The air in Zahrat al-Qamar was thick with the scent of myrrh and jasmine, a haze of perfume hanging in the warm night air. Beneath the golden glow of lanterns, the palace gardens sprawled like a living tapestry. Marble fountains gurgling with rosewater, vines heavy with moon-white blossoms curling around archways, courtesans and merchants lounging on silk cushions as they drank wine sweetened with crushed dates. And among them, draped in flowing scarlet silks that contrasted her pale lavender skin, Mystery smiled, her golden eyes alight with amusement as she traced an idle finger along the wrist of her mark.

  Merchant Lord Ashem Darvosi was an indulgent man, soft with wealth, bloated with power. His fingers were heavy with rings, his robes stitched with gold, and his breath reeked of citrus and clove. He laughed loudly at his own wit, eyes flicking between her face and the suggestion of skin left exposed by the loose folds of her dress.

  "Ah, my desert bloom," he sighed, lifting her hand to his lips. "I knew from the moment I saw you that the heavens themselves had delivered you to me. Tell me, have I not treated you well?"

  Mystery tilted her head, her dark curls tumbling over her shoulder as she let a slow, sultry smile spread across her lips. "You are generous beyond compare, my lord," she purred, leaning closer, her voice laced with honeyed warmth. "But I do find myself wondering…is it truly the heavens who delivered me to you? Or perhaps some darker force, drawn by the greatness of your name?"

  Darvosi chuckled, pleased, stroking the thin, oiled mustache that curled at the corners of his mouth. "Oh? You have a poet's tongue, my little dove. But there is no force, light or dark, that does not bow before coin. Even fate must bargain with men like me."

  Mystery let out a delighted laugh, masking the sharp calculation behind her gaze. She had spent the last three weeks weaving her way into his favor, posing as a pampered courtesan plucked from a distant land, batting her lashes and whispering sweet nothings into his ear while she learned the inner workings of his house, his business, his secrets.

  Today, she would finally complete her task.

  She trailed her fingers along his arm, her touch feather-light. "Then tell me, my lord, if you hold dominion over fate itself, surely a woman such as I is no mystery to you?"

  His chest puffed with pride. "Oh, but you are a mystery, my jewel," he admitted, his fingers brushing against the curve of her waist. "And I find myself dying to solve you."

  A pity. He truly would be dying.

  Mystery smiled sweetly, leaning in so that her lips were just a breath away from his ear. "Then I will give you a riddle, my lord," she whispered. "What does a man have only once in his life, loses before he knows it's gone, and never gets back?"

  Darvosi frowned slightly, his wine-soaked mind sluggish. "What is—"

  Mystery kissed his cheek. Then in one smooth motion, twisted his head sharply to the side.

  A crack of bone, muffled beneath the din of the revelry.

  His body slumped against the cushions.

  Mystery rose gracefully, adjusting the golden bangles on her wrist. The other courtesans were too deep in their gossip to notice, the guards more focused on drinking than on their charge. It would be hours before someone realized the Merchant Lord had fallen into more than just a drunken stupor.

  And by then, she would be gone.

  She plucked a fig from a nearby tray, biting into the sweet flesh as she slipped into the shadows of the garden, leaving nothing behind but the scent of perfume and the echo of laughter.

  Mystery walked with unhurried grace through the corridors of the palace, her bare feet soundless against polished marble veined with gold. The air was thick with the cloying sweetness of incense, the scent of oud and saffron mingling with something deeper. Spilled wine, sweat, and the quiet sorrow woven into the very fabric of this place.

  She turned down a quieter hallway, lined with ornately carved doors bearing the sigils of Darvosi’s wealthiest patrons. The murmurs of indulgence, of pleasure both genuine and forced, spilled through cracks in the wood. She had heard it all before. But one sound caught her ear. Soft, shuddering sobs.

  Mystery stopped, her golden eyes narrowing as a door creaked open ahead of her. A girl, barely more than a teenager, stumbled out, her delicate hands shaking as she pulled a silken shawl tighter around herself. Her skin, a deep shimmering cerulean, bore the faint iridescence of some distant lineage. Her large, glassy eyes, a striking silver without pupils, were red-rimmed with tears. Twin horns, not too dissimilar from Mystery’s own, curled delicately back from her forehead, adorned with golden chains that jingled softly as she trembled.

  A Seaborne, Mystery realized. A rare people from the drowned isles east of Khazadur. And here she was, trapped in a perfumed cage like so many others.

