The slow, grinding screech of something heavy shifting above stirred Lecia from restless dreams of frustration and failure. Dreams of that something—always just out of reach—vanished like smoke as she blinked her groggy eyes open. Her fingers clutched at the edges of her threadbare cloak, pulling it tighter around her like the inadequate blanket it had been. She rubbed at her face, pushing away the lingering haze of sleep as her ears picked up the grating sound again, now fainter.

  The noise disappeared after a few moments, replaced by the muffled hum of voices filtering through the cellar doors. Lecia paused, tilting her head slightly to listen, but before she could make sense of the words, the heavy wooden doors creaked open, letting in a flood of blinding light. Instinctively, she raised an arm to shield her eyes, squinting against the glare.

  Silhouettes emerged, blurred and indistinct at first. As her eyes adjusted, the shapes sharpened into figures—four of them—standing at the entrance. They hesitated only briefly before the first stepped forward, descending the steep stone steps into the darkened passage. Lecia’s gaze lingered on the crest stitched into their uniforms: the stag’s head encircled by ivy—the emblem of the Veilheim Academy of the Runic Arts.

  The leader raised a finger and a second later his hand blurred. A white sigil took form in the air, neat as a stamped seal. He didn’t hesitate, didn’t correct, didn’t breathe wrong—just finished the image and spoke the incantation, like the word was a latch.

  “Lēoht f?t.”

  The sigil winked bright, then vanished as a light orb bloomed above his palm. Steady. Flat. Perfect. It filled the stairwell without flicker, the kind of brightness that made shadows behave. Lecia’s eyes narrowed a hair. It was the same incantation as hers—light in a vessel—just filtered through a sigil instead.

  Why?

  His light orb was larger, sure, and it did feel more stable, but it wasn't as bright despite its increased size. It also took him longer—not by much, but still. Her mentor's words about sigils versus runes came back to her, but Lecia just couldn't see the point, not with a spell like this one. Regardless of her silent opinions, how he cast his spells wasn't her problem or business.

  She pushed her irritation aside as the student and his apparent companions started down the steps once more. Her eyes shifted between the group as they came into full view, each appearing to be in their late teens by her guess.

  The leader stood tall, his uniform immaculate. Black fabric, trimmed with silver, made the Academy’s crest on his lapel gleam in the light. Beneath the brim of his military-style cap, piercing blue eyes swept the musty corridor with a mix of irritation and calculation. His posture, sharp and unyielding, reminded Lecia of the Watch officers who patrolled the streets of Tradehaven, though his air was somehow heavier, more deliberate.

  Behind him, a woman followed. Her dark, shoulder-length hair fell flat as a curtain below her cap. Her sharp features were set in an equally sharp expression. Her skirted uniform mirrored the leader’s in every detail. She moved with rigid efficiency, her amber gaze cold as it flicked over the damp, crumbling walls. Lecia shivered slightly when their eyes met but didn’t look away.

  Trailing after her was a shorter, stockier young man with skin as dark as Lecia’s. His scowl seemed permanent, etched into his face as he took in their surroundings with clear disdain. Hazel eyes, shadowed and murky, caught the dim light as he rolled up his sleeves, revealing muscular forearms that seemed too large for the crisp uniform he wore.

  In the bright magelight, Lecia caught a glimpse of a leather baldric across the man's broad chest, the large strap holding a sheathed blade on the man's equally broad back that was almost as large as the man himself. A Warrior of some sort? Lecia wasn't sure, but if he was, why was he attending an academy for Mages? Lecia had heard in passing that there was another Academy in a different city somewhere in the world for Warriors, but she didn't know much about it.

  The last of the group stepped lightly down the stairs, her movements lacking the sharpness of the others. She was younger, Lecia guessed, or at least carried herself with less severity. Her dark red curls framed a soft, pale face, and her chartreuse eyes—wide and warm—landed on Lecia with something resembling sympathy. What caught Lecia's attention and pulled her thoughts away from the burly Warrior wasn't the girl herself, but rather the small feline creature perched almost imperiously atop the girl's shoulder.

  It was a tiny thing, smaller than a housecat with long ears and pupilless, diamond-shaped eyes that glowed like brilliant white fire as it returned Lecia's stare with what seemed like cold indifference. Its fur was a deep smoldering crimson that seemed to constantly ripple in an ever-present haze of heat, with its long snaking tail ending in a small plume of flickering white-gold flame.

