The newspaper arrived with breakfast.

  I unfolded it absently at first, more out of habit than expectation, my attention still half-lost in the quiet of the early morning. Then a headline caught my eye.

  "Prime Minister Isaia Proposes Framework for Social Rebalancing"

  I read the article once.

  Then again.

  Prime Minister Isaia's proposals were laid out with careful precision—measured language, balanced rhetoric, promises of oversight and reform wrapped in assurances of stability.

  Committees would be formed. Reviews conducted. Long-term plans drafted.

  It was all very reasonable.

  I folded the paper slowly.

  Grandfather's voice surfaced in my mind, uninvited but unmistakable.

  The senate will keep his more advanced ideas in check.

  He'd said it seemingly without malice. Without irony. Just stating a fundamental truth.

  I exhaled softly through my nose.

  I'd grown up surrounded by the old families. I knew what compromise looked like when it wore the mask of progress. Ideas were not rejected outright—they were softened, delayed, reshaped until they no longer threatened the structures they claimed to reform.

  Isaia's intentions might be sincere.

  That didn't mean they would be allowed to matter.

  The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.

  My thoughts drifted, inevitably, to Hana. To Mariel. To households that lived close enough to desperation that even minor reforms would ripple through their lives like a blessing.

  If they passed.

  I doubted they would.

  Training that morning was brisk, focused. Less correction than before. Less friction. We'd moved on to attack and defense. Our movements had fallen into an easier rhythm over the past weeks, one that no longer required constant adjustment.

  At the end of the session, Valdosta surprised me.

  "I'll be away for a time. Three weeks. I've been summoned to Bravia."

  His homeland in the north.

  I straightened, wiping the sweat from my forehead. "Is everything alright?"

  "As it ever is," he replied dryly. He reached into his satchel and produced a book—older than most in my collection, its spine reinforced, its pages thick and well-worn.

  He handed it to me.

  "This is what I want you to study while I'm gone."

  I glanced down at the title.

  Military Spellcraft: Principles of Attack and Defense.

  My eyebrows lifted before I could stop myself.

  Valdosta watched my reaction carefully. "You're ready to understand how magic is used beyond controlled environments. Read it. Don't rush. We'll discuss it when I return."

  Then, as if the matter were settled, he dismissed me.

  Heaviness and confusion settled in my chest.

  The days that followed blurred into routine.

  Healing magic training and my nose constantly buried in books until my eyes refused to stay open.

  Letters arrived daily—thick envelopes sealed with unfamiliar crests. Invitations. Luncheons. Teas. Gallery openings. I answered them all with polite efficiency, resisting the urge to sigh as I dipped my pen again and again.

  It was tedious.

  It was also useful.

  I knew which names carried weight. Which invitations mattered. Which ones could be declined without consequence. I began to curate my presence rather than simply respond to it.

  One invitation lingered longer than the others.

  House Aerendis.

  Neutral. Old. Politically careful to the point of invisibility. The sort of house that attended everything without ever being seen to choose a side.

  I turned the card over twice before setting it aside... then picked it up again.

  I told myself it was strategic. Houses like Aerendis attracted a wide mix of guests—senators without banners, diplomats without allegiance, figures who moved easily between factions.

  But the truth, quiet and inconvenient, was simpler.

  If Sirius appeared anywhere unannounced, it would be at an event like that.

  After a moment's hesitation, I accepted.

  When I selected a gallery opening scheduled for the same day as my meeting with the courier by the library, it was not by chance.

  I brought the invitation to Father's study that evening.

  "The Caltheris family has invited me. It's a public event."

  Father scanned the name and nodded once, faintly approving. "Good. You're making yourself visible."

  I inclined my head. "I thought it wise."

  His gaze lingered a few seconds before dismissing me.

  On the day of the opening, I dressed with intention.

  If High Belaria valued appearances, I would give them something worth looking at.

  The fabric I chose caught the light. My hair was arranged carefully by Mely, my jewelry understated but unmistakably expensive. When I stepped into the carriage, the driver glanced up in brief admiration before snapping the door shut.

  "Where to, my lady?"

  "House Caltheris." I said smoothly. Then, as if reconsidering, I added, "Actually—leave me at the Priesse Boutique near my friend's residence. I'll take their carriage from there."

  The driver nodded without question.

  As the carriage rolled away, I watched the familiar woods and streets give way to broader avenues.

  And when it slowed near the central library, I stepped down alone—heart steady, purpose clear.

  The lie settled behind me like a door quietly closing.

  Ahead waited the thread between Hana and me.