Cold rain needled from a bruised sky. All along the cobblestone streets, people hid under heavy umbrellas and cloaks that blended into the dim evening light, making it near impossible for Andrew to scout out potential targets. He stopped by a bench outside a tavern to rest. He wasn’t on his horse this time and his feet ached from the walking. He wanted to take Silver, but the mare must’ve been spooked by their last outing because she fought before Andrew could even try to saddle her.

He didn't force her, thinking it might even be a good thing to go back to Minerva on foot. A plain boy was harder to remember than a horsed one.

Andrew rested his arms on his knees and leaned forward. His breath fogged in front of him, hiding the town square from view. Autumn was ending soon. He’d need to get warmer clothes since he outgrew last year’s. The beach will be colder as well. So will the caves.

So will Victoria.

Andrew swallowed a mouthful of unease. He didn’t want to leave Victoria, but Ignar had come to his chambers last night to tell him that Doctor Davis’s health took a turn for the worse.

“Master may not make it past two more moons,” the wolf-man had said with a tear hanging across his furry cheek. “I think we ought to present him with a reason.”

“A reason?” Andrew asked.

“To cling onto life,” answered Ignar. “Something that reminds him why he lives.”

“And what would that present be?” Andrew asked, although he knew the answer already. He saw it in the wolf-man’s twinkling yellow eyes.

“A new subject,” replied the homunculus. “A chance to right a failure.”

And so Andrew was here again. Minerva was different after the festival. Even though he expected it to be more somber, Andrew hadn’t been prepared to see the complete opposite. It wasn’t just because the decorations had been taken down. There was something else, like a fog had descended on the little seaside town. It was too quiet, even with the rain making music across the rooftops.

Andrew was so lost in that thought, he didn’t notice the tench coat coming over until the man was standing over him.

“Your parents know you’re out here past curfew, Sonny?”

Andrew glanced up at the dark man. “I’m not your Sonny,” he said rudely to hide his surprise. “And I don’t talk to strangers.”

The man chuckled. “That’s good. You shouldn’t.” He nodded at the seat next to Andrew. “Mind if I sit down?” he asked, and sat anyway without waiting for an answer. He then lifted one side of his coat and flashed a silver pointed star at Andrew, giving him a wink before hiding it again.

A detective. Andrew felt his body tense. He’d expected a creep or at most an off-duty constable, but a silver star was the badge of a detective. A kingsman.

“Which house is yours?” the detective asked. “I haven’t seen you around here.”

“I came down with a sickness not long ago,” Andrew said, launching into a pre-rehearsed lie. “I was bedridden and couldn’t get up. My mother had to stop working to take care of me.”

“How terrible,” said the detective as he twisted the end of his mustache. He had an easy drawl to his voice that made his words seem friendly. But Andrew knew better than to trust someone from the city.

“I got better only this morning,” he continued. “And was well enough to walk not long ago. I wanted to take a walk in the streets before going back to rest.”

“A well-needed walk,” noted the detective. “You’re pale as a ghost, or someone who’s been very sick.” He laughed at his own joke. “I won’t take up much more of your time. There’s just something I’d like to ask you.”

Andrew nodded. He held his hands still in his lap, and tried his best to look as relaxed as the detective. It wasn’t easy but he thought he was doing good, until he found himself staring at the familiar faces of Constantia and Victoria Summers.

He forgot how to breathe for a second.

“I’m looking for two sisters,” said the detective. “I’m sure you’ve seen them. Couple of troublemakers, from what I’ve been told. You seen them?”

Andrew felt his throat close up. He tried to buy himself time by leaning in and pretending to study the photo. It was small and more than a little blurry, as if the photographer had been laughing when the lenses were shut. But Andrew recognized the subjects all the same. How could he not? He had been spending every moment of his waking hours thinking of them.

In the photo, the two sisters were standing by the entrance of a large building, beaming proudly into the camera. Constantia had her hair done up in a fancy ponytail and Victoria’s was cut short like a boy’s. There was something else, too. They were dressed in prestigious school uniforms, complete with fishnet stockings and black leather shoes.

Andrew knew better than to ask, but he couldn’t stop himself. “Aren’t they both orphans?”

“I’ve been told that as well,” the detective answered. His arm hovered longer in front of Andrew, unmoving and thick. Rain slipped down his dark sleeves, falling to the ground in heavy drops. Andrew knew the silence was meant to get him to talk more, but he was trained too well to spill.

He could still remember Doctor Davis’s instructions, drilled into his head from years of repetition.

“Never lie fully. But never tell all the truth.”

Andrew shook his head and said, “I haven’t seen them in a while.”

The detective kept still.

“Did they do anything wrong?”

“You tell me.”

“I really don’t know them well enough to say.”

Finally, the detective retracted his hand, slipping it into his breast pocket. “They’re not in trouble,” he said. “Someone is just worried about them, that’s all.” When his hand emerged again, it was holding a pack of cigarettes and a lighter. Andrew watched in silence as the detective pinched one between his grey lips and lit one, cupping one hand against the flames.

“I’ll tell you what,” the detective said after a long drag. “Why don’t I walk you home? I’ve kept you out here long enough. I’m sure your mother wants to know where you’ve been.”

“I’d prefer not to be followed,” Andrew replied quickly. He stood. “Is that all you’d like to ask, sir?”

The detective’s slow smile curled around the end of the wrinkled cigarette. “Yea,” he said. “You be good, Sonny, and stay under the gutters. Don’t want that bug coming back to bite ya.”

Andrew nodded and turned away from the detective. He made it two steps before turning back. “My name is Aragon,” he said. “May I know yours?”

The detective kept smiling. “That's a good name,” he said, before turning his head into the rest of the cigarette.