  Even if Lecia had only ever seen just one in her life, there was no doubt about what this creature was. A Familiar, and though it wasn't even close to the same realm of power as Elder Raven, the sight left Lecia in silent wonder regardless.

  Boots clicked steadily against the stone as the group descended. Their movements were efficient, purposeful, though their expressions betrayed a range of feelings—impatience, annoyance, and thinly veiled disappointment. Lecia stayed where she was, her small frame huddled against the wall, her face blank and unreadable as she watched.

  The leader stopped abruptly when his gaze fell on her. His irritation deepened, brows drawing together. “A squalorspawn? Down here?” His scowl deepened as his eyes swept over her ragged form. “Why, of all places…?”

  The sharp-featured woman stepped forward, her icy gaze darting between Lecia and the collapsed passage behind her. “A squatter, perhaps?” she mused aloud, voice clipped. “Though that doesn’t explain the barricade outside.”

  Lecia tore her eyes from the tiny feline Familiar to meet the woman’s probing stare, her own steady gaze unflinching. She said nothing, waiting for them to act first. The silence dragged for a moment before the woman’s frown deepened, and she opened her mouth to speak again.

  Before she could, the red-haired girl stepped past her, kneeling to Lecia’s level. The Familiar shifted slightly on her shoulder but didn’t budge, as though disinterested in the exchange. “Are ye alright, darlin’?” the girl asked gently, her voice carrying a warmth that seemed entirely out of place among her companions.

  Lecia hesitated, then gave a single nod, her eyes shifting once more back to the Familiar. It stared back, molten white eyes unblinking. The girl didn’t seem bothered by her silence nor the direction of her attention. If anything, her grin widened in amusement as she turned her own attention the creature, raising two fingers to rub the top of its head.

  "Beautiful creature, isn't she?" the girl said, chuckling as the Familiar shook its head and tried to bat her hand away in apparent irritation. "My little Gleam's a bit of a princess, aye, but she's harmless enough, aren't ye girl?"

  The Familiar, Gleam, didn't deign to respond. Instead, the creature gave both Lecia and her master one last disdainful glance before letting out a small huff and vanishing from the student's shoulder in a swirling wisp of pale blue aetheric smoke. The red-haired girl just shook her head in exasperation and turned back to Lecia, her kind smile back in place.

  “How’d a sweet little thing like yourself end up down here?” she asked, extending a hand. “Do ye have a home to go back to?”

  Lecia grasped the offered hand and pulled herself to her feet, her cloak swaying slightly as she moved. “Got tricked by some older kids,” she said simply. “They trapped me down here, but I can get back to the orphanage on my own now.”

  The girl gasped, her expression softening even further. “Oh, ye poor dear! That must’ve been awful! Honestly, who in their right minds would—”

  “Enough,” the leader interrupted, waving her off with clear impatience. “If she knows her way back, let her go. Calbert, handle this.”

  Before Lecia could react, the stocky young man grabbed her by the waist and hoisted her up as if she weighed nothing. She squirmed slightly, but it was clear she wasn't going anywhere under the man's strength. She fell limp soon after, not bothering with the pointless struggle. It sounded like they were going to take her out of the cellar, which had been her goal anyway.

  Still, Lecia was perfectly capable of walking out on her own so she wasn't sure why she was being hauled out of the cellar like cargo.

  Carried unceremoniously toward the stairs, Lecia craned her neck to look back. The red-haired girl’s face lingered in her mind—a soft expression, full of warmth. But her attention didn’t hold there. It drifted to the two others, their gazes on her small retreating form. One cold. The other… unreadable.

  The woman with the cold amber eyes kept her gaze fixed on Lecia as she was carried away, her expression muted save for a flicker of suspicion. The red-haired girl bit her lip, concern etched plainly across her face as she hesitated at the top of the steps, watching Lecia disappear.

  Lecia couldn’t see them anymore, but their voices carried faintly through the open doorway. The stern man and the severe woman were muttering to each other, their tones low and tense.

  “We’ll need to take it slow,” the man grumbled. “Risk the whole tunnel collapsing otherwise. Void take me, we don’t have time for this…”

  The woman’s sharp reply followed. “I’ll send word to the Magister, though he won’t be pleased with the delay. Setting that aside though, there was something...”

