Thorne arrived at the runed-glass doors of Argessa's Aetherworks still in a good mood, whistling the same off-tuned melody that had carried him from Brennak's shop. The sigils in the glass pulsed faintly as if they recognized him, but the doors remained shut, the place was closed for the night.

He knocked once.

A minute later, the door cracked open and one of Argessa's clerks peered out, her hair mussed and her eyes heavy with fatigue. She blinked at him and frowned. "We were expecting you earlier, Lord Silverbane."

Thorne gave a lazy shrug and eased the door wider with his shoulder. "Something came up." He stepped past her, already striding into the dimly lit showroom. "The usual place?"

The woman sighed, resigned, and nodded. Thorne waved a hand in thanks without breaking stride, heading for the workshop chamber.

For the next hour, he tested wand after wand. He poured his aether into each crystalline focus until the hum sharpened, the structure straining, ready to burst. Before the shattering point, he cut the flow, cool precision restraining reckless power. He scrawled his observations in the neat, clipped notes Argessa demanded: flawed lattices, sloppy inscriptions, misaligned cores. His handwriting betrayed none of the fatigue from the fight earlier.

Then the door banged open hard enough to rattle the glass displays.

Argessa stormed in, staff clutched in one hand, hair unbound and wild. Her voice cracked across the room like a whip. "What in the stars are you doing here at this hour?"

Thorne looked up mid-notation, frowning. "Working. You told me to come."

She slammed the staff against the floor in exasperation, the crystal tip flaring once. "It's late! The poor girl outside is half-asleep, and she's on duty again in the morning!"

"Oh." Thorne set the wand down gently, almost sheepish. "I didn't realize someone was waiting for me."

Argessa's gaze snapped to him then, sharp as a knife. Her eyes raked over his clothes, his face, his stance. She saw too much. "What happened to you?"

The lie perched on his tongue, easy, instinctive. But then he remembered their bargain. No lies between them.

Thorne sighed, exhaling tension with the words. "Got in a fight."

For a flicker of a moment, something softened in her expression, not concern, exactly, but the faintest look of appreciation at his honesty. Then she waved it away with a sharp gesture, turning brisk again. "Leave the toys. Come upstairs."

Without waiting, she pivoted and swept back toward the stairwell, skirts snapping like banners. She didn't look back, because of course she expected him to follow.

And of course, he did.

The apartment above Argessa's Aetherworks was as he remembered, completely at odds with the arcane brilliance of the workshop below. It looked like a grandmother's sitting room, all soft rugs, faded tapestries, and shelves crammed with knickknacks that had no business surviving in a mage's household. The faint smell of lavender clung to the curtains.

Argessa strode in first, flicking her staff toward the hearth. Flames roared to life, licking at the stacked logs. A black iron bar stretched across the stonework, already holding a squat kettle that began bubbling almost at once.

Without a word, she vanished into the adjoining room, cabinet doors banging open and shut. She returned carrying a steaming bowl of soup in one hand, while behind her floated a small bottle of greenish paste, wobbling lazily in the air as if it were alive.

"Eat," she commanded.

Thorne obeyed. He lowered himself into one of the overstuffed chairs, the bowl warm in his hands. Argessa, meanwhile, poured tea into two porcelain cups that flew obediently out of a cupboard and hovered before her. One drifted to land on the low table beside her seat; the other floated straight to Thorne's face and hung there, patient as a servant.

He muttered a thanks and sipped, careful not to look at her while he inhaled the soup.

"With whom did you fight?" she asked at last, voice even, but her eyes sharpened as they studied him across the hearthlight.

Thorne paused, spoon midway to his mouth. The truth would be too dangerous. A lie would break their agreement. He sighed. "I don't wanna say."

Argessa didn't move. Her silence stretched, brittle as glass. Then, out of nowhere, she asked: "Do you know what happened at Archmage Vatheon's tower?"

Thorne's spoon clinked against the bowl as he hesitated. "I don't wanna say."

Her nostrils flared. She leaned forward, voice sharper. "What about that dwarf's little underground market? Do you know anything about that?"

This time, he didn't even pause. He spooned more soup into his mouth and shook his head.

Something smacked against his skull. The hovering bottle of paste had darted forward and bopped him like an angry sparrow. Thorne winced and looked up, rubbing the spot, to find Argessa glaring at him, eyes narrowed into slits.

"You said no lies," Thorne said quickly, swallowing down the soup in his mouth. He set the bowl down, lifted his hands in mock surrender, and smirked. "So… I don't wanna say."

"Child," Argessa said suddenly, her voice sharp as she leaned forward. "Didn't your mother ever spank you to get you to wise up?"

Thorne lifted one shoulder in a lazy shrug. "Not that I recall. Of course, she died when I was too young. Maybe if she was still around, I'd be walking all bruised and sensible."