  The girl pressed herself against the wall, sucking in sharp, uneven breaths, her body rigid. Mystery knew that look. A thousand girls had worn it before her. A thousand more would wear it after.

  The predator inside Mystery whispered to keep walking. She had done what she came for. The job was done. The contract paid. But another part of her, the part that had clawed its way out of the dark, the part that had never forgotten the first time she had been locked behind a gilded door, stopped her in place.

  She exhaled, then moved. Mystery’s approach was silent, but the girl startled when she felt her presence, flinching violently.

  “Don’t,” Mystery said, gently but firmly.

  The girl blinked up at her, still trembling, her silver eyes wary and wet.

  Mystery sighed. She softened her stance, rolling back her shoulders, tilting her head slightly. Not a threat, not a predator, just another woman in this house of hungry men.

  “You’re shaking,” she murmured, stepping closer. “Breathe.”

  The girl shuddered. “I—” She swallowed thickly, glancing back at the door she had just fled from, as though expecting its occupant to follow.

  He wouldn’t. Mystery had passed him earlier, a bloated man with rings on every finger and cruelty in every glance. A man who took more than what was paid for.

  “What’s your name?” Mystery asked.

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  The girl hesitated, wrapping her arms around herself.

  “Nia,” she whispered.

  “Nia.” Mystery let the name roll over her tongue, then nodded. “Come with me.”

  The girl’s breath hitched. “I can’t. If they see me—”

  “They won’t.” Mystery’s voice was assured, unshaken. “You’re with me now.”

  Nia searched her face, uncertain. Then, as if drawn by the quiet authority in Mystery’s voice, she nodded.

  Mystery reached out, took Nia’s trembling hand in her own, and led her away down a quieter corridor, her grip firm yet gentle. The palace stretched vast around them, a labyrinth of silken drapes, gold-framed archways, and perfume-thick air. Too many walls, too many secrets buried beneath layers of luxury.

  She didn’t speak immediately. There was no need to rush. Silence was a language in itself.

  Nia, still trembling, glanced over her shoulder. The fear in her eyes hadn’t faded. It clung to her like the residue of unwelcome hands.

  When they reached a secluded alcove, a shadowed recess lined with plush divans and velvet curtains, Mystery stopped. She turned to Nia, studying her face.

  “Tell me.”

  Nia flinched at the words. “I—I can’t.”

  Mystery tilted her head. “You can.”

  A long silence. Then, at last, the girl swallowed and spoke.

  “He didn’t stop.” The words tumbled from her lips in a whisper, like a confession. “I told him I’d had enough, that I was tired, but he just—” Her breath hitched. “He grabbed me. Laughed. Said I should be grateful.”

  Mystery’s fingers curled, nails pressing into her palm. She knew men like that. Knew them by their smiles, their hands, their entitlement.

  “And the guards?” she asked, voice quiet, but not soft.

  Nia shook her head. “They don’t care. He’s important. One of Lord Darvosi’s favorites.”

  Of course he was. Mystery sighed through her nose. “And this has happened before?”

  Nia didn’t answer. She didn’t have to. Mystery already knew.

  A slow, creeping heat spread through Mystery’s veins. Not the flush of embarrassment or anger, but something colder. A familiar clarity.

  She reached into the folds of her sheer, flowing garments and withdrew a small, delicate vial filled with deep onyx liquid. It shimmered faintly, shifting like liquid night.

  Nia blinked at it. “What’s that?”

  Mystery rolled the vial between her fingers, watching the substance inside. “A remedy.”

  The girl hesitated. “For what?”

  “For men who don’t know when to stop.”

  Nia’s breath caught. She looked at Mystery then, really looked at her. Not just as another courtesan in Darvosi’s menagerie. Not just as another beautiful thing to be admired, used, or dismissed. She saw the truth beneath the silks and kohl-lined eyes. Mystery was not like the others.

  “…What will it do?” Nia asked, voice barely above a whisper.

  Mystery smiled. It was a slow, knowing thing, danger wrapped in velvet.

  “He’ll never touch another girl again, if he’s smart.”

  Nia swallowed hard, gaze flickering between the vial and Mystery’s golden eyes. “Will it…will it kill him?”

  Mystery tilted her head, rolling the vial between her fingers like a bauble. “Do you want it to?”

  Nia recoiled, eyes wide. “I—I don’t know.”

  Mystery let out a quiet hum. “Good answer.”