  Lecia heard no more as the stocky man—Calbert, the leader had called him—carried her farther from the cellar. She caught a glimpse of a massive stone slab, recently moved aside, before the man stopped abruptly and dropped her unceremoniously onto the ground. She landed awkwardly but was quick to stumble back to her feet, gold meeting hazel as the two locked eyes. His scowl deepened, and his voice rumbled out like distant thunder.

  “Best you don’t talk about what you saw or heard here, yeah?”

  Lecia nodded quickly, her placid expression hiding the quickened pulse in her chest. Even a child would recognize the warning in his tone. Satisfied, Calbert let out a grunt and turned, his boots crunching over the dirt as he headed back toward the cellar. Lecia didn’t move at first, watching his retreating form.

  For a moment, the temptation to creep back and eavesdrop flitted through her mind. She crushed it quickly. Questions burned at the back of her thoughts, but none of them were worth the risk. Lecia had the grimoire and whatever those Academy students were after, she doubted it was more valuable than what she'd obtained. Or rather, given what she'd found, odds were good that the grimoire was exactly what they were after.

  If that was the case, how did they know about it? Even before that, what happened to that chamber? Was it still there behind all that rubble? And where had the rubble come from? Lecia's fingers itched as she watched the muscular man reach the cellar steps. She desperately wanted to retrieve the grimoire, just to make extra sure she hadn't imagined the whole thing, but she held off.

  If they really were after the book, then that was all the more reason to get as far away from the group as possible as quickly as possible. Lecia didn't know where the grimoire went when it disappeared, but even if they had no way of being able to take the book, these were Academy students. Who was to say they didn't have a way of finding out she'd taken it? Even if they didn't know for sure, they might come back and start asking questions.

  Too much risk. Far too much.

  Lecia had just turned to leave when movement caught her eye. Someone was running toward her. Lecia froze, watching as a familiar figure barreled past Calbert, who stepped aside with an annoyed sneer. The red-haired girl skidded to a stop in front of Lecia, her expression caught somewhere between determination and hesitation.

  The girl glanced over her shoulder at her fellow Academy student, waiting until he clicked his tongue and stalked off down the cellar steps. With a sigh, she turned her attention back to Lecia, kneeling down again to meet her eyes.

  “Ah, sorry about all this, love,” the girl said, her voice soft and full of apology. She hesitated, frowned, then shook her head. “We’ve got somethin’ mighty important to do here, and the others… well, they’re just a wee bit on edge. Don’t take it to heart. They’re grand folks most of the time, honest.”

  The author's content has been appropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

  Lecia didn’t respond, her face giving nothing away. She simply stared, waiting for the sheepish student to continue. The girl’s smile faltered but returned quickly. “Name’s Mari Clamburg. Might I ask yours, little one?”

  After a pause, Lecia murmured, “Belle.” The name came easily. Lecia knew of a Belle in the orphanage, but the name itself was common enough to draw no attention. Mari seemed kind, but her kindness didn’t outweigh Lecia’s distrust of her companions. Something about them—about the way they moved, spoke, looked—set her on edge.

  Mari’s grin widened, genuine warmth in her expression. “Belle… that’s a lovely name, it is. Well, Belle, I reckon ye haven’t had much to eat down there, have ye?”

  Lecia shook her head, her stomach twisting at the mention of food. Mari nodded, as if confirming her own thoughts. “Aye, thought as much. Let’s see if we can’t fix that.”

  Reaching into the inner pocket of her blazer, Mari pulled out a small, squashed sponge cake wrapped in wax paper. She glanced over her shoulder toward the cellar again before holding the pastry out to Lecia.

  “Sorry, love,” she said, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “It’s all I’ve got on me, but it’ll keep ye goin’ till you’re back home. Now off ye go. Daylight’s burnin’, and it'll be lashin' down before long by the looks of it.”

  Lecia followed Mari's gaze toward the sky and, sure enough, she could just make out a dark line of clouds on the distant horizon to the west. She returned her attention to the kindly young woman and hesitated before taking the cake, her small hands clutching the wrapped pastry tightly.

  “Thank you,” she said quietly, her tone flat but sincere.

  Mari’s smile turned wistful as she reached out to ruffle Lecia’s mop of white hair. “Take care, Belle,” she said, rising to her feet. Without another word, she hurried back toward the cellar steps, disappearing into the shadows to rejoin her companions.

