“What are you talking about, Niall?” Em demanded.

A small illumination formed in the man’s hand, and Gunnar could just make out his face in the soft green light within the carriage. He wore the gray cloak of a personal guard, though his uniform was decorated like an officer in the military. His head was shaved, and he wore no hat or hood, revealing a deep brown scalp. His dark eyes glared across the carriage.

“I’m talking about the fact that I was sent to pick you up the night of Dravingdel’s party, and you’ve both kept me waiting for three bloody days.”

“What are you talking about? The party was just last night,” Em said.

But Gunnar shook his head, realizing what must have happened. “When we were untethered. Lex said something about being outside the space-time continuum of Thailen. We must have jumped forward when we tethered again or something.”

“Three days?” Em asked again, incredulous.

Niall grunted and nodded with exasperation.

“Who are you exactly?” Gunnar asked. “Don’t believe we’ve met.”

“I’m the bloke who’s had to sit around twiddling his damn thumbs while everybody else plans the next moves. And while you two have been sitting around drinking cheap wine.”

“How did you know that?” Gunnar asked.

“Street wine has a distinct aroma,” Niall said. “It hangs on your clothes for days.”

“We were briefly celebrating a victory,” Em said. “We just fought a damn battle. For three days apparently.”

Niall crossed his arms, unimpressed.

“Where’s Leilani?” Gunnar asked.

“She has greater responsibilities than you, believe me,” Niall said.

“Where are we going, then?”

Niall grimaced. “To meet with Leilani.”

“Ah, so she does want to see me,” Gunnar said.

“Don’t antagonize him,” Em said. “He’s insufferable enough as it is.”

“Hey, he was the one acting like she didn’t care about me. So you’re her errand boy, then, is that it?” Gunnar asked.

“I’m her captain of the guard.”

“He’s melodramatic is what he is,” Em said. “Enough of this crap about sitting around. We both know you weren’t just waiting in this carriage for three days.”

Niall grunted. “Close enough. A lot happens in Thailen in three days after an Imperial admiral is assassinated. The guild leaders are meeting now, planning maneuvers and manipulations, and here I am escorting you.”

“Yeah, yeah, we’re sorry and whatever,” Em said. “We obviously weren’t trying to be gone three days. We didn’t even know until just now. You heard him, we got caught in a continuum.”

“I don’t know what that means,” Niall said. “Sounds made up.”

Em chuckled. “It really does, doesn’t it?”

Niall huffed silently for awhile.

“So what has been going on since the party?” Gunnar asked once the man’s face had gone from angry to unamused.

“Quite a lot, actually. But you don’t want to hear about it from a lowly errand boy.”

“I told you not to antagonize him,” Em said.

Gunnar rather enjoyed getting under the man’s skin, but he also really didn’t want to go into this meeting blind, and he had a feeling Niall might let him, just out of spite.

“Look,” Gunnar said. “We’re sorry you’ve missed out on important matters waiting for us.”

Niall nodded, though his expression remained scrunched. “And?”

“And I’m sorry for calling you an errand boy. You know more than we do, so you’re clearly more important than we are.”

“And don’t you forget it,” Niall said with a slight smile. “Your successful assassination has riled up the Thailen elite, particularly those with close ties to the empire. Red Cloak patrols have doubled around the city. Rumor is that more soldiers are being sent Thailen’s way, though that’s a couple weeks off. And they’ll have Black Heart to deal with if they come the quick way—by sea.”

“What about the word on the street?” Em asked.

“Most are wary. Few ordinary folk are fans of the Red Cloaks or the empire, but one dead admiral isn’t going to embolden them too much. The guild masters have eyes and ears around the city though, and they believe we’ve made a step in the right direction.”

“Right direction toward what?” Gunnar asked.

Niall smiled. “We’ll let you discuss that with the masters.”

The carriage came to a stop, and the driver opened the door for them to exit. They had parked outside what appeared to be some sort of theater. There was a wide stone staircase leading to several pairs of massive doors. Streams of ordinary-looking people were pouring in through the main entrance, but Niall led the way to a less trafficked entrance along the side of the building.

It appeared to be a servant’s entrance, though there were no servants anywhere.

Inside, they entered a narrow hall. Niall opened a door, just inside, and motioned for them to enter. Em led the way, and Niall closed the door behind them.

There were no guild masters in the room.

