"I love the profits, but these damn festivals are always such a headache." Wallamir sighed loudly into the silence. He tossed the papers that absorbed his attention aside and filled his pipe with a pinch of tobacco. A flick of his fingers sent a flaming ember into the bowl and a large plume of smoke erupted from his lips. Lavinia scrunched her nose at the smell, but knew better than to complain.

Instead she took a sip of tea. The smell of peppermint mingled with the smell of smoke and sweat that filled Wallamir's office, calming her. The office was the only place she felt truly safe in the city. She stifled a small giggle as Wally stood to stretch, a groan escaping his lips as his back cracked noisily.

"I am certain it must be delightful to watch an old man suffer," Wallamir said. "I assume your work for the day is done? The festival may be a vacation for the rest of the city, but our work is only starting."

"Of course, Wally," Lavinia answered. She rolled her eyes as a sheaf of parchments emerged from a fold in her cloak. She tossed the bundle toward Wallamir's desk and panic flashed across his face as the stack wobbled precariously. With a light smile she refilled her cup as the stack remained upright.

"Betting reports from the book keepers, a list of visiting officials and dignitaries and where they're staying, several assassination requests," Lavinia ticked off the contents on her fingers. "And finally from the locals we have protection fees for the week," she patted a bulging sack nestled into the armchair next to her. "It promises to be a very profitable festival for you this year."

"Profitable?" Wallamir scoffed. "I barely see one or two points on most of the money we bring in. Every Spider wants a piece, and there's never enough flies in the web to satisfy them all."

"Speaking of Spiders," Lavinia emphasized with a frown, "someone made a move the night before last. Thain's crew was wiped out to a man."

"Thain is—" Wallamir asked, shaking his head.

"Thain was the Black Ferret's head," Lavinia corrected. "Pick pockets and small-time fencing at the docks."

"Who would waste the effort?" Wallamir wondered. "Was it sanctioned by the Eyes?"

"No one's taken credit yet and the Widow wants answers," she reported. "But I already have some Spinners out collecting information."

Wallamir nodded. "Keep me updated. Sometimes I feel you are the only capable tool I have." He smiled briefly before turning back to his work.

And just like that Lavinia was dismissed. She lingered in the doorway, waiting to see if he was done with her. Wallamir looked up with a raised eyebrow as he realized she hadn't left. "Oh. Kaylin has a mission for you on your way out. Please shut the door behind you."

Lavinia nodded, embarrassment mixing with frustration in a blush that rose up her neck. Wallamir's earliest lesson echoed in her mind as she latched the door behind her: People like us can not afford to have a family, can not afford to feel love; love is a shackle that will drag you to your death if you let it.

Lavinia still bore the scar given to her when she fell for a boy the first time. A small crescent on the inside of her wrist that had been burnt into her skin as a reminder of her place in the Spider's web.

She resisted the urge to scratch it, instead gazing over the office as the Spiders wove their web over the city. Not all of Wallamir's workers knew who they worked for, of course, but even the innocent paper-pushers advanced the goals of Farone's underworld with every scratch of their quills. Lavinia was thankful her own job was more exciting— already the scratching sound that filled the hall was giving her a headache.

A folded piece of paper in the usual spot on Kaylin's desk found its way into her fingers as she passed it by. Kaylin pretended not to notice— knowing better than to look at her when she was on business— and Lavinia took the opportunity to appreciate the hints of musculature that showed through his shirt.

Perhaps after the mission she would find him and let him take her to bed. The rush of a job often left her hungry for recognition. Sharing her stories to the awestruck desk jockey satisfied her in ways that simple lovemaking didn't. He was also one of the few men she knew that wouldn't try to take advantage of her.

Lavinia considered her halfling blood a blessing. Her small stature was suited to stealth work and often led her targets to underestimate her— a mistake she was often quick to rectify. But men had different ideas of what her size meant. Predatory ideas.

She slunk through the office and her fingers danced over the holsters, sheaths, and pockets that covered every available inch of clothing she wore. The poisoner's knife had dried and would need a fresh dosing, but the rest of her gear was ready for whatever Wally needed.

She nicked open the note as she made her way into an alley that ran behind Wally's office, a moment of concentration deciphering the coded words. A disappointed sigh echoed in the empty alley, frustration bubbling through her veins. For a moment she considered marching back inside to ask Wallamir what the fuck this was.

But a few deep breaths let the calm of a job descend over her. If her task was to track down an old drunk then that's what she would do. Lavinia could only hope that this Grist resisted when she tried to bring him back.