  Lecia stared after her for a moment, then looked down at the pastry in her hands. Her thoughts wandered briefly again to what the group might find in that tunnel, but she pushed the question aside. Whatever it was, be the grimoire or something else, it didn’t matter. She had her own concerns—like what she'd tell Matron Melora when she returned.

  Her thoughts ground to a halt as a sudden and intense feeling of being watched washed over her senses. Body tensing at the sudden sensation, Lecia whipped her head around to scan her surroundings, looking for something or someone lurking in the shadows, but found nothing. She turned back to the cellar, but the doors were shut, one of the students apparently having closed them at some point without her notice.

  Lecia wavered for a moment, torn on whether to search for her potential stalker or just leave the ruined district altogether. The indecision only lasted a brief second before she made up her mind. With a faint sigh, Lecia turned and quickly started down the street and back the way she'd come, choosing to take the long walk back to the orphanage. She unwrapped the sponge cake as she went, devouring it quickly. By the time she reached the ruins of the old market, there wasn’t a crumb left.

  The somewhat musty air of the slums hit Lecia’s face as she stepped into the sunlight, a sharp contrast to the damp chill of the passage where she'd spent the night. She glanced again at the sky, her eyes catching on the dark gray clouds creeping in from the west. Just as she'd seen before, the morning promised warmth and light for now, but by late noon, the gutters would likely overflow with rainwater.

  That didn’t really bother Lecia. She liked the rain—the earthy smell it brought, the way it muted the world’s colors and softened the edges of everything. That said, she didn’t care for getting soaked in a downpour, so she picked up her pace.

  The ruined marketplace stretched before her, a maze of crumbling stalls and hollowed-out shops. Now that the sun was up, more people had emerged to start their day, though most didn’t spare her a second glance. Lecia, in contrast, kept at least half an eye on those who passed too close by.

  As she wove through the debris and remnants of once-bustling trade, her eyes flicked to the others who called Darkreach home. Old men and women, their faces lined with time and hardship, moved with slow purpose. Younger children darted between the broken stalls, their small hands quick as they scavenged for anything useful. Some of them were even smaller than Lecia, the smallest of them showing not a care in the world.

  Older teens huddled in groups, swapping scraps of food or conspiring over their plans for the day. A few middle-aged adults—hard-faced and weary—moved with a quiet determination, their expressions etched with lives spent surviving. Lecia kept her gaze steady and her stride purposeful, neither inviting attention nor avoiding it. A few familiar faces glanced her way, but none lingered.

  Passing a cluster of men playing cards at a battered table, a voice called out. “Oi, Lecia! Where ya been?”

  She turned her head just enough to see Jannik, a wiry old man with a grin as crooked as his nose. He always seemed oddly cheerful for someone in Darkreach, though Lecia had learned early on not to trust appearances. She knew him only in passing—he lived near the orphanage and occasionally stopped by to speak with Matron Melora. Seeing him here was unexpected but not her concern.

  “Nowhere special,” she murmured, offering a shrug before quickening her pace. Jannik just laughed, shaking his head as she moved on.

  The rest of the trip through the marketplace passed uneventfully. At its edge, an old woman with a hunched back and a toothless grin grabbed Lecia’s arm. “Got any food, girl? Share with an old woman?”

  Lecia slipped free of her grasp without a second thought, her tone muted. “No, sorry.”

  The woman grumbled, but she didn’t follow. Lecia pressed on, the marketplace sounds fading behind her as she navigated narrow alleys and sidestepped piles of debris. The path to the orphanage was one she could follow blindfolded. Her feet moved with instinct, each turn etched into her memory.

  It took nearly two hours to reach her destination. When the rusty iron gate of the orphanage finally came into view, Lecia felt a strange mixture of relief and dread settle in her chest. The familiar creak of the gate as she pushed it open was almost comforting, though the sight of the run-down building reminded her of everything she wanted to escape.

  The orphanage was alive with activity. Children darted about, some playing in the yard while others carried out chores under the watchful eyes of the older kids. Lecia kept her head down, managing to slip past most of the other kids unnoticed. A few of the more observant caught a glimpse of her, but Lecia ignored them all as she made a beeline for her destination.

  Inside, the noise was even louder—laughter, chatter, the occasional shout. Lecia moved through the hallways like a shadow, her small frame making it easy to go unnoticed. She could almost feel the grimoire there, somewhere just out of reach but waiting to be called back to her. What she wanted more than anything was to find a quiet corner, open the book, and lose herself in its pages. But she knew better.

