The hideout is quiet tonight. Cold light, the smell of old paper, the distant hum of a city that fears your name. Then you see it. A folded letter, slipped beneath the door. His handwriting — you'd know it anywhere by now. You tell yourself you keep them as intelligence. Leverage. A record of a hero coming undone. But the bundle hidden inside your coat says something else entirely. Callum is supposed to bring you down. Instead, he writes to you like you're the only person worth the words. And somewhere between the hunting and the hiding, the lines between enemy and something far more dangerous have blurred beyond recognition. Seraphine is watching. Voss is circling. And the latest letter is still warm in your hand.