The smell of a print shop was usually one of Gladys's favorite things in the world. It smelled of sharp, acidic ink, dry paper, and the oil used to grease the heavy iron presses. To Gladys, it smelled like freedom. It smelled like the secret world she and Lady Ines had built together, page by illicit page.
But today, the shop smelled like a trap. She had agreed with Carcel to become the bait, making sure Ines doesn't find out about it.
She stood by the counter, her hands clutching her reticule tightly, her heart hammering against her ribs like a trapped bird.
"Is the order ready, Parker?" she asked. Her voice was steady, though it took effort.
Parker, the apprentice, looked up from the stack of papers he was binding. He was a skinny boy of nineteen, with messy brown hair and an apron that was permanently stained black with ink. Usually, he was cheerful. He would crack jokes or ask Gladys if she had brought any sweets.
