The art gallery doesn't look anything like I remember it when I arrive the next day. I think we only ever visited a couple of times, but my brain looks at the white wood and doesn't recognise anything about it. I wonder for a minute if possibly I'm at the wrong place, but I double check the address and I'm right.

After I found Charlie's note, I spent a few hours looking up the gallery online, before cursing myself and wiping my internet history. I don't go as far as hiding my laptop under the drain grate in the shower, because if the agency ever thinks to check what I've been looking for, they could do it remotely anyway. That was stupid mistake number one.

My second mistake came when I began to look through the pages. Maybe I was hoping for another note from Charlie, some clue as to where he might be, but of course there wasn't. Charlie has always been cryptic, and he had to make sure it wasn't obvious enough for a maid to stumble across and realise the prince was actually alive.

I don't think writing down his impending return was the most subtle way possible, but he inherited Christopher's theatricality. It's an inescapable family trait.

I started looking for red ink that didn't fit the text, but I couldn't help myself. My eyes latched onto every typing of Christopher's name and every chapter that began with a tragedy and a dedication to a lost agent. I didn't realise until the sun rose that I had made my way through every childhood trauma and read each one in painstaking detail.

I ran my fingers over the words a hundred times in between chapters, knowing that Charlie's pen had written them, knowing that he had touched the same pages that I had. I don't know if Charlie read this book. I managed the whole thing in a night, but I was always the faster reader, and it's only been missing for a couple of days.

It was there on interview day, and gone the next.

I wonder how he came to have it at all. I know he wouldn't have risked breaking into the castle himself, so did he have help? Did Charlie have a friend, or an enemy, or an ally?

I walk about the castle for the day, waiting until five when the gallery opens, avoiding Asher and planning an escape, looking twice at the staff with curiosity. Which one of them could have been bribed into leaving the back door unlocked, or hiding a key under a plant pot? Did he offer them money, or threaten their family?

Was that the kind of man that Charlie had become? What means would my grown up brother go to for his ends?

I don't expect to see him when I enter the gallery, I know he was never one for public appearances if he could help it. With my fake glasses on my nose and a hoodie pulled tight around my chest and up over my hair, I just hope to see something, anything, to reveal him to me.

Luckily for me, the gallery isn't as big as some that Emilio and I have visited in Paris, and it's only two floors that don't cover much square footage. I look over all the art, hoping that my brother hasn't devised a plan that's too clever to catch my attention. The last time we had a conversation, I was twelve and he was running away from me and I don't have that same brain.

The gallery is beautiful, stretches of white pillars, curtains and crown molding span from end to end and the windows upstairs have stained glass right at the tops so the tiled floors swirl with puddles of bright colours. The furniture is all midnight black and wooden, collected from the thousands of dark wood forests that line the boarder between Alania and the northern regions of France.

There's a legend that the forests grow as tall and dark as they do as a result of their rich diet of soldier's blood from our independence boarder wars, led by the first Castille to the throne.

I keep my eye out for any paintings of our ancestors for my brother's instructions but the art is far more contemporary than I expected. I notice a portrait of the Saint Lawerence great grandfather who died last year, but all the plaque beside him reads is his obituary from his family and a quote of his, nothing that grabs my attention.

By the time I reach the last painting, I feel deflated and slump myself down on the seat in the centre of the room. There's a Japanese couple beside me translating the writing beside a modernist representation of our aqueducts and they chatter away for a while.

I lean back on my hands and let my tired head roll across my shoulders. I told Asher that I was tired and had a headache so I was going upstairs to sleep, but they must be figuring out soon that I lied. I just hope I can find what it is Charlie wants me to see before they set the army out to find me. It wouldn't be the first time, but the cost, I imagine, would be a little steep for a false alarm.

A tap on my shoulder snaps me back to attention. I spin to catch the face so familiar to mine, but it's just the couple holding out a camera and asking in brief, incorrectly pronounced, broken Alanian words if I'll take a photograph of them. I politely nod and take enough photos that they hopefully won't ask for one or two more. The more strangers I talk to, the more trouble I'll be in when I get home.

They shuffle downstairs, leaving me standing alone on the upper floor. A chill creeps over me with the silence and I have a nauseous feeling that I'm being watched. Feeling unsafe and as abandoned as I did in that Paris cafe when I knew Charlie didn't want to be found, I fold my arms, angry and trying to comfort myself.

There's no guards and the cameras don't aim anywhere near me. My legs point me toward the door, feeling so stupid to have let someone lead me into the centre of the city, away from cameras or anyone to help me. I assumed Charlie had written the message, but surely if someone suspected he was alive, they would know I would do anything to see him.

It's past six and the sun will have set and I'm a sitting fucking duck.

Wait - cameras.

