They stood by their familiar device, everything the same as the last time she’d been here, before it all changed. Orfeus shifted her posture, standing a little taller than usual, jutting out her hip. More confident without being cocky, trying to lean into the look of the mask.

She said crisply, “I need information on the person who went missing the night of the disaster.” She added, “Most especially, I need to know if anyone else is missing, and any suspected culprits.”

“Certainly,” Threadgall said slowly. They didn’t touch their device. “Orfeus, are you going to hurt anyone?”

Orfeus’s shoulders slackened. Threadgall was bright and innocent and cheery, gifted, driven. They were the last person Orfeus wanted to see like this. “No,” Orfeus said. “I’m not going to hurt anyone here.”

Threadgall’s brows pinched together, their eyes drawing down in sorrow. The phrasing hadn’t escaped them.

They shook their head, and turned to the device to tap quickly, brows drawn together. Threadgall was never normally this silent. After a minute, they sighed, short, terse, seeming older in that moment than Orfeus had thought of them before. They pulled a data seed from their device and laid it on the counter.

“Nothing’s come of the investigation, except that there was a struggle,” Threadgall said, voice cool and professional. They took a step back from the counter, making full sure there was distance between them. Orfeus smiled coldly to hide her hurt. She picked up the data seed, tucking it into her pocket, the information dormant within. “Other settlements have also requested information about people who have gone missing in their area. So it’s not just us. No one’s found a pattern yet, but it’s all on there.”

They stepped back with a nod, the grudging yet professional Hub administrator. Orfeus folded her cloak around herself and nodded.

“I liked you better as a singer,” Threadgall said quietly, almost to themselves. “I was always so excited to go to your shows.”

Orfeus looked away. This was starting to chafe at her. Had not she done her penance, and then some? She didn’t think she deserved to be this hated. Not quite this hated. “Thank you for your help, Weaver,” Orfeus said, and inclined her head. “You spin your threads, and I’ll spin mine.”

While she was here, she gathered some flowers from her garden. It was starting to overgrow its boundaries, and well enough: halfway to a tiny patch of wild here in her garden, though once-tamed feral things did not truly count as wild.

She left Tinctora once more. She wouldn’t come here again unless it was with Linden in tow to bring him safely home. Being here felt wrong now and rankling, a cloak that didn’t fit, prickling against her skin.