That silenced her. The words dropped into the space between them like a stone into deep water, sending ripples through the firelit quiet. Argessa's mouth pressed into a line, and for a long moment she didn't look at him. Then she sighed, shaking her head. "Always the hopeless cases."

Thorne smirked faintly. "What does that say about you?"

"Forget about me," she snapped, flicking her hand as if swatting the thought away. "Put that godforsaken paste on your wounds. In a couple of minutes you'll be good as new, and I won't have to feel guilty about knocking you over the head with my staff."

Thorne chuckled, plucking the bottle from the air where it still hovered accusingly. The paste was cool and pungent as he smeared it onto the shallow cuts and scrapes the beastkin had managed to land. "Damn. I'll need to visit Vellin to patch these clothes again," he muttered, rubbing more paste into a tear along his sleeve.

When he stripped off his glove to treat a nick across his knuckles, Argessa suddenly made a sharp noise. "What's that?"

Before he could tuck his hand away, she was on her feet. A stool dragged itself across the floor with a screech and planted beside his chair. She sat, seizing his wrist in surprisingly strong fingers and turning his palm upward.

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"Oh," Thorne said lamely, realizing what had drawn her attention.

The purple crow.

The faded mark branded into his flesh, so faint he had nearly forgotten it, stared back at them both. The assassin's calling card.

Argessa's lips pressed thin as she rotated his hand, examining every angle. Then she pressed her fingertip to the mark. Aether flared, and the crow blazed suddenly to life, its violet wings unfurling in his skin.

Argessa gasped. "Who in the stars put this into you?! That's... Thorne, that's not just some hex, that's an advanced tracking skill! One that very few people would be able to create." Her wide eyes locked onto his, questions swimming in them.

"An enemy I made," Thorne said simply.

Argessa leaned back, staring up at the ceiling like she needed the stars themselves to give her patience. "It's astounding, the number of enemies you've managed to make in your few years of existence."

Thorne's smile was small, sharp. "It's my personality."

"I doubt your irritating personality is at fault," Argessa huffed, snapping her attention back to his hand. Her expression darkened. "Damn it. The mark's been sitting too long. It's branched into your pathways." Her grip tightened on his wrist. "Thank the stars I caught it before it reached your core."

Thorne's heart seized in his chest. Then came the cold, familiar fury curling in his veins.

Argessa stood abruptly, skirts brushing against his knees. Her staff floated to her hand as if summoned. "Follow me."

Argessa didn't wait to see if he followed. She swept out of the cozy little apartment with her staff in hand, firelight guttering behind her. Thorne rose, flexing his marked hand, the faint crow still glowing against his skin like a brand seared fresh. His fury smoldered low in his chest, but he forced his face blank and trailed after her.

They descended a narrow stair into the belly of the Aetherworks, past shelves stuffed with jars and bones and bits of metalwork that pulsed faintly with enchantments. The air grew cooler, heavy with the scent of sage, ash, and copper. Argessa muttered under her breath, words in a language he didn't know, and the sconces lining the corridor flared one by one until they reached a round chamber at the end.

Every inch of the stone walls was scrawled with sigils in pale chalk, layered upon older inscriptions that had been carved deep into the rock itself. A copper basin sat in the center, filled with water that rippled as though something unseen stirred it.

"Sit." Argessa pointed to a carved stool beside the basin.

Thorne lowered himself onto it, keeping his eyes on her as she bustled about, plucking vials, handfuls of dried herbs, and a wicked-looking silver athame from a shelf.

"Do I want to know what you're about to do with that?" he asked dryly.

"Probably not," Argessa said without glancing at him. "But unless you want that thing crawling into your core and turning you into someone's puppet, you'll hold still and keep your mouth shut."

Thorne smirked, though his pulse had quickened. "Fine. But if this ends with me sprouting feathers, I'll haunt you."

"Shut up, child."

She dipped the athame into the copper basin, murmuring words that sent the water trembling. With her other hand she seized his marked wrist again, pressing his palm over the basin so the crow-shadow hovered above the rippling surface.

Then she began.

Her voice rose in a low chant, not quite melodic, not quite harsh, somewhere in between, a cadence older than the stones under Evermist. Aether swelled around them, dense enough to make Thorne's teeth ache. The sigils on the wall lit one by one, a wheel of pale fire enclosing them.

The crow on his palm writhed.

Thorne hissed, clenching his jaw as pain lanced up his arm. It wasn't sharp, it was invasive, a crawling heat threading through his veins. He could feel it fighting her call, clinging to him like a parasite.

"Hold still," Argessa snapped. "It doesn't want to leave. That's how you know it's dangerous."

"I noticed," he ground out.

The crow flared again, violet veins spiderwebbing up his wrist, into his forearm. Thorne's vision blurred as if the world were trying to dim around him. He slammed his free hand on the stool to ground himself, dragging raw aether through his body instinctively to counter the pull.