I look up again and see the far left camera and notice the way it focuses on the stairs. Well, maybe it's important to see who comes and goes. But the back camera only looks at the skirting boards of a corner where there isn't even any artwork. I stand up.

My agency training sets in after years of it sitting dormant in my brain. I follow the lines of sight, the stairs, the corner, the least expensive artwork here, until my eyes land on the only blind spot in the room; the space directly in front of my feet. I hold out my arms, not sure why I'm steadying myself, and look around.

I reread the words around the paintings, nothing. I check the cameras, no change. I step a foot forward but the room stays still, my shadow from the streetlamp following me. I blink. I look at the window, I look through the window.

Sitting, in an apartment directly across from the gallery's top floor, is a figure that does not move.

It's still snowing, and so I can't make it out entirely, but it's a person, I'd bet my life on it. I might be betting my life on it right now.

I freeze, and my breathing hitches in my throat. The broad shoulders don't move an inch and the hair that sticks up at odd angles bristles with the wind through their open window. I know that someone is watching me, but from my position across the street and the dark room that consumes them, I can't see their face and I can't settle my stomach.

That is either my brother after six blindingly long years, or finally my reckless protection of my family has caught up with me, and I'm staring right at my death. I take off my fake glasses that are steaming up from the cold, there's no point hiding now.

I could run, but where to? Back to living a disappearing fantasy in a castle that is far too big for just my dad and me? Back to endless nights without anyone in the world who knows what it's like to miss a brother like Christopher. I would give anything to hear Charlie tell me that he knows what this feels like, that he understands, and that it's okay to be scared.

I don't know that my feet have moved until I'm pressing a buzzer for an apartment that is unnamed on its ticket. I've forgotten about the state of the weather and I can't tell if the shaking is nerves or because of the several inches worth of snow that's settled. The speaker sounds a cackle, but no one says anything, and the door loosens in my hand. With shaking fingers I open the door, and my knees buckle with every step up to the second floor.

The door used to have a number and a letter, but they've been drilled off and the peephole is covered with black tape on the other side. I don't knock. There's no point, they're expecting me.

The figure hasn't moved by the time I push the door open. The frame is still sat facing out of the window, unnervingly unmoving. I take a step forward, keeping my body behind the door and watch for a second. I wait, holding my breath to see if anything moves, but just like the gallery nothing does.

Not even his shoulders as he breathes.

Hello?' I whisper, my heart skipping.

A horrifying thought crosses my mind - what if they found my brother in Brighton just like Loki did, and they've brought me here to kill me alongside a body they've set up for me to recognise. My stomach twists into the anxiety that I remember from my childhood, I'm unsafe, a feeling so long banished when I lived with Emilio in a flat where no one knew me.

Then, the person stands.

'Zia?'

My chest restricts, I won't be killed today, but that doesn't mean that my life isn't about to change all over again. I shut the door behind me, if only to make sure that the world can't get to us here. I watch as the figure by the window moves in the dark room and turns around. I can't make out features, but I could recognise that voice anywhere.

'Charlie?'

He steps forward, and after six years of trying to remember his face from my memory and a few photos I had hidden away in London, I finally see my brother. He's trimmed the beard that he had on the polaroid that Loki had shown me so that only stubble remains, but his hair is long enough to reach his eyebrows and shield his sunken grey eyes.

He's grown into his frame and even though he's wearing a jumper, I can tell that when I hug him, it's going to feel exactly like Christopher. I don't move an inch, because even though I'm not sure I believe in ghosts, I do believe in my imagination and I wonder if I'm dreaming. I want to reach out and touch him but he couldn't be further away from me in every way.

'You've grown.' His voice is low, but his Alanian twinge is fading from so many years out of use. Emilio and I used to slip in and out of conversations in our native tongue at first, but over the years we just seemed to stick to English.

I wonder if Charlie had anyone to talk to in any language.

'Dad said that.' I tell him, and the anger in my voice is more apparent that I realised it would be. I don't know what to say to him. Anytime I pictured seeing him again, I never rationalised a conversation, I never considered what I could possibly think to say to him. He's standing here, and I don't know what to say to my brother.

Because well, he's not been my brother for a really long time.

'You've still got your attitude I see.' He says, his hands in his pockets defensively.

I don't realise he needs to defend himself against me until I open my mouth again, 'You've still got your shit haircut clearly.'

He runs a hand through his hair and grins wonkily, as if he finds the whole thing amusing. He never used to enjoy having his hair done as a child, so it was left to mum to either pin him down or persuade him. I remember once she tried to get someone to do it for him while he was sleeping. I can tell he's the exact same, because it sticks up in some places as if he's been stressed and the sides are uneven as if he's cut it himself over the kitchen sink.

'Ah, your infamous wit.' He nods, 'I've missed that.'

