There he stood, in a stylish black suit, with his straight hair combed back and that disinterested look in his eyes – the paragon  that Lucas couldn't help but feel like an imperfect copy of. They'd never spoken about the job in the last month, keeping to their usual pleasantries.

"Good. Let's begin, then." Diora's tone was immediately buisnesslike again, reminding him of when they'd first met. Is Rodric all it takes for her to retreat back into her shell? "You've surely heard the news of the king confessing he's the illegitimate son of a barbarian from the north."

"I have." Rodric raised an eyebrow. "Sadly, the southerners won't believe that. They hold their own to the highest standards. No one there would dare mix with a northerner." Lucas stared back at him nervously. What does this mean?

"The king's father would. Once we spill some propaganda, he's out of his throne. You can put whoever there next, I don't care." Diora's jaw seemed tense.

"Not good enough. Not nearly good enough. I said I wanted him out. His reputation ruined. And all you can do is a few drunk ramblings?" Lucas flinched. Rodric's words stayed monotone – but, somehow, they cut deeper than knives.

"I did what I thought would be enough." Diora looked his brother dead in the eye. "It's your fault for not giving more detailed instructions."

Lucas nearly gasped. She was here, in Aunt Primrose's beach mansion, undercover at Noemia Riel's own birthday party – and challenging a member of the richest and most influential family this side of the continent.

Rodric's eyes narrowed ever-so-slightly. Outwardly, he still looked bored – but that little sign showed he was much worse than bored. He was angry.

"Well, I'll give you all the detail you want. Along with half your usual pay." He strolled off with an effortless, dramatic sigh, as if this cruel, unforgiving world was just too much to bear on his shoulders. Inside, Lucas knew he was fuming.

Diora popped another strawberry in her mouth. "Bastard." She glanced at him, before covering her mouth. "Sorry."

"You're apologizing to me?" Lucas nearly burst out laughing with relief. "I should be apologizing to you."

"For what, being related?" She snorted. "That's ridiculous. You two are nothing alike."

The phrase meant more to him than Diora would ever know. You two are nothing alike. For some reason, he felt like leaning in and crushing her in a hug.

"Do you have any brothers or sisters?" The question slipped out before he thought twice about it. Someone could be listening in, he thought. But they were probably safe – at this point in the party his older relatives would be too inebriated to care, and the threat of Noemia had been neutralized by her friends.

"Nope," she said, popping the p. "Only child." Somehow, he wasn't surprised. She didn't seem to understand the family hierarchy at all. Maybe it doesn't exist where she's from, he wondered. Only one way to know.

"So, where are you from?"

"That's a lot of personal questions, Lucas." He would've been embarassed by this, had this not been the first time she'd called him by his name. As it was, he felt like he'd just been struck by a meteor.

"Mhm." He hummed in agreement while trying to set his head back on track. "Sorry."

"It's no problem." She sighed. "But we won't be going on another job, so it's best not to attach yourself too much." Was that remorse in her eyes?

"Oh." He hadn't fully registered this would be the last time they'd see each other. "You're not working for Rodric anymore, then?"

"No, I'm still working for him." Lucas perked up – was there a chance? "It's just that you're not... needed anymore, is all." Her face was shadowed. "You wouldn't want to know what my next job is."

The knot in Lucas' stomach suddenly seemed to double in size. I won't be seeing her anymore, he realized. But worst of all... She seems to be in so much pain.

It was too selfish of him to think he was the reason she was sad. No, that option was off the table entirely. But he kept replaying her words in his head, like a broken record doomed to cry out You wouldn't want to know what my next job is.

Was she trying to protect Ivory for some reason?

The pieces seemed to fit together in his head. Her effortless Plumsk mannerisms. The way she'd purposefully left Ivory alive – against his brother's wishes. Of course not, his brother had replied when he'd asked if they would commit murder. We're not savages.

But Diora is, isn't she?

I have to help her. She can't do this alone.

"Diora..." he began, but she was already gone, not even leaving the faint scent of her perfume behind.

~

Where do you go to hire a mercenary?

It suddenly dawned on Lucas that he didn't have the faintest idea where Diora's bases were. His only clue was 'somewhere underground'. And he couldn't try asking his brother – no, that would only attract more suspicion.

