The morning air in Treviso was brisk, carrying the scent of brine from the canal. Tai adjusted the fall of his cloak as he stepped into the markets. He looked every inch a street-hand courier: loose-limbed, scruffy, half-bored. Perfectly forgettable.
Exactly what he needed to be.
The forged letter was tucked safely in the lining of his coat. Kieran had outdone himself. The script was near-perfect, flourished just enough. An official-looking seal pressed into the wax with a stamp Evie had sculpted herself. The words inside were vague, alarming, and unmistakably threatening: a hint of an inquiry, a mention of recent violent activity near the Sapphire Tailor, and a subtle reference to Hadrun Pell by name. Just enough to make a man paranoid.
Tai spotted the servant exactly where he was supposed to be. An old man, bent a little at the shoulders, with a satchel over one arm and a thick scarf looped around his neck. He was speaking to a vendor, bartering fiercely over a handful of cloves. The distraction would help.
Tai slipped behind him, brushed past him gently, just enough contact to plant the envelope inside the satchel.
By the time the old man straightened up and turned to glance behind him, Tai was already three stalls away, a bag of oranges in hand and a whistle on his lips.
The drop had gone perfectly.
-
By afternoon, Hadrun Pell had the letter in hand.
He was in his private rooms above the tailor's shop, his legs tucked into expensive house slippers and a bottle of Antivan red open on the table. The wine sloshed against the rim as he read the letter once, then again, his face whitening with every line.
He didn't call for his manservant. He didn't even finish the glass of wine. He packed a small trunk in haste and left the shop by the back door, cloak pulled high over his collar, heart pounding like a drum.
He didn't notice the figure watching from across the street. Evie, tucked into the shadow of a doorframe, lifted her hood higher as he passed, her eyes gleaming.
Once they were back at the loft, Tai kicked the door open with more flair than was strictly necessary.
"He bolted," he said before the others could even ask. "Didn't even wait until sunset."
Evie grinned from the window where she'd just hung up her cloak. "Ran like a man with a demon on his heels."
Kieran sat up from the couch, where he'd been reading. "Did he take his servant?"
"No."
"He'll figure out it's forged when he calms down," Hirik said, tossing a dried apricot into his mouth.
"But that doesn't matter. The panic's the point," Tai pointed out.
"And his absence will ripple," Kieran added. "People will notice. If he's scared, others will start checking their own shadows."
"Start wondering if the Crows can really protect them," Evie murmured, leaning against the wall.
Tai crossed the room, flopped onto the beaten up divan next to Kieran, and said, "First crack made. Who's next?"
-
Lucanis arrived last. Which was unusual. He had at least expected to beat Illario.
He stepped into the private chamber of the Cantori Diamond, still brushing the damp from his sleeves. The room was dim, but the moment he stepped inside, he felt it – something in the air had shifted.
The others were already gathered, Teia lounging with her boots on the table, Viago in his usual corner, eyes half-lidded but watching everything. Illario leaned with casual elegance against the wall, pretending not to be bored. And at the head of the table sat Caterina, vigilant and still.
Lucanis said nothing as he slipped into a seat beside Teia, who barely glanced at him.
"There's been an uptick," Caterina said simply. No preamble, no ceremony.
Lucanis arched a brow, waiting.
Caterina folded her hands. "Messages not reaching their destinations. Or arriving late. Contracts misplaced. Clients—well. Some have gone to ground. Others have simply... vanished."
"Dead?" Viago asked, voice carefully neutral.
Caterina tilted her head. "Possibly. But not confirmed. No bodies. No blood trails. Just... missing."
Illario scoffed quietly. "This again? We've had stretches like this before. A bad string of handlers, a lazy courier, maybe some panicked noble with a guilty conscience."
"And maybe that's all it is," Caterina agreed, her tone calm. "But I want it watched."
Teia straightened slightly. "You think it's sabotage?"
"I didn't say that," Caterina replied, too smoothly. "I think we've grown complacent. The Crows do not thrive on assumption. I want every client from the last two months accounted for. Contracts, too. Cross-reference their status. If something's off... we'll find it."
Lucanis exchanged a glance with Viago, who gave the barest shrug. Not paranoia, not yet. But Caterina's instincts were sharp, and she wasn't the sort to waste time on shadows that didn't mean something.
Lucanis folded his arms, his voice mild. "You think it's internal? One of our own?"
"I think," Caterina said coolly, "that something isn't adding up. I've seen sloppiness before. This doesn't feel like that. But I don't know yet. Maybe it's incompetence. Or coincidence. Or something cleverer."
"And if it's nothing?" Illario asked, flicking invisible lint from his sleeve.
"Then we've reminded the lower ranks what happens when things are mismanaged," Caterina replied. "Which wouldn't be the worst outcome."
Lucanis leaned back in his chair, eyes flicking to the candlelit shadows. There was no urgency in the room, no panic. Just the quiet press of something unseen, a tug at the edges of certainty.
"Assign who you trust," Caterina continued. "Viago, you'll oversee the client audits. Teia, check the correspondence chains. Look for breaks, gaps, inconsistencies. I want a full picture." She paused. "And Lucanis," she said, her gaze finding his. "Have a look at the last few target acquisitions. Confirm the executions were clean."
Lucanis gave a short nod, though his mind had already begun turning.
The names. The dates. The last few whispers he'd heard in passing were about disappearances in Treviso's outer districts. It wasn't solid, nothing he could bring to Caterina without sounding like a fool. But even so, the quiet hum of unease inside him began to grow.
The Crows didn't survive on certainty. They survived on suspicion, on instinct, on catching rot before it spread.
And something was beginning to smell wrong.