Trusted with the knowledge of secrets he could keep, Kurt had gathered intel from the far corners of his employer’s impressive vaults hidden somewhere inside the brownstone. Filly’s eyes devoured every scrap in naked delight, and Avery pored over thick volumes with studious interest. Inq and Kurt argued tactics. Joy sat close to Ink, overwhelmed by more than just the sheer mass of information, concentrating on breathing evenly and slow. She understood that Graus Claude was being held under some sort of house arrest, having yet to be formally charged, yet stowed suspiciously close to where her formal presentation was about to take place. She sensed a trap. “The Folk are nothing if not dramatic,” Inq said. “And they do love to gloat.” She pointed to the set of hallways and stairs that led to Graus Claude’s holding chamber. “I wouldn’t be surprised if Sol Leander had specifically placed the Bailiwick within earshot of the gala in order that he might overhear your every stroke of social suicide.”
