She picked it in under ten seconds.
Inside, Sterling's quarters were cold.
Every object was placed with purpose. Not a scroll out of line, not a loose book. His writing desk faced east, always positioned for sunrise. Two paintings hung above the mantle one of a wolf with eyes like polished stone, the other a faceless child standing before a gate.
Magnolia ignored them.
She crossed to the bookshelf.
Fourth shelf, third book from the right.
That was what Beckett's note had said.
She pulled the volume.
It clicked.
The shelf shifted.
A hidden compartment opened below the floorboard.
She slipped inside.
The hidden chamber was barely lit. A single candle burned on a wrought-iron table, the flame cold blue. The walls were lined with black cases, blood-sealed, bond-locked.
But one stood open.
Inside it: Camille's name.
Or rather, Caelia.
Magnolia reached for the stack of letters and pulled out the top one.
It was addressed to the High Circle.
Not the current council.