'I've missed you.' I say, before I can stop myself. I can be as angry at him for leaving as I want, it doesn't change the fact that I've wanted him to come home every second, and he knows that.

'I know.' He confirms. I don't know whether to feel a sting when he doesn't say it back. It was never something Charlie would have said when he was seventeen and I wonder if he's not saying it, because it's not true. Can you miss someone you intentionally left behind?

'Why are you here Charlie?' I snap, 'What, you need money?'

'No, I don't need money.' He shakes his head.

'So, the look is a choice?' I gesture to his clothes.

'You're funny.' He smiles.

'Where've you been Charlie?' I ask him slowly, and the words come out pleading and shaky, 'All this time?'

'Brighton.' He says simply. His nonchalance riles my chest and I clench my fist in frustration.

'I don't mean geographically Charlie. I mean, why anywhere but here?' I gesture around us. The apartment is small and we've never been in it before, but he knows that I don't mean sitting on that worn out leather sofa, or in the kitchen that smells like damp. He knows I mean home, but his eyes still don't betray him.

'You weren't here.' He points out, as if schoolyard bickering is somewhat comforting to him. He eases himself through the conversation as if seeing me hasn't shaken him at all.

'I wasn't allowed to be here.' I emphasise, with an increasing urge in my right hand to slap my brother, 'You could've come back.'

He raises his eyebrows and his hair twitches, 'You really believe that after everything that happened?'

'What did happen Charlie? Chris died and then you disappeared.' For the first time, pain registers in Charlie's face and he blinks twice furiously at the mention of Christopher's name, 'You knew where I was, you knew I was safe. I didn't even know if you were alive.'

'You were safe because I wasn't there.' Charlie says forcefully. I wonder for a second if he feels the same way I do about Adanna and Tegean and Ansel, like my entire existence puts them in danger. But he can't, because the target on my back was there long before he was even old enough to understand why.

'What is that supposed to mean? You never kidnapped me.' I ask, gesturing over to him, where his slender frame serves as a reminder that I don't even think he could pick me up if he tried, even if he has evened out to his shoulders since I last saw him.

'That doesn't mean I never put you in danger Marzia.' He says. He uses my full name, as if in the thirty seconds since I entered the apartment, I've grown even more distant to him, if that was even possible.

'If you're such a danger to me Charlie, why are you here? Why did you come back?' I snap.

He pauses for a moment, takes a deep breath and then sighs, 'I came back, because I need your help.'

I choke out what feels like the last breath I am prepared to waste on my selfish brother and turn around to put a hand to my heated forehead. Six years worth of hope for my reunited family shatters into pieces and the debris lodges painfully in my chest. I'm crying before I can contemplate what I'm grieving for.

'Zia,' His quiet voice comes from behind me. I look at him, wringing his hands together nervously in the same way I do. He looks away, and blinks furiously, 'Could I- Can I have a hug?'

For the first time since I arrived, I recognise my big brother from words I've never heard him say before. His shoulders seem to slump into his chest and his stone facade fades. When he looks at me, I notice tears appearing along his waterline.

I walk over without hesitation and loop my arms around him. As soon as my hands tug at his shoulders, he lets a jolt of emotion rattle him. His arms are strong and slightly crush my ribs, but I don't say anything. Being so close, every vibration from his aching heart buzzes our bodies and his heaving breaths sway us as I hold him.

He might be five years older than me, but he holds onto me like I expect Adanna might with mum. Suddenly, I'm not so mad at him.

How could anyone be angry at a lonely little boy who just needed a hug?

He lets go, almost embarrassed that he's shown me that he's needed us. He doesn't quite know what to say, so he just sits on the sofa and settles himself down. I don't wait for him to invite me to join him, because I think he's probably just as unfamiliar with this apartment as I am. It looks even more bare than Loki's does - there's not even dishes in the sink. If you asked a stranger, they'd probably guess he'd not even been here a day.

He shuffles uncomfortably, and I pull an abnormally large throw cushion from behind his back to fix his fidgeting. I toss it lightly onto the floor and Charlie looks at it, out of place and shifts even more uncomfortably. I don't pick it up to ease what he's feeling, I just let him sit in it for a while.

'How've you been?' He asks me, after a brief pause where he finishes staring down the pillow, 'Have - have you been eating well?'

'You're like mum.' I roll my eyes.

'What a horrible thing to say.' He says, insulted.

'Well then stop asking me about my diet.' I retort, shoving his shoulder, 'You're my brother, just talk to me like a human. Unless you've forgotten how to do that.'

'Close.' He says, and drops his head onto the back of his sofa, 'I'm sorry, I just don't know what to say to you. I don't know how to explain myself.'

'Just start at the beginning,' I suggest, 'Where've you been living? You've still got your pasty, vitamin-D deficient complection to clearly you didn't pick somewhere sunny.'

