“Amaris?” called a voice from the hallway.

“Shit,” Nox cursed.

Clearly a matron had been alerted by the brief exchange. The sound of their detection was the single most horrible noise in the world. Amaris’s stomach plummeted into her feet as if made of iron. The matrons must have come looking to see what was causing her delay.

The man grunted something akin to annoyance, but she didn’t have time to care for his emotions. Perhaps he’d also been hoping to get up to the office and gather his things without being seen. Amaris handed the rest of the belongings to Nox with a shove.

“Go,” she pleaded. “Wait for me out back.”

“Amaris—” Nox clutched the cloaks and items to her chest.

“Tell me later,” Amaris begged, face twisting with desperation. She would deal with this setback and meet her in a few moments. Nox could not risk getting caught with her now if they had any hope of escape. First, she would do what she must in order to rid herself of Millicent. Then they would run.

She stared into the stormy conflict that roiled across Nox’s face, pain etched into her features until she finally tore herself from Amaris. The man raised a curious eyebrow but took a polite step to the side. He allowed her to push past him in a cloud of inky shadowy hair as she ran down the stairs toward the kitchen.

“Amaris?” the voice came again.

Her chest tightened as she struggled to remain calm. She began walking up the stairs and returned to the landing. Early morning light illuminated enough of the corridor to reveal Mable’s face, painted with fear and surprise as she spotted the girl and the assassin ascending the shadowy stairs together.

Bewildered, Mable asked, “What on earth are the two of you—”

“I was just going down to meet the Madame in the kitchen,” Amaris said, words a rushed, dry apology. “I ran into him on his way up. I’m sorry, Matron.”

The man shrugged in agreement, further emphasizing his unwillingness to intervene in whatever the girls had been doing. He went from the staircase directly to the office, avoiding addressing them altogether.

It seemed as though Mable didn’t know which issue to deal with first. She looked between the stranger and Amaris before leaving her eyes trained on the assassin.

“I said we were to meet in the dining room. Not the kitchen,” she said. Though her words were to Amaris, her cautious gaze remained fixed on the man.

“Oh,” Amaris said, attempting what she hoped was an apologetic smile. She moved past Mable toward the primary staircase that descended from the front of the manor toward the dining room, forcing her feet to walk at a normal, unbothered pace.