"No!" Argessa barked. The force of her voice cracked like a whip, cutting through his focus. "Stop what you are doing, you'll only feed it. Let me untangle it."

Thorne sucked in a breath through his teeth, forcing himself still. The mark pulsed once, twice, then Argessa slashed the athame through the air above the basin. Silver light lanced down.

The crow screamed.

It wasn't sound. It was pressure, like claws dragging across the inside of his skull. The basin water boiled, steam rushing up in choking clouds. Thorne doubled forward with a snarl, every instinct screaming to fight, to kill whatever dared invade him.

"Stay!" Argessa's hand clamped on the back of his neck, stronger than iron. She shoved his palm down until the edge of his skin kissed the water. The crow writhed violently, violet light spilling from his veins into the basin. The water hissed, blackening, until the crow's outline peeled itself away from his flesh like oil from skin.

One final tug, violent enough that Thorne nearly passed out, and it tore free, dropping into the basin with a shriek that shook the chamber.

The water went still.

Thorne sagged, sweat running cold down his back. His hand trembled, the skin raw but clean. No crow.

Argessa exhaled hard, muttering a curse as she flicked her fingers. The basin sealed itself shut with a layer of crystallized glass, trapping the malignant crow-shadow within. The sigils on the walls dimmed, leaving only the faint smell of burnt herbs and blood-metal hanging in the air.

She straightened, staff tapping once against the floor. "There," she said briskly, though her voice carried the edge of strain. "You're free."

Thorne flexed his hand slowly, staring at the now-unmarked skin. "Free," he echoed softly. Then his eyes flicked to the sealed basin, where the crow's silhouette still twisted faintly inside. His voice dropped. "No. Just unchained."

Argessa's gaze lingered on him for a long moment, as if weighing how much he understood. Then she snapped her fingers and the stool slid back into place. "Come. You need rest."

As they climbed the narrow stair, Thorne glanced sidelong at her, curiosity needling past his fatigue. "That room… all those sigils. The basin. That wasn't just some ritual chamber, was it?"

Argessa snorted, adjusting her staff as if it weighed more than it should. "Of course not. It's my workshop. Where else would I keep my curiosities? I run experiments there, test theories, make my own foci when the mood strikes me. Some succeed, most explode. A few are… too valuable to sell."

Thorne let out a low hum. "Explains the smell."

"Quiet, boy."

They reached the landing, and he slowed just enough to murmur, "That process… it was more intense than I expected." His voice was quiet, unguarded.

Argessa paused at the door, her hand on the latch, and turned to look at him with a seriousness that stripped the usual scolding edge from her tone. "Whoever put that mark on you… he's dangerous. The level he must be, to have unlocked such a skill… Don't underestimate him. If he ever comes back, you call me. You hear?"

Thorne blinked at her. He had expected suspicion, maybe more curses thrown his way. Not this. Not… concern. Something warm flickered low in his belly, an unwelcome and familiar pang he hadn't felt since Matilda, back before everything burned. He ducked his head quickly, hiding behind his hair, and gave a subdued nod.

"Good." Argessa's voice dropped to almost a whisper. Then she pushed the door open and strode through.

He followed into her small apartment, the hearth still glowing faintly from earlier. But instead of stopping there, she veered left and opened a narrow wooden door etched with climbing vines and tiny flowers carved into the frame. Behind it lay a room barely larger than a closet, cozy, with a narrow bed, a window overlooking the street below, and shelves lined with jars of dried herbs. Outside, Evermist's streets were winding down, lantern-light softening the cobblestones.

"Rest. Sleep," Argessa said firmly, her tone brooking no argument. "I'll wake you before classes begin."

Thorne opened his mouth. "But I've got training..."

"Shush." She cut him off with a sharp wave. "In a few minutes you'll collapse from the strain of that ritual. Now stop complaining and give me your cloak and shirt."

He frowned, half-suspicious, but tugged them off anyway and handed them over. She took them without hesitation.

"I'll fix them," she said briskly. "Before breakfast. Now sleep."

She turned as if the matter were settled, already halfway out the door when Thorne's hand darted into his bag. "Wait."

He rummaged for a moment until his fingers brushed the spine of the book he'd bought earlier. When he pulled it free, even he had to fight the smirk tugging at his lips. The cover was gaudy to the point of crime, a shirtless knight with golden hair, his rippling muscles gleaming in improbable sunlight as he clutched a swooning maiden whose gown was in more danger of falling off than staying on. Behind them, a castle burned romantically in the distance, though neither seemed to care. The title, written in florid, sparkling letters, read:

"Moonlight's Forbidden Caress."

He thrust it out toward her. "Here. I bought it for you."

Argessa stopped, blinking at the book as though it were a hex. Slowly, she reached out, taking it in her hands. Her sharp features softened, surprise flickering across her face. Then her lips twitched, and she muttered, "Irritating child."

But this time, she was smiling.

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