“No! What he was isn’t important right now.” My hand was sweaty, and I had to adjust my grip on the knife. “I came here to make sure you don’t hurt my friend.”

   “Hurt her? Why in Ozhiel’s hell would I do that?”

   “You tell me! You’re the one pursuing her. I should’ve just gone straight to Cedric or Jasper and let them know that there’s a con man obsessed with getting his hands on—”

   “Stop right there. Let’s get some things straight.” He held up a finger. “First, you need to stop saying ‘obsessed.’ It makes me sound unstable.” Another finger. “Second, I have no intention of ‘getting my hands’ on her. I wouldn’t even know where to start with all those dress layers.” Up went the third finger. “And finally . . . ‘con man’?”

   “How else would you describe a man who snoops around someone’s house in disguise and then follows them onto a ship under another false identity?”

   “This is my real identity,” he snapped. “Mostly. And if you actually read that letter, you’d have your answer.”

   His voice held a query, trying to determine how much I knew. “Yes. I read it all. I know about the McGraw Agency. About your mission. Do you think we’re traitors? That Adelaide is?”

   His ensuing silence came from uncertainty, not anger. I realized then that he was afraid to say anything or give up any more of the conspiracy he was enmeshed in.

   “I already know plenty,” I boasted. “You might as well trust me with the rest.”

   “I can’t trust anyone. Especially a woman who broke into my room.”

   “I told you, it was to protect Adelaide! What would you do if someone was stalking your best friend?”

   “I wouldn’t have to do anything. As soon as she noticed some guy sneaking around, she’d beat him to a pulp.”

   I considered that for a moment, fascinated by the idea that someone who thought caring about people was dangerous actually had a best friend—a female one who could apparently beat someone “to a pulp.”

   “Just tell me.” Hopefully, if I tried for a civil attitude, he might do the same. “Please. I’ve already read everything. What else is there to do?”

   “I could hand you over to the authorities for treason. Maybe you can find a husband in prison.”

   So much for civility. “I haven’t done anything treasonous! I’m just trying to save my friend.”

   He raked a hand through his hair and began pacing the room. “You read the letter. You saw the part about how the leaders of this conspiracy are most likely men of power and influence—men a humble shopkeeper like me can’t get easy access to.”

   “Are you a humble shopkeeper? Or are you a McGraw agent? Or are you a laborer with a bad back?”

   “I’m all of those. Except my back is just fine.” He paused. “How did you recognize me?”

   “Your ear,” I said. “And then that made me think of other things. Like that inflection I keep hearing in your voice. And how your scars were in different places when I saw you at Blue Spring. Not by much. But enough.”

   I didn’t catch what Grant muttered next. The language was none I knew. But I’d apparently passed some sort of test. “I won’t cross paths with many of those powerful men,” he finally said. “But you girls will. And if what everyone says is true, your friend will cross paths with most of them.”

   “You want . . . you want Adelaide to be a spy?”

   “The correct term is ‘asset,’” he said. “Someone who gathers information for a spy. Can you talk to her for me?”

   “No. I don’t want Adelaide involved in anything dangerous.”

   “All she has to do is watch and listen at all those fancy balls and dinners.”

   “No.”

   He let out a long-suffering sigh. “Fine, then why don’t we just forget about all this and be on our respective ways. I’m sure we each have important things to do—some of us more so than others.” I didn’t believe he’d give up on her so easily, but before I could call him out, he asked, “And how much money will it take to keep you quiet?”

   I froze. “Money? How . . . much are you offering?”

   “Now we’re getting somewhere. Two gold.”

   A crazy idea began forming in the back of my mind. “I need two hundred.”

   “Two hundred? I barely have five to my name. And if I did have two hundred, I wouldn’t give it to you.”

   I pointed at the journal. “But you’ll get that huge reward for solving the case.”

   “I won’t get it. Silas controls it. Then there’ll be other expenses to compensate. But a little silence isn’t worth two hundred. Not even an asset is.”

   “Were you going to pay Adelaide? How much?”

   “To be determined,” he said flatly.

   “Look, you’re right about her being the best at the Glittering Court. She earned that diamond title. But this—this sneaking around? Subterfuge, gathering information, and all that? It’s not in her nature. I’m the one you want.”

   I braced myself for one of his biting remarks, but when he spoke, his tone held . . . well, not respect, exactly. But a little less sarcasm. “I’ll give you points for subterfuge. And you’re resourceful. You’ve certainly taught me a lesson about not using heat-sensitive inks.” He touched one of the scratches on his face and winced. “And to take your threats seriously. I can’t imagine if you’d had the knife.”

   I pulled the blade out. “I do have it.”

   He stepped forward to study it more closely. “Can it even cut anything?”