'I told you, I've been living in Brighton.' He repeats, and I nod my head, 'But you'd already figured that out with Loki, hadn't you? What was your deal, he got one punch per letter of my postcode?'

'You knew about that?' I ask him.

'You think I wouldn't find out that you let him slap you around?' He scolds me, 'What were you thinking Zia?'

'Nope.' I point at him and shake my head, 'You don't get to tell me off. I was doing it to find you, I was just trying to help. I wouldn't have had to if you hadn't run away - you don't get to start with me.'

'Fine, but sometime we're definitely circling back to what brain damage led to you thinking that was a good decision.' He mumbles, 'I'm surprised it took Loki so long to find me actually, he's a lot less resourceful than I thought he was.'

'Well it didn't help that you kept moving around so much.' I snap back, feeling oddly protective of Loki and the work we were trying to do together, and irritated at how easily Charlie can dismiss it. Suddenly, that afternoon in Paris and all our letters and secret meetings seem a little tainted with the comedy with which Charlie mocks them.

'I didn't.' He blinks. I narrow my eyes in confusion, 'I've always lived in Brighton. I went there pretty much straight away. As soon as I knew where you'd gone with Emilio, I settled somewhere not too far away.'

'How is that possible?' I ask him, 'We've found traces of you everywhere; Milan, Morocco, Indonesia, Japan. You were bouncing around everywhere in the States a few years ago.'

'I just kept going on holiday and doing things to get your attention when I was there. Then I'd hop straight on a plane home and watch you dance.' He tells me, as if he's proud that he's had us running here, there and everywhere after him.

'Watch us dance?' I snap, 'You're an idiot.'

'Alright, it might have been a little harsh, but I didn't have a choice.' He excuses himself, pushing his hair out of his face, 'I stopped doing it after what happened with Loki. I couldn't risk you finding me, and I couldn't trust you to not do anything stupid.'

'That's why we hadn't heard from you in a while.' I mumble, and Charlie nods at me. 'And when you started bugging my things.'

'Round about that time.' Charlie confirms, 'I do regret it Zia, what happened with you and Loki. I didn't mean to make you feel so helpless, and if I could've explained to you what I was doing, then I would have.'

'Why didn't you?'

'Come on, you know why.' Charlie says, one eyebrow raised, 'You were already living with this huge secret, hiding from everyone in your life except for Emilio. If I had found you, if I had come and told you what was going on, you would've had to lie to him. You were only twelve when we left Z, I couldn't bring myself to make you protect me too.'

'That doesn't explain why you left in the first place.' I point out, remembering the weeks of anxiety that riddled me before Charlie's note showed up, and before they had confirmed it was really him, 'You could've told me you were planning to ditch, you could've said goodbye.'

'You'd have told on me.' He chuckles.

'Yeah probably, but for your own good.' I push.

'Look, I don't have any reasons that are going to comfort you. I don't have any explanations that are going to take away any of the pain of what I did.' He sighs, 'I needed to do this, for me and for Christopher.'

'What was I supposed to do, just leave you all alone?' I ask, sounding unbelievably pathetic, 'It's that simple? How could I not search for you?

'Because I wasn't lost, Marzia.' Charlie tells me, 'For the first time in my life, I felt like I was doing something worth my time. You know how much I hated formal events, suits and ties and chopping big ribbons with big scissors. Didn't you just feel like you were sleeping your way through life?'

'No, I didn't.' I argue.

'Maybe it was different for you, because you were younger, but I bet you've felt it this week.' He says, and I want to stop him before I feel myself agreeing, but I don't, 'Doesn't it feel like whatever you do, none of it matters, none of it has an impact? Like, you could punch the butler in the face, and no one would do anything about it?'

'What are you talking about?' I half-laugh, 'You're telling me you ran away so that you could punch people in the face?'

'No, you're not getting it.' He pushes, 'I knew I had to be good for something, I just hadn't found it yet.'

'You were good enough at tennis.' I mutter and I know the more sarcastic comments I make, the more frustrated he's becoming.

'No.' He moans, 'I ran away because I needed something I did to matter. I needed to do something with my life that meant something when I died. When Christopher died, what did he leave behind?'

'You better not be trying to tell me that you think Christopher's life was pointless, because just know that I'll punch you, and it'll definitely mean something.' I growl.

'Just let me finish!' He exasperates and it's almost funny how easily we've fallen back into our sibling bickering, 'Christopher left behind friends, and a girlfriend. He left behind essays he'd written about things he was passionate about, he left behind a rugby team and plans for his future. He left behind a life. Marzia, he left behind a whole kingdom that was going to be his, there was a huge space where he was gone.'

'You know you would've left a gap Charlie. You did leave behind a gap.' I tell him.

