Lavender was humming.
She twirled down a narrow alley of Kael'Tun, her fingers brushing against silks hung out to dry, her eyes gleaming with delight at every painted door and woven lantern. Her lavender dress trailed behind her like spilled ink, and despite the wary glances tossed her way by startled shopkeepers and street urchins, she moved like a queen in a kingdom of puzzle boxes.
Vashir, as ever, walked silently behind her. His steps made no sound, but his presence was heavy. Tense.
"You're awfully quiet, Vashy," Lavender said over her shoulder, pausing at a stall selling glittering beetle-wing jewelry. "Is it my perfume again? I told you, the spice notes are supposed to confuse large predators."
He didn't smile.
She turned fully, blinking at his unreadable face. "Oh, it's serious serious."
He gave a slight nod, golden eyes narrowing.
"They know."
Lavender tilted her head like a curious owl. "Do they now? About what exactly?"
"The slave market," he replied, voice low, barely a whisper under the market noise. "The city knows it was you."
Lavender didn't flinch. Instead, she reached out and plucked a jeweled pin from the display and held it up to the light. "So quick. I thought I at least had a week."
Vashir continued, watching her carefully. "They're not acting yet. Which worries me more."
Lavender slid the pin back with a sigh. "They're waiting."
"They're watching," he said. "They want you to feel safe. Move where they can corner you. Someone-" his eyes gleamed, "-is setting a stage."
"Oh!" Lavender clapped her hands once in delight. "A performance! I do love a good trap. So dramatic!"
Vashir frowned. "This isn't a game, Lavender."
She stepped closer to him, close enough that the city noise seemed to muffle.
"No, darling," she said softly. "This is a collection. And the pieces don't come to the shelf unless you're bold enough to go after them."
She reached out and tugged lightly on his cloak, drawing him down so she could whisper near his ear.
"I want them to set a trap. Because then I'll know where all the strings are hidden."
Vashir said nothing for a beat, his expression unreadable as ever. Then he exhaled, almost reluctantly, and murmured, "You're mad."
She beamed. "Flatterer."
---
They returned to their temporary lodging-an old garden villa crumbling under flowering ivy and time. It had been once owned by a goat-eared poet who'd vanished mysteriously, which of course made it perfect in Lavender's eyes.
By moonlight, Lavender laid her collected maps and trinkets across the stone table, staring at them like a chessboard of fate. Vashir stood near the open window, watching the rooftops with hawk-like stillness.
"I don't like this quiet," he finally said.
"It's never quiet for long," she replied. "Something is humming beneath this city."
She reached into her cloak and pulled out a small item - a glinting chain made of something not quite silver, not quite bone.
"A collar from the market," she murmured. "The only one that didn't break when I opened the cages. Odd, don't you think?"
Vashir studied it with a frown.
"They'll make their move soon," he said. "When they think you're alone. Or vulnerable."
Lavender's smile was slow and bright. "Then we should let them believe it."
Vashir arched a brow. "Are you planning to walk into their hands?"
"Oh, Vashy," she purred, reaching for her favorite dagger. "I'm planning to let them open their hands... and then watch them realize I'm the one holding the teeth."