  Nia’s fingers clenched at the fabric of her skirts. “I just…I don’t want him to hurt me. Or anyone else.” Her voice wavered. “But if he dies, won’t they come looking for who did it?”

  “They might.” Mystery’s voice was light, almost lazy, as if discussing the weather. “That’s why this”—she held up the vial—“isn’t poison.”

  Nia frowned. “Then what is it?”

  Mystery smiled, leaning in slightly. “A lesson.”

  The girl shuddered. “What kind of lesson?”

  Mystery finally stopped playing with the vial and placed it gently in Nia’s trembling hands. The glass felt unnaturally cold.

  “A lesson in consequence.”

  Nia held the vial as if it might burn her. “I don’t understand.”

  Mystery reached up and tucked a stray lock of pale hair behind the girl’s ear, her touch light as silk. “You don’t have to.”

  Nia hesitated. “And if I don’t use it?”

  “Then you don’t.” Mystery’s tone was indifferent, but her eyes watched closely. Measuring. “It’s your choice, little one.”

  Nia looked down at the vial, the liquid inside shifting like captured shadows. Her breathing was uneven. “What will it do to him?”

  Mystery let the question hang in the air for a moment, watching the fear flicker behind Nia’s eyes. She had seen that look before, in the faces of street waifs, of desperate girls sold for coin, of other young Beyonders who had learned too soon what this world did to those it deemed different.

  “The vial won’t kill him,” she said at last, voice smooth as silk, yet firm. “It won’t even hurt him. But it will make him afraid. It will strip away his power for a night, make him feel helpless. The way he’s made others feel.”

  Nia swallowed, clutching the tiny glass container as if it were a lifeline. “And…if he drinks too much?”

  Mystery tilted her head, considering the girl carefully. “Then he may never feel powerful again.”

  Nia’s breath hitched, her fingers tightening around the vial. She looked so small in that moment, despite her exotic beauty, despite the elegant silks draped over her shoulders. Just another pawn in this city of indulgence and rot.

  “Do with it what you will. But don’t hesitate.” Her golden eyes locked onto the girl’s. “Hesitation is what gets people like us killed.”

  Nia nodded, though uncertainty still lingered in her expression.

  Mystery straightened, adjusting the sheer shawl draped over her shoulders. “You should go. Rest.”

  Nia hesitated. “And you? Where are you going?”

  Mystery smirked, already turning toward the gilded doors at the end of the corridor. “Out.”

  She did not wait for a response, nor did she need one. The palace was suffocating, its perfumes cloying, its false pleasures meaningless. It was time to step into the night air, to slip into the world where she truly belonged.

  She eventually arrived at her chambers, stepping through and locking the door behind herself with practiced ease. The scent of jasmine and rosewater clung to the air, the remnants of the evening’s charade. A golden incense burner smoldered softly in the corner, curling tendrils of colored smoke into the dimly lit room.

  She ignored it, moving toward the tall, bronze-framed mirror near her dresser. With slow, deliberate motions, she untied the jeweled sash at her waist, letting the sheer silks slip from her shoulders. The fabric whispered as it pooled at her feet, leaving her bare in the flickering candlelight.

  Mystery studied her reflection, tilting her head slightly. She had the kind of beauty that men lost themselves in. High cheekbones, full lips, golden eyes that gleamed. Her pale violet skin and horns shimmered faintly beneath the light, a telltale mark of her Beyonder heritage. She traced a slow finger over the scars that marred her body. Thin, deliberate lines across her ribs, a deep gash over her hip, a cluster of jagged marks along her back. Each one a memory. A lesson learned in blood.

  She had been raised in violence. Molded by it. And yet, she had survived.

  With a quiet exhale, she turned away, stepping toward the chest at the foot of her bed. She lifted the lid and pulled out her true attire. Form-fitting black leathers, sturdy boots, a high-collared coat that concealed hidden pockets. Practical. Comfortable. Hers.

  As she fastened the last of her belts, her thoughts turned to the night ahead. She had an appointment, one that could not be missed.

  Blue. That was the only name given to her contact. A shadow in the underbelly of Zahrat al-Qamar, a whisper in the dark that carried the weight of The Black Hand. She had never seen their face, had never pressed for details beyond what was necessary. In this line of work, anonymity was a kind of armor.

  Mystery slid a pair of daggers into the sheaths at her thighs, fastening them securely. Tonight would be a simple meeting, an exchange of information and orders. But in a city like this, even simple things could turn deadly.

  She smiled faintly, pulling up her hood. Time to disappear.