'I know that I matter to you guys, to mum and dad and our grandparents,' Charlie says, looking at his hands, 'But I didn't matter much to our country, I didn't leave behind hundreds of friends, or beautifully written poetry. But the one thing that I can do, one thing that would make an impact, was finding who killed Christopher.'

Charlie almost laughs a little, and then carries on, 'Chris was so passionate about so many things, and loved the life that he had. After he died, the only thing that I could think about was finding out why. It felt like I could never care about anything ever again, and after six years it still feels that way.'

'I get it, Charlie.' I say as I soften, because I do. He's doing the exact same thing that I did with Loki, but times it by a million. I let Loki hurt me, so that he could find who had killed Christopher, and then Charlie and I could come home. I finally understand why Charlie left, and a part of my heart feels proud, 'I understand.'

'If I could come home, to my country and my family and tell them that I had done it, I had finally found who killed Christopher, then maybe things could start to matter to me again.' He pauses, 'I loved our brother more than anything, and if my life is going to mean something, it's going to be making sure that he didn't die for nothing. I'm going to make our country safe for our family even if it kills me too.'

'So you're still not coming home?' I ask, feeling my heart sink a little further into my stomach.

'I can't right now.' Charlie says, looking down, 'But I might be able to, if you agree to help me.'

'How?' I ask.

There's a sigh from over my shoulder, 'It's too dangerous for her Charlie.'

I whip around at the familiar voice to find Emilio propped up by the doorframe. I jump up, standing between the two boys, feeling equally as drawn to and confused by both of them. Emilio is wearing his agency suit and he's got sunglasses tucked into the pocket even though it's way past dark by now. He looks completely calm, not angry that I left the palace, not surprised by seeing my brother. He looks at us, like he knew exactly what he was walking into.

'You knew I was here.' I say slowly, looking at him. I glance back at Charlie who looks at Emilio without fear that he's here, 'You knew Charlie was here.'

'I knew where Charlie was.' Emilio nods, looking between the two of us, almost shamefully, 'I've always known where Charlie was.'

'What?' I choke, feeling the breath leave my lungs.

'After you made your deal with Loki, and we came home from France with you covered in bruises, I decided enough was enough. I made it my mission to find out where Charlie was for you, but one evening, I got a phone call from him out of the blue.' He explains calmly, 'He told me where he was and asked me to meet him. So the next time I took you to visit the Greenewood triplets in Kent for the weekend, I left you at their house and went down to Brighton to meet him.'

'Why?' I stammer, feeling my words get caught in my throat, 'Why didn't you tell me?'

'I asked him not to.' Charlie says and I whip around to look at him, 'There are no lengths I wouldn't go to make sure you were safe. And you were making bad decisions Marzia, and putting yourself in danger. I called Emilio to make you stop.'

'How?' I ask, my voice wobbling.

'Charlie would tell me little bits of information; what he was doing, where he was going to travel, and then I would feed that back to Loki.' Emilio tells me.

'Loki knew?' I ask, my stomach turning.

'No, he didn't.' Charlie says as the two of them bounce the story off one another, 'He would feed him the information carefully, so he didn't know where it had come from. If you thought you were getting gradually closer to me, then we hoped you wouldn't do anything stupid again. We were just trying to keep you safe.'

'You could've avoided this whole thing if you had just told me.' I plead, even though there's nothing left to beg for.

'After everything I've told you today Marzia, do you really believe that we could've played happy hidden families? What you did with Loki, what I've been doing this whole time - it's all for the same cause. If we had told you, and you had listened to me back then, you would've been way too young to understand, and you know it.'

'So you all lied to me because I was too immature?' I spit at him, still amazed at my ability to flip between angry and understanding. I just never thought I'd have to feel that way about Emilio.

'This was the best way to keep myself hidden, which was the best chance I had at finding who was trying to hurt us.' Charlie pushes, 'Tell me that's not what you want. Tell me that isn't what we've been fighting for Zia.'

I pause for a second to let my brain stop spinning so fast. I look at Emilio who stands like he owns a room he's never been in, he looks at Charlie and me like we're family. Emilio has spent six years taking care of me, and it seems, without me knowing, he's been doing the exact same for Charlie.

I remember when I disappeared to Paris to see Loki last week, what Emilio had said on the phone when I called. I would've helped you, he had snapped at me. Before, I thought I was fighting this thing on my own, and it turns out, I've had more support for it than I could've ever realised.

Charlie's right. Everything our family has ever done has been about our survival, how could I possibly try to tell him he's wrong for trying harder than all of us?

'Next time you two hold out on me, you'll both get gutted.' I grumble but they can tell there's no seriousness to my tone, 'You hear me?'

'Aye, aye Your Highness.' Emilio says and salutes me, shaking some of the snow off the shoulders of his suit jacket, 'You okay kiddo?'

