"They say it's in the royal vault," murmured the man with the scarred cheek, his hood shadowing half his face.
Suzan blinked once. "The royal vault? The one surrounded by guards, enchantments, and about five centuries of paranoia?"
The man only smiled.
Another one, older and with a voice like gravel, leaned in. "Sealed behind bloodlines and bound oaths. Said to be untouchable… unless the vault wants to be touched."
"Oh," Suzan said flatly, "of course. The vault has feelings. Do we knock first or bring it flowers?"
One of the men chuckled. The others did not.
Suzan straightened, the grin never leaving her lips. "Look, whatever thing you're chasing, good luck. If it's in that vault, then it's dead to the world."
She gave a low whistle, long and unimpressed. "Way out of my league. I deal in alley rats and stolen pears, not palace ghosts."
"Farewell, mystery men. May your weirdness never run dry."
She disappeared around the corner with a spring in her step and mischief in her eyes.
Silence lingered in the alley.
The man with the scarred cheek didn't laugh this time. He waited until her footsteps faded completely, then spoke without turning his head.
The man with the scarred cheek tilted his head toward the darkness she'd slipped into.
"She took the bait."
"Too easily," one muttered. "Almost disappointingly."
"No," said the older one, voice like shifting gravel. "She may act disinterested , but her mind is already digging deep. She's exactly what we need."
The youngest gave a low chuckle. "Think she'll follow the trail?"
"She won't be able to help herself."
A pause.
"And if she doesn't?"
"Then someone else will. But I have a feeling... this one's got teeth."
Their cloaks rustled as they moved, slow and deliberate. One dropped a small silver token on the ground — it glinted once in the dim alley light, then vanished beneath a swirl of mist.
"We watch," said the scarred one. "From a distance. Let the pieces fall."
The alley emptied like a held breath exhaled — as if they'd never been there.
Lily grabbed her wrist the moment they were clear of the alley. "You're not actually thinking about it, right?"
Suzan shrugged. "Of course not."
"You are. I can see it. Your face does that evil glint thing."
Suzan widened her eyes in mock horror. "How dare you accuse me of glinting."
"I know you. You get that look when you've decided to do something stupid."
"It's not stupid if it works."
"It's not going to work," Lily hissed. "Those men were shady. That story was shady. You're not going after it."
"Relax, Lily. I'm not interested in any cursed, time-twisting, buried royal trinkets." Suzan grinned, tossing a pebble as they walked. "That would be ridiculous."
Her tone was light.
Too light.
And her steps?
Far too quick.
Her mind had already left the alley, sprinting miles ahead—testing locks, sketching paths, whispering questions to itself..
Lily eventually gave up trying to convince her and turned toward home. "You'd better not do anything reckless."
"I always do reckless things responsibly."
"That doesn't even make sense!"
Suzan smirked. "Exactly."
They parted with a hug and a dramatic wave, Lily's expression a mixture of exasperation and affection.
And then Lily turned toward home.
But Suzan didn't.
She didn't head back to her crooked little house near the cracked vase shop where the owner always claimed she broke something (she probably did).
No.
The night was young. And Suzan's thoughts were very much awake.
She moved like mist through the alleys, slipping between lamp shadows, past shuttered bakeries and crumbling stone chapels. Her feet knew the way, even if her thoughts were far ahead of them.
And then she saw it.
The mansion.
Set apart from the others—like it hadn't been built, but grown into the very bones of the city. Elegant arches. Towering stained glass. Light poured from its windows like bottled starlight.
Suzan crouched behind a hedge near the outer wall, watching the guards.
"Huh. They're actually awake tonight. Good for them."
She waited.
One sneezed.
That was enough.
She darted through the gap in the roses, skirt brushing thorns, heart steady. Most wouldn't dare come close. But most weren't her.
And most didn't know about the door hidden in the vines.
Small, a little crooked, decorated strangely with tiny stars and pressed flowers in glass.
No one paid it much attention.
But Suzan did.
She knocked—once, then twice, then once again. The rhythm of childhood. Of secrets.
Footsteps. Then a voice.
"Coming!"
The door opened.
And there she was
Jane.
Tall, graceful, with long waves of soft golden-blonde hair cascading like silk. The kind of beauty that made you forget your own name. Fair-skinned, elegant. She wore an apron stained with herbs and warmth, and a smile that made the world feel less cruel.
Green.
The exact same green as Suzan's.
"Sneaking in again?" Jane asked, arms already open.
Suzan leapt into them. "Obviously. I've got a reputation to maintain"
"You never use the front gate."
"Too obvious and they r for boring people.
Jane rolled her eyes. "You're impossible."
"I'm charming."
"You're also muddy."
"Still charming."
They laughed.
Inside, the private wing of the mansion was cozy. The air smelled of lavender and ink. Books were stacked like miniature fortresses, and a kettle whistled softly in the background.
Suzan flopped onto the divan like she owned it. (She did not.)
Jane closed the door gently behind them and locked it. The rules and tensions everything disappeared here.
Here, there were no guards. No crowns.
Just sisters.
But Suzan had always known.
Jane wasn't just a nurse.
She was the princess.
The crown's eldest daughter
Not the tiara-wearing, tea-sipping kind. No. Jane had chosen a life of healing, of helping, of walking away from court gossip and parties. She was soft, but never weak. Gentle, but not naive. A girl of grace, bound by duty and love, not just birthright.
And the only soul alive who still called Suzan by her real name.
"Elisa," Jane said softly, brushing a leaf from her hair. "What did you do this time?"
"Nothing illegal."
"That's not comforting."
Suzan sighed dramatically. "Okay, fine. I may have overheard something."
Jane gave her the look. The one that felt like a hug and a warning all at once.
"What kind of something?"
"Some shady alley men talking about a relic. Time-related. Very ominous. Probably fake."
Jane's smile faded.
"Elisa…" she began, worry already blooming.
"I'm not doing anything. Just passing on local gossip. You know, as one does."
Jane sat beside her, her eyes searching her sister's face. "Some stories are dangerous. Even the fake ones."
"You worry too much."
"I have to. I'm your sister."
Suzan leaned into her. "You know me. I never run into danger."
Jane raised a brow. "You live in danger."
"Details."
They talked late into the night. Shared bites of jam, laughed over childhood mischief, traded quiet moments like coins. Jane brushed Suzan's hair with fingers as gentle as feathers.
But when Suzan yawned, and stood to leave so she dont fall asleep in the worng place, Jane held her hand a moment longer.
"Elisa," she said again, quieter this time. "Promise me you'll be careful."
Suzan hesitated.
The way she always did when people asked for promises she wasn't sure she could keep.
"I'm always careful," she said.
Jane frowned. "No, I mean it. I can't protect you like I used to. I- I will always wait for you here."
Suzan's voice softened. "You don't have to wait for me like that."
Jane's lips trembled into a smile. "I always will. Whenever you knock, I'll be here. Even if you come muddy and infuriating."
Suzan pulled her into a fierce hug. "I'll come back. I always do."
Jane kissed her forehead.
"Then go. Before the guards notice."
And Suzan slipped once more into the night—feet swift, heart full, and thoughts already miles away.
Her path led home.
But her thoughts?
They were already elsewhere.
Toward hidden keys. Whispered secrets.
Toward the vault.
Toward whatever waited beneath the crown.