Wren whirled toward the sound of her voice. It took a moment to process that it was Una—really Una—standing there. She almost didn’t recognize her in civilian clothes: a black tie and knee-length coat against a crisp white shirt. In the hazy light, her amber eyes had darkened to the warm, rich color of syrup, and her black hair shone starkly against the gathering snowfall. It dusted her eyelashes, melted into the wool of her jacket.

“Una.” She surged forward and crushed her into a hug. Una, predictably, stiffened, but right now, Wren didn’t care. She would hear no protests. “You’re home. You’re alive.”

“Of course I am.” Una extricated herself from Wren’s arms. “I said I’d come back.”

“You did, but—”

“It’s only been a week.”

“I was stricken with separation anxiety.”

“Clearly.”

Wren bit her lip. It was almost overwhelming to have her back. She wanted to extract every detail about the mission from her. She wanted to tell her to never leave her behind again. But she couldn’t be late. “I have a meeting with the queen. Walk with me a while?”

“Lead the way.”

Una fell into step beside her, and their conversation tapered into an uneasy silence. The major had always possessed the single-mindedness of a steam-engine train, but today, she wielded it like a weapon. Something about the upward cant of her chin, the rhythmic clack of her boots on the street, split the crowds in twain. Nothing broke her focus or her grimly disinterested expression. Not the workers hoisting protest signs outside factory gates. Not the merchants winding up wheezing clockwork trinkets, shouting, “A marvel all the way from Cernos, Sister!” Not the market stalls brimming with pears and glazed pastries.

She was avoiding something, and Wren would get it out of her one way or another. Nudging Una’s shoulder with her own, she said, “So? Tell me everything.”

Their surroundings must have become significantly more interesting. Una was staring determinedly at the Tower in the distance. Thick gray clouds had consumed it until only the barest hints of its intricate openwork spires pierced through, as lacy and intricate as the queen’s gowns. By the looks of it, they’d be buried in snow soon.

“He got away.”

Wren’s heart sunk. How could the boy have escaped from Una twice? All she could say was, “Oh.”

“We pursued the trail until it vanished near the Cernosian border. I expected the queen to be furious, but she wasn’t.” Una set her jaw. “She called off the investigation entirely.”

A gust of wind off the river chilled Wren to the bone. She stopped dead in her tracks. “She’s giving up on them?”

Una’s face twisted with sorrow. “Yes.”