'I think so.' I breathe out a long breath and look at them, 'You couldn't have fed Loki information that he could stop what he was doing? He's worked really hard looking for you, you asshole.'

'Loki's been more than helpful actually, as much as it hurts to admit,' Emilio says, the edges of his mouth forming a snarl, 'He's been in enemy lines, from what I've gotten back from him, he's probably not too far away from being able to figure out who killed your brother.'

'He is?' I ask, bewildered that he didn't mention it when I saw him. It's true that he usually only updates me on what's happening with Charlie, and doesn't tend to mention anything else about Christopher unless he has to, but I thought if he was as close as Emilio thinks, that he'd have dropped it in somewhere, 'He didn't tell me.'

'He wouldn't.' Emilio tells me, 'He doesn't even know it himself. Charlie pieced it together, but I expect he'll catch up soon.'

'That's why we have to act fast!' Charlie says as if the two of them have had this argument before.

'I told you, it's too dangerous. There's no way I'm letting her do it.' Emilio says, practically urging me to prove him wrong. I'm sure he's not done it on purpose, but I plan on arguing anyway.

'Do what?' I ask, looking between them.

Charlie pauses, and looks over to Emilio as if asking permission, 'Go ahead - tell her. She's the most reckless one out of all of you, and I bet she'll still knock your plan on its ass.'

Charlie walks over to a bag in the corner and pulls out a pile of papers. He settles himself back on the sofa and beckons for me to join him. Emilio wanders over, perching himself on the arm and looking over absentmindedly, even though I'm sure he'll have already poured over everything Charlie is about to show me.

I'm not mad at him, I don't think, but I'm not ready to reciprocate a gesture when he puts a hand on my shoulder. Some grovelling will probably do the boy some good anyway.

'Okay, this might be a little graphic, how strong is your stomach?' Charlie asks sensitively.

'Stronger than yours if I remember rightly.' I chuckle, 'Blood used to make you throw up didn't it?'

'Fuck off.' He mumbles, 'Okay, so I don't know how much Loki has told you about what he's been doing, but to summarise? He does their wet work.'

'Kinky.' I smile.

Emilio slaps the back of my head.

'Whenever they have someone with information they need to get, Loki is brought in to - how to say this politely - extract it from them.' Charlie fumbles over his words, 'Torture, basically, of the worst kind.'

'Oh yeah, I knew that.' I nod, 'He has someone's intestines hung up like fairy lights above his bed.'

'Really?' Charlie squeaks, turning a funny shade of green.

'Of course not.' I shove his shoulder, 'Get to the point Charlie, before you vomit.'

'I don't think he realises it, but whenever he's finished getting the information from someone, just before he kills them, someone comes to visit him.' Charlie tells me, 'I'm sure, almost positive that this person must be one of the leaders, or at least someone right near the top.'

'Almost positive?' I raise my eyebrows.

'Very close to almost.' Charlie says, 'I think Loki thinks it must just be someone who oversees that department, but I managed to find someone who survived him Zia.'

'Survived Loki?' I ask, feeling more and more skeptical at his tinfoil-hat tone of voice, 'I've never heard of anyone who's survived Loki.'

'And yet you still went to his apartment without telling any of us.' Emilio mutters behind me. I slap his leg to shut him up and turn back to where Charlie is still pulling at pieces of paper and babbling.

'Loki thought he'd killed him, and buried him somewhere in a nearby woods, but he survived!' He gasps in excitement, 'I went to the hospital in East Laumant and I spoke to him. He's called Otis Eberline-'

'Wait.' I interrupt, looking over to Emilio who has already caught up with my train of thought, 'I remember him, he's a driver for the royal clans. He was the driver when we were kidnapped, Chris and me.'

'What?' Charlie squints.

'The night we left the gala - the night Chris and I were taken, our driver was Otis Eberline.' I explain, 'It's in the reports somewhere I'm sure, he was shot in the neck and left for dead. He still works for the clans as a driver, he drove us to Ernesto's salon the other day. I remember seeing his scar, he told me it was nice to see me again.'

'He's a lucky son of a bitch to have escaped them twice.' Emilio sighs.

'Unless he wasn't.' I suggest and the two men look over at me, 'I told you, I've never heard of anyone who's survived Loki. What if he meant to leave this guy alive? In the nicest way, Loki's kind of an expert at making sure people aren't breathing, why would he miss this one guy?'

'Why don't you sneak off to his apartment and ask him?' Emilio says unhelpfully and I realise the lasting impacts of my mistake might be bigger than I had thought, 'How would it be of any help to this agency to leave him alive?'

'Not helpful to the agency, to us.' I say, 'Loki's been more involved in bringing Charlie home and finding who killed Christopher than I was, he never does anything by accident. I just don't know why he didn't call and tell me.'

