

"Flows," Mira echoed, passing her a pencil.

Lyra walked the hall, tracing lines with the pencil tip in the air. "Donors enter here, pause here, split left for the tools and right for the rope. Bottleneck at the glass pins. Put water at the far corner so they go there and open space here. Lectern is a problem; people crowd it. We'll mark stand lines here and here. Don't put chairs too close."

"Thank you," I said.

She nodded. Her gaze flicked to the mirror. "Don't be seen," she said, not a scold—just her way of saying be careful.

"I like not being seen," I said.

"You say that," she murmured, and a pink line lived at the tops of her ears. She left as quickly as she came, efficient as always.

We finished placements. I tested the Moth in the shadow of the balcony. "Wake." It lifted, light as ash. Eight, nine, ten. "Down." It landed in the tin. No buzz in the leash. Clean.

Cael found us on his way back from the yard. He looked at the mirror line, then at me. "You'll have ten seconds," he said. "I'll make them talk for eleven."

"You planning to tell a joke?" I asked.

"No," he said. "I'll ask them about themselves."

"That works," I said.

It does. People love themselves.

We stepped back, looked at the hall one more time, and let the workers finish dressing it. Outside, the sun slid lower behind the spires. The bell for last class rang and faded. In an hour, the doors would open and the school would smile like nothing was wrong.

Mira closed her notebook. "You'll be fine," she said, not a comfort, just a fact.

"I know," I said. My chest felt steady. Not calm. Steady.

Liora met us at the threshold. "No heroics," she reminded me.

"No heroics," I said.

"Good," she replied. "Let's go teach rich people how to stand in a room."