I ran my fingers over the note again.
Five words. Simple. Precise.
Like a knife aimed at memory.
You missed someone. She knows.
Who?
Serina and I tore through every name we'd touched—every servant, every informant, every ally. Everyone who had crossed the threshold of the observatory.
We argued. We snapped at each other. We listed people twice.
And then we stopped.
Maren.
She had handed me the map of the archive wing. She had known the timing of the shift change. She had handed over the forged seal—"borrowed from another document," she'd said, smiling.
Not a noble. Not a guard.
Just a girl with perfect penmanship and a library key: Maren.
"She never asked questions," I whispered.
"Because she didn't need to," Serina said. "She was copying everything."
My mouth was dry.
And I felt something else beneath the shock—shame.
I prided myself on watching everything, reading every room. But I had never watched her.
She had been invisible because I never thought to see her.
"Where is she now?"
"Library. Like always."
"She never asked questions," I whispered.
"Because she didn't need to," Serina said. "She was copying everything."