'He probably couldn't if it was too risky, especially over the phone. He'd already left his guy alive, he couldn't then start meeting up with you all for coffee.' Emilio suggests, 'And it'd be even worse if you went and met him. I hate to admit it, but maybe he was protecting you.'

'You're implying that Loki feels.' Charlie says and I feel like hitting him for not being more grateful for Loki's efforts, considering it's currently our only footing, 'Anyway, this Otis man wouldn't say much to me, he was trying to lay low, considering he was still believed to be dead. But he told me about this man.'

'What man?' I ask, nervousness creeping into my bones.

'This man who comes in before Loki kills someone, the one I think is the key to this whole thing.' He says, pulling some of his notes closer to him, 'He couldn't tell me much of what he looked like, because he was pretty much passed out, but he did remember something he heard him say. A name, the agency's name.'

'Are you doing all this for suspense?' Emilio says behind Charlie, 'Spit it out and tell her.'

'He said they called it The Court of Miracles.' He says and the name twangs recognition in my brain, 'They call one another Courtards, Loki called this man a Duc, and then he called Loki an Archie - an archissuport. It all fits here Zia.'

'The Court of Miracles?' I raise my eyebrows, 'So we're looking for an organised gang of seventeenth century street beggars?'

'I'm impressed you knew that.' Emilio smiles, 'When we first heard the name, all your brother knew about it was that he'd heard it in The Hunchback of Notre Dame. And not even the Victor Hugo book, the Disney movie.'

'Ah, my brother - the academic.' I chuckle.

I remember The Court of Miracles in a footnote of a book that I never paid much attention to when I was younger. I know they made their earnings begging in the streets of Paris during Louis XIV's rule, but anything further doesn't focus in my brain. Why anyone would think to say this to Loki causes even further confusion.

'I know it sounds ridiculous, but what else could it possibly mean?' Charlie says, 'It's all so similar, the names, the places, the initiation process-'

'The Cutting Ritual?' I interrupt.

Charlie and Emilio exchange a look, 'How did you know that?'

I frown, gulping down my confusion, 'That's what Loki called it, back when he hurt me - The Cutting Ritual.'

'That's exactly what it's called.' Charlie says with the hint of a smile on his face, 'If they're basing their agency from The Court of Miracles, we can learn a thousand times more about them than we ever knew before.'

'But if Loki knew the name, why didn't he ever tell us before this?' I frown, 'Why wait until Otis overheard them?'

'Maybe he isn't as much of a Saint as you always thought.' Emilio suggests and I shoot him a look. He rolls his eyes, 'Or maybe he was being clever and waiting for the perfect opportunity to accidentally let the information slip so that he wasn't incriminated.'

'That's better.' I pat Emilio's leg, 'He must have known we needed to wait until now to be ready. Right when they're about to attack, that must have been why he left Otis alive, so that we'd find him and he'd tell us what we needed to know.'

'It would explain why he allowed Otis to overhear the names.' Emilio admits.

'Look, if they're following the traditional rules of The Court of Miracles, then we can figure out their motive for all this, their structural hierarchy, everything. We can get a foot in the door here Marzia, after all this time.' Charlie babbles on.

'Wait, we can figure it out?' I question, 'You didn't wanna research any of this beforehand?'

'That's why we have to act fast here, Z.' He pushes, 'Otis was only attacked three days ago. Two other members of royal clan security have gone missing since your interview the other day and there's been one other attempt.'

'What?' I breathe, 'Why hasn't anyone told me this?'

'The ACS don't know what to think, or who to trust. But you know what this means, you're home, and they're getting ready to attack us.' Charlie admits solemnly, 'This is their pattern Z.'

'You think this pattern has been going on since the seventeenth century?' I frown.

'No, I think this started later. I think it's been happening ever since our ancestors became kings. I don't know why, but that's when the killings first started.' He explains.

'So Abbington, Sterling, every ancestor who was killed, they did all of this?' I squint. We always thought that whoever killed my grandfather's father and brother, were the same people who killed mine, but it's hard to finally know for certain.

'It must have been them.' Charlie gestures back over to his work, and I want to remind him that this isn't a piece of the puzzle, it's our great-grandfather's life, but I let him continue anyway, 'We've played defence for the last six years, now we finally have something to work with. We've got the offence here kid.'

I sit for a second, stunned. This is the first time in six years that we have ever been able to make sense of any of this. Charlie sits here, in front of me, with a name, with an eye-fucking-witness, and a shot at ending all of this, finally.

But the new information causes a tightening in my chest. It's a footpath we've desperately been trying to find in a forest that we've been stranded in for so long, and yet, sitting here and looking down this little clearing in the shrubbery, it's scary. What are we going to find out? Who are we going to have to hurt to make our way out?

