The kiss had been a mistake.

That was what I told myself.

I should have been able to push it from my mind, to cast it aside like a misplaced step or an offhanded remark.

And yet, no matter how many days passed, I found myself recalling it in vivid detail—the way his breath had mixed with mine, the weight of his hands against my body, the way we had collided like neither of us had been prepared for it.

But Evan was gone.

Days stretched into over a week, and for the first time since this arrangement had begun, he did not visit my cottage.

I told myself I didn’t care.

That his absence made no difference.

I had been alone before. I had survived without him then, and I would survive without him now.

But something about the silence left an irritation in my chest, an unease I refused to name.

So I did what I did best. I focused on my work.

The decision to sabotage Brynda’s investments had been an easy one.

It wasn’t enough to simply watch her struggle. She needed to start losing.

Through Voyox, I ensured that a merchant shipment she had secretly backed—a risky but lucrative venture in rare textiles—would never arrive.

On paper, it was nothing more than an unfortunate delay. Unforeseen circumstances. A minor setback.

But in reality, it was a deliberate maneuver.

The merchants involved were loyal to Voyox. They knew which side held true power in the empire’s trade, and they had chosen wisely.

Brynda would have no recourse, no one to blame but bad fortune. But bad fortune had a way of repeating itself when someone was being outplayed.

I sent word through the right channels, making sure the noble circles heard whispers of House Norville’s unlucky streak. A single loss wouldn’t ruin her. But it would plant the seed.

And once that seed took root, it would grow into something impossible to ignore.

A Ghost in the Flesh

The streets of the capital had always been filled with memories I wanted to forget.

I moved through the market square that afternoon with my hood pulled low, blending into the clusters of merchants and shoppers as I stopped to listen, to watch, to gather pieces of information that might serve me later.

I should have felt satisfaction knowing that the rumors were working, that my plans were unfolding exactly as I had envisioned.

But then I heard his voice.

Lorran.

I turned before I could stop myself, before I could remind myself that he was no longer someone I should care about.

He stood in front of a store window, his head tilted slightly as he inspected a fine pocket watch that was on display. A nobleman I recognized chatted beside him.

When his companion patted his shoulder and then walked away, he stood alone, deep in thought.

The golden light of late afternoon softened Lorran’s features, but even from here, I could see the tension in his posture, the way his shoulders held the weight of something unseen.

I should have walked away.

But I didn’t.

Instead, I moved closer.

Not too close. Not enough to be reckless.

Just enough for fate to tip the scales.

He glanced up, and for a moment, his gaze brushed past me. Then his brow furrowed, and he looked again.

Something flickered in his eyes—hesitation, familiarity that didn’t quite take shape.

"You…" His voice was softer than I remembered, rougher around the edges. "Forgive me, but do I know you?"

I tilted my head slightly, feigning confusion. "I don’t believe so."

He exhaled, shaking his head, but he didn’t look away. "You remind me of someone. Someone I… once loved."

The words struck me harder than they should have.

I kept my expression unreadable, but something inside me twisted.

He had never spoken about me like that when I had been his. Not in such finality.

I offered a polite smile. "Who was she?"

He hesitated, as if speaking my name out loud might summon something he wasn’t ready to face. "She was someone I lost."

"Lost?" I echoed. "To what?"

His jaw tightened, and for a fleeting second, I saw the crack in him, the doubt that he likely never admitted even to himself.

"To my own choices," he said finally.

The words hung between us.

For the first time, I wasn’t just watching him from the shadows. I was listening. And what I heard was regret.

He ran a hand through his hair, exhaling sharply. "I don’t know why I’m telling you this. You’re a stranger."

And yet, he didn’t walk away.

I shrugged. "Maybe it’s easier to tell a stranger something you can’t tell anyone else."

He let out a breath of something close to a laugh, but it was humorless. "Maybe."

I watched him carefully. "Do you still think of her?"

He glanced at his surroundings, restless. "I shouldn’t. But I do."

I hated how those words made me feel.

Hated that I had spent months convincing myself that he had forgotten me, that his betrayal had been easy, clean, absolute.

But now, standing before him as someone else, I realized that he wasn’t as sure as he had once been.

And that realization unsettled me.

"Do you think she would forgive you?" I asked.

His throat bobbed slightly. "I don’t know if she’s alive to."

I inhaled slowly, steadying myself. "And if she were?"

Lorran didn’t answer right away. He studied me, as if the truth was lingering just out of reach, waiting for him to grasp it.

Then, quietly, he said, "I think I would ask her to see me again."

Something in my chest tightened.

I smiled, small and unreadable. "And what if she never gave you a way to find her?"

His lips parted slightly, caught off guard by the question.

Then, almost reluctantly, he smiled back. "Then I suppose I’d have to hope that fate is kinder to me than I deserve."

A silence stretched between us, thick and charged with everything that wasn’t being said.

Lorran didn’t know who I was. Not fully.

But something inside him did.

I stepped back. "It was nice meeting you."

He hesitated before asking, "Can I see you again?"

When I raised an eyebrow, he quickly added, “I’m not flirting. I only want to…talk some more.”

I let the pause stretch just long enough to leave a mark.

Then, softly, I said, "We’ll see."

I turned and walked away before he could comment further, leaving him behind with nothing but questions.