Just two sets of clothes hung up on hangers, and some sort of old time dressing screen in the corner. Unfazed, Em snatched up a sapphire blue gown.

“Can’t go to an opera dressed for battle, can we?”

Em retreated to the makeshift dressing area and began peeling off her shirt and cloak. The screen provided just enough cover to shield any sensitive areas, but that was about it. The back of Em’s head and bare shoulders were plainly visible over the top. Limbs jutted out past the sides as she tried to maneuver in the small space, and Gunnar thought it best to turn away.

A tap on his shoulder signaled she was done.

He turned, and for the second time in two nights—well, technically four after the continuum—Gunnar found himself momentarily speechless at the sight of Em dolled up. The satin gown left her freckled shoulders bare, and the train tapered out behind her, dragging softly on the ground. Her hair was a bit of a mess. She’d thrown it up in a hasty bun, but it was the sort of devil-may-care look that could have been intentional.

She blushed a little, and adjusted the dress. “The masters like to meet in these high-brow places. I hate these sorts of things.”

“You shouldn’t,” Gunnar said. “I mean, er, hate whatever you want. But you look good dressed up.”

Em smiled. “Your turn.”

Gunnar took a tuxedo from the hanger and slipped behind the screen. It was actually impressive how sweaty and sticky his current clothes were. It made sense after the battle they’d fought, but the level of detail in this game continued to amaze him. He didn’t stink, thankfully, but the feeling of those clothes was uncannily accurate, like stripping out of workout clothes after a long run—not that he had ton of experience with that.

The tuxedo, in contrast, was soft and silky and fit perfectly, even the shiny black shoes that had come with them.

He emerged from the dressing area to find Em looking right at him, grinning.

Gunnar blushed. “What?”

She smirked. “Just wondering what you look like IRL. You know how these games are. Everyone’s muscular and good looking.”

“Don’t think we’re supposed to talk about that sort of stuff.”

“About your lack of real life muscles?”

Gunnar glanced up, as though the Suits and Ties were watching from the ceiling. “And hey, I was giving you privacy.”

Em winked. “Maybe I didn’t care.”

With that, the chimera walked off, her evening gown trailing behind her. Gunnar felt warm all over, and his fingers tingled. That comment left his mind reeling. In truth, he’d been on a bit of a cold streak with women prior to landing in prison. It felt good to have someone who clearly seemed into him. But he always felt a nervous thrill in situations like this, where there was attraction but they weren’t quite talking about it. Or doing anything about it.

It was exciting, but he never fully knew how to handle things.

He hurried after her to find Niall scowling outside the door.

“Need to do anything else? Style your hair maybe?” the man said dryly.

“You a stylist or something?” Gunnar asked, feigning stupidity.

Niall grunted, and handed him a tray, loaded with hors d’oeuvres.

“What’s this?”

“You’re an elf. Need to look the part in a place like this.”

Gunnar sighed. It was Dravingdel’s party all over again.

Niall led the way from the small entrance hall. There’d been no mirror in the changing room, and Gunnar still self-consciously ran his hand through his hair, hoping it wasn’t too messy for the masters.

They passed through a door and climbed a narrow staircase, emerging in an upper hall filled with nobles milling about, carrying small plates of hors d’oeuvres and glasses of wine and champagne. None of the common folk from the main entrance were up here, that was immediately clear.

Several came over and grabbed some of the little sweet biscuits on Gunnar’s tray.

Niall led them to a box along the side of the auditorium, looking down upon the stage. There were similar box seats all around this upper deck, while hundreds of common folk filled the floor seats below. There were a few seats in this box, though none seemed to be available.

Niall turned to a corner, where a very narrow staircase led sharply up. The way the curtains were angled, no one could see them from the rest of the auditorium. Gunnar guessed it was meant to be some sort of servant entrance, or at least to maintain such an appearance.

The lights in the auditorium dimmed.

The crowd cheered.

And they climbed the stair up two flights and emerged in a small lamplit room. There was a small shoddy table at the center of the small space and several men and women were seated there. Niall closed the door behind them, and stood with arms crossed right beside it. Gunnar set his servant’s tray down on a small table by the entrance.

Leilani rose from her seat and greeted them, ushering them over to a pair of empty seats beside her own.

As an opera singer’s voice droned on in the background, the masters of the Nighthawks began their meeting.