  If Matron Melora realized Lecia had returned and hadn’t reported in, there would be consequences. More consequences than there already were likely to be. With a quiet sigh, she came to a stop outside the Matron’s office. The door loomed before her like a wall she didn’t want to climb, but she steeled herself, raised her hand, and knocked lightly.

  “Who is it?” Melora’s sharp voice cut through the closed door.

  “Lecia,” she answered, her voice carrying over the distant chatter of the other orphans. A lump formed in her throat, threatening to choke her words, but she smothered her nervousness.

  She knew what she was risking when she'd snuck out. No use in worrying about what she couldn't change. Whatever the Matron's punishment, it would come and go. Best to just get it over with so she could move on to what she really wanted to do.

  There was a pause, then the curt response. “Enter.”

  At the invitation, Lecia paused for just a second before reaching for the doorknob and pushing the door open. It creaked softly as she stepped inside and shut it behind her. Melora looked up from her desk, her piercing eyes narrowing as they swept over Lecia’s disheveled form.

  “Lecia,” Melora said, her tone balanced precariously between relief and irritation. “Where have you been?”

  Lecia didn't respond right away, thinking carefully before she opened her mouth. “Old Noblecrest. I was trapped in a cellar. Orin and the others… they locked me in.”

  Melora’s brows shot up, her sharp features tightening. “They what?”

  “They tricked me,” Lecia continued, her voice steady despite the Matron’s reaction. “I stayed there all night. Some people from the Academy showed up this morning and let me out.” She paused a second, then added almost as an afterthought, "Oh, and one of the students told me not to tell anyone they were there. Can you keep it a secret?"

  For a moment, Lecia debated whether to keep quiet about Orin and his group. She didn’t hold much of a grudge against them—it wasn’t worth the energy—but making excuses for them felt like too much effort. Telling the truth was easier. She’d deal with the fallout later. As for the Academy students... well, if there was one person Lecia trusted in all of Darkreach, it was the Matron. Telling her should be fine. Probably.

  Besides, if those students did come back to question Lecia, it would help to have an adult on her side. She'd just have to stay near the orphanage and avoid going out at night for a while and eventually they'd forget about her. That was Lecia's hope anyway.

  Melora sat in bemused silence for a moment, then frowned. "I won't say a word about it. What the Academy does is their business and I have enough headaches to deal with as it is." Then she leaned back in her chair, her expression growing hard and unreadable. Her fingers tapped against the desk—a small tell of her restrained concern and anger. “Getting back on topic, where are Orin and his gang now?”

  Lecia shrugged. “Didn’t see them. Only saw the people from the Academy.”

  “Academy students in Darkreach...” Melora murmured, her tone caught between curiosity and unease. She seemed to have some kind of internal argument with herself before she brought her attention back to Lecia. “Did they... mention what they were doing there?”

  “No,” Lecia replied simply, "but it sounded like they were looking for something."

  Melora sighed, her fingers pressing into her temples. “I’ll deal with Orin and the others later. For now, go see Tomlyn about some breakfast. You have two hours to rest. After that, your daily chores. Am I clear?”

  Lecia nodded but didn’t leave just yet. She lingered, shifting her weight before speaking again. “Derik was mad at me. Said I ‘screwed him over.’ That’s why they trapped me in the cellar. Do you know what he meant?”

  Melora’s expression darkened, and she let out a weary sigh but gave Lecia's question a moment of thought before answering. “You skipped your evening chores when you snuck out. If I had to hazard a guess, it's likely because I had him pick up the slack in your absence.”

  “Oh,” Lecia murmured, her tone neutral. “That makes sense.”

  “Go on now,” Melora said, her focus already returning to the papers on her desk. “Get some food in you, rest, and then get to work.”

  Lecia turned and left the office, making her way to the orphanage’s cramped kitchen. Inside, she found Tomlyn leaning out of the single small window, taking a slow, thoughtful drag from a clay pipe. His graying beard and thinning hair gave him a scruffy, worn appearance, and his hunched posture hinted at a lifetime of heavy labor.

  Lecia paused, watching him silently for a moment before stepping closer. “Matron Melora said I could have breakfast."

  Tomlyn turned his head slightly, his eyes flicking to her before giving a grunt and a curt nod. He tapped the ash from his pipe, set it aside, and began moving about the kitchen with quiet efficiency.