'Charlie, that might be enough for today.' Emilio says quietly, putting a hand on my shoulder as I sit without words.

'I know it's a lot to hear Zia.' Charlie says, putting down his papers and looking at me, 'I know it's scary, and I know it doesn't seem like much, but it is. It's a one hundred and one percent increase in what we knew a week ago. We're going to catch these guys, okay?'

I nod, because I can't quite find words, 'What do you need me to do?'

Charlie looks up at Emilio almost as if his protective judgement matters most right now. He takes my hand and forces me to focus on him, 'Right now, we need to learn everything we possibly can about The Court of Miracles, and what the hell it might have to do with us. I can do my best with the internet from here, but the best place for this is dad's library. He'll have books from the 17th century, exact editions that I can't access online.'

'I can research it.' I nod.

'You can't let anyone know what it is that you're doing. You have no idea who's watching you.' He tells me, and I think back to how Charlie got our book out of the library in the first place, 'Nobody but Emilio, okay?'

'I'll hide what I'm doing.' I tell him, 'I'll hide books inside books. I'll hide myself if I have to.'

'Even from Asher?' Charlie asks, looking at me.

'You don't trust him?' I squint.

'You trust him that much?' He questions me.

I think for a second, 'I trust him indefinitely Charlie. But you're right, I won't say anything. It's need to know, and he doesn't.'

'I need you and Emilio to find out everything you can in the next few days, and then meet me again, here on the 28th.' Charlie says, 'You can't tell anyone where you went today, and you can't tell anyone I'm here.'

'I get it Charlie, top secret.' I say, as if I've ever had a reputation as a blabbermouth, 'You said it was too dangerous for me. I assume this plan is a little more than asking me to do some homework.'

'Another day, Z.' Emilio says from behind me, standing up, ready to leave, 'It's an incredibly risky plan, and without knowing anything about The Court of Miracles, we have no idea whether or not it would even work. We'll go home, read some books and talk about it later, okay?'

Any other day I'd argue with Emilio for being unnecessarily overprotective, but today Charlie nods his head and I understand that the argument isn't worth my time losing. I stand up, not sure anymore how my legs function. Everything has changed in the hour I've had with my older brother, but the day carries on as if it hasn't.

The snow still falls outside the windows, the little hand on the clock keeps working its way around, I get to go back to a home that hasn't changed at all since I left it earlier, and yet I feel like an entirely different person. I feel a fear that is painfully recognisable and the pang in my chest that I notice comes with leaving Charlie behind all over again.

If Charlie hadn't opened his mouth today, I would have knocked a plate over his head and dragged his unconscious body back up to the castle if I had to. But he's right, we have a chance to catch the people that have caused so much hurt to my family. We have the chance to know what happened to Christopher, and why.

Charlie's earlier words suddenly make even more sense than I thought possible. I know all the answers won't be in library books, and The Court of Miracles is much bigger than the number of pins and red string Charlie and I can fit onto a corkboard. But he's right, we have the chance to walk up to our mum, and our king and tell them that they're safe.

That we're safe.

I hug Charlie, tightly and for far too long. I can't help but let a tear run down my cheek, but it dissolves in between the fibres of his jumper before anyone can see it. My stomach pools with an anticipation that I can't predict, but I can tell Charlie feels the same, because he's shaking the same way I imagine my knees are.

When I lean back, he puts his hand on the side of my face and I close my eyes, revelling in the feeling of having him here. I put my hand on top of his and he looks at me with eyes that I've waited so long to see.

'Chris didn't die for nothing.' He tells me forcefully, 'We're going to get the bastards, Zia.'

I nod and he gives me one last quick hug before he lets me go, gently pushing me back to Emilio who, like forever, is patiently waiting for me. He puts an arm around my shoulders and squeezes comfortingly. He smiles over at Charlie and bows ever so slightly.

'It's good to have you back Charlie.' He says sincerely, 'We'll see you in two days.'

'You got it.' Charlie smiles, and I recognise his inability to show emotion the same way I did with my grandmother the other morning, 'Get home safe.'

I almost laugh at the ease of our casual conversation. We've spent the afternoon discussing our brother's potential murderers and how we can finally catch them, and here he is, telling me to drive safe so I don't slip on the ice. I can almost see him in his own house, cosy after Christmas with a family all to himself, telling me ever so nonchalantly that he'll see us soon.

Emilio opens the door to the apartment and lets us back out into the cold. I was out here just a few hours ago, but I don't think I'd be able to recognise that same girl if I walked right into her. Charlie's right, we're well and truly on the cusp of changing everything.

'Oh Zia?' He says, and I turn around to see a smile creep across his face, pulling up his dimples, 'Happy Birthday for tomorrow.'