All of a sudden, he remembered. The tunnel in Gladys' house! It wasn't at all certain Diora would be in that base at the right moment, but it was better than nothing – it might have some clues, maybe even the tunnel network she'd mentioned!

I will see her again, no matter what it takes.

Three days since the party, Lucas had been restless. No doubt his brother blamed it on his usual antsy behavior, maybe being hung up over some girl. Well, he isn't entirely wrong. But I'm doing something entirely different. I'm helping someone.

"When's the next time we're going to Aunt Gladys'?" he asked.

His mother sat, dignified, knitting in her purple plush chair. Her light brown hair fell in luscious waves – only her sons knew it was fake, and only because she'd accidentally taken off her wig in front of them one time. The rest of the court praised her beautiful locks, and she liked it that way.

"The twenty-second, why do you care so much?" His mother's voice was like the exotic fruits from the equator – sweet, but with a bitter aftertaste that lingered in his mouth. Lucas huffed at the expected response – information was power you traded, not power you just gave out. Still, it would be nice if she could let things be.

"Nothing. Just wanted to mentally prepare myself." Not entirely false. After all, the best lies went down with a spoonful of truth.

They sat in silence, his mother's knitting needles clinking softly as Lucas pretended to read a book – and secretly planned how he would be gone for so long without someone noticing.

The 'I could go for some refreshment' excuse was always a classic in situations like these – but would it be enough? What would he do when he was actually there? That's not important right now. I just need to go, think about the details later.

"Rodric's sent you working with that mercenary, right?"

His mother's question caught Lucas off guard. Did she suspect something? Just for precaution, he schooled his face into neutrality, like Diora had taught him.

"Yes. He wasn't satisfied with the results, though. Her fault, not mine."

His mother nodded. "I expect nothing less from Rodric. Did you at least learn something useful?"

"Some things," he lied. Did the king's pet duck as a child count as a valuable secret? "I learned not to trust mercenaries for one."

The joke did nothing to lighten the mood. "You should've already known." His mother let out a brief sigh, before going back to her knitting.

~

"Will you excuse me? I could go for refreshment."

It was the twenty-second, and Lucas could practically feel his goal stretch out ahead of him, mere inches away from his fingertips. Find Diora. Save her. Help her.

"Of course, Lucas, honey." Uncle Jordan waved his hand, and he was off to find the hallway where the tunnel had been.

Azure was at the party. He'd seen her briefly, among the other guests. They hadn't even exchanged a glance. He wished he could talk to her just once, say 'maybe you weren't all wrong, Rodric hates Diora so I have to help her,' but his mission was more important. Still, he felt a pang of guilt. Maybe at the next ball. Felicity's birthday is coming up. Surely they'd want her sister there.

Now, which wall panel was it? He remembered they'd walked down the left wing, and Diora had slid a secret door. He could already count out the walls that faced outside, as those had no room for secret tunnels – so he checked every shadowed corner manually, until one wall gave way beneath his fingers, and the panel slid without making a sound. It's unlocked!

He wondered about the danger of Diora leaving the passage open for anyone to find, but this part of the mansion was barely even used – she and her daughter slept in the second floor, and the servants' rooms and kitchens were in the right wing. In fact, all the left wing had were a couple of dimly-lit laundry rooms – among scores of unused bedrooms and closets.

Crawling along the length of the impossibly long, musty tunnel was like descending to the grimy, damp bowels of the world – but the thought of seeing Diora again kept him strangely warm and dry inside. It was a drive inside him, pushing him forward another step, another disgusting inch.

He imagined her face as he arrived in the base, imagined her smiling – not the half smiles she'd given him before, but a full grin. He imagined her laugh. He couldn't quite capture it, though.

Finally, after what seemed like two thousand years of crawling, the tunnel began to slope up, and soon he was pushing against a wooden trapdoor.

Oh, no, he realized. It's locked.

No. No, this can't be true, he thought, slamming his hand against the door. I can't be stuck down here. Not when Diora is so close.

He didn't know how long he stood there, punching the trapdoor even harder each time, knowing it wouldn't budge.

"Please..." he whispered as his knuckles ached. "I need to..."

All of a sudden, his punches met only air as he heard hinges creaking. Brightness flooded his vision, and he winced.

"What in Oris' godforsaken name are you doing here."

Lucas was still reeling from the influx of light – but he would know that voice if he heard it halfway across the world.