  He didn’t ask for details or press her for answers. Whatever story Lecia had, he’d hear it from Melora later. If she was lying, it wasn’t his problem to fix. He worked in the same quiet, methodical way he always did, and Lecia watched him prepare her meal without a word.

  For all his gruffness, Tomlyn wasn’t unkind. He never spoke much unless necessary, a trait Lecia could respect and appreciate. As she sat waiting, the familiar smells of the kitchen and the steady rhythm of Tomlyn’s movements began to ease some of the tension coiled tight in her chest.

  Several minutes later, Lecia sat against the wall beneath the kitchen window, eating her bitter porridge in silence. The so-called dining hall was noisy and crowded, but Lecia preferred the quiet solitude of the kitchen. Tomlyn didn’t mind either; he’d already disappeared to wherever he spent his time between meals.

  When she finished, Lecia set the empty bowl aside and slipped out through the window she’d been eating under. Her small frame made the climb a bit difficult, but it wasn't anything she hadn't done before. A moment of struggle later, she landed softly on the gravel outside, wincing at the crunch beneath her feet. She scanned her surroundings, ensuring no one had spotted her, then circled to the back of the orphanage.

  The old storage shed stood there, as it always had, its lock rusted shut from years of disuse. Lecia ignored it, instead slipping behind the shed into the thick underbrush that grew untended along the fence. The dry, brittle foliage offered just enough cover to shield her from sight. She nestled into the undergrowth, pulling her cloak tightly around her.

  Hidden and alone, the exhaustion of the day caught up with her. Despite the rest she'd gotten in the cellar, it hadn't exactly been a comfortable or peaceful thing—more a decent nap than true sleep. This wouldn't be any different, but it would be enough for now. It wasn’t long before Lecia’s eyes drooped, and she drifted into a light, uneasy sleep.

  About an hour later, the sound of children playing woke her. Lecia blinked groggily, rubbing her eyes as she sat up. Her body still felt heavy with weariness, but there was no time to rest further. Chores waited, and Melora wouldn’t tolerate excuses.

  In the common room, the children were gathered, waiting for their tasks to be assigned. Lecia, as usual, received the worst of them—cleaning the bathrooms, scrubbing floors, and clearing pests from the storehouse. Big Badi, the surly, portly adult who oversaw such tasks, watched her with his usual scowl. None of the children dared call him Big Badi to his face, but the nickname was apt. His sour disposition matched his intimidating bulk.

  The work was grueling, but Lecia was used to it. As expected, the sunny morning gave way to a cloudy, oppressive afternoon, and by the time the evening rain arrived in earnest, Lecia was finishing her last task. She’d been wary all day, half-expecting Orin or his group to show up and cause trouble, but they never appeared.

  That absence left her uneasy. She'd effectively ratted Orin out, and it'd been long enough that he would've heard about it and caught an earful from the Matron by now. It wasn’t like Orin to let a slight go unpunished, and Lecia doubted he’d simply let the matter drop. Whatever he was planning, Lecia figured it was better not to dwell on it. If he and his friends were still somewhere out there stuck in the rain, that was their problem.

  For now, she’d had a rare day of relative peace, marked only by a jab or two from a few kids who'd spotted her entering the Matron's office, most of them half-hearted and quickly forgotten. Their remarks blended into the general clamor of the orphanage, rarely aimed at her for long.

  A few of the more observant children tried to pry, their questions tentative and easily discouraged, and Lecia slipped past them without effort. Before long, attention drifted elsewhere, and she faded back into the margins where she was usually left alone.

  There was still time before lights out, and Lecia knew the other children would spend the remaining hour in their usual noisy, aimless ways. She still itched to study the grimoire, but it wasn’t worth the risk. Someone would see her, and whether it was the Matron, the staff, or one of the other kids, she might be forced to answer some very troublesome questions.

  Instead, Lecia decided to spend her free time hunting down Orin and his group. Despite her attempts to leave well enough alone, their absence gnawed at her. It was a potential problem she couldn’t ignore. If they were planning something, Lecia preferred to find them on her terms rather than being caught unaware.

  With that thought, she slipped out of the dormitory and into the dimly lit corridors of the orphanage, her footsteps light and a wary gleam in her otherwise stolid gaze. If they were somewhere in the orphanage, she would find them. Whether Orin and his friends were hiding or scheming, Lecia wasn’t about to wait around to find out.