The carriage wheels clattered over cobblestones, each jolt sending vibrations through the polished wooden bench. I tracked our path by landmarks, the university spires to the west, the grand fountain at Whitehall Square, the copper-domed temple.

  Across from me, Joy sat with perfect posture, hands folded in her lap. Only the whiteness of her knuckles betrayed tension. Her face remained impassive, gaze fixed on the passing scenery through the carriage window. The silver comb Selwyn had given her caught the afternoon light, glinting among white strands.

  I studied the line of her jaw, the careful way she held herself. Each time the carriage wheels hit an uneven stone, her eyes narrowed fractionally. Still in pain.

  Our eyes met briefly. Joy's fingers rose to touch the silver comb, adjusting it with deliberate care. Selwyn shifted uncomfortably beside me as the gesture hung in the air between us. My jaw tightened.

  As she adjusted her position, her skirt rode higher momentarily. I glimpsed the deeper wound near the back of her knee, an angry red line dangerously close to the tendons. Three days ago, that injury had been carefully stitched and bandaged. Now the skin around it looked inflamed, the binding slightly loose. Our hours of walking through the market had done it no favors.

  My stomach knotted at the sight. That particular wound had concerned even Ross, a fraction deeper and she might have permanently lost mobility in her leg. Another of Marcelo's calculated cruelties.

  My hands curled reflexively, nails digging into my palms. I should have refused this excursion outright.

  She caught me looking and deliberately rearranged her skirt, covering herself with careful precision. The gesture wasn't coy or embarrassed, it was controlled. Everything about her was controlled now.

  A drop of sweat gathered at her temple despite the cool autumn air. Fever? Or just pain? She'd refused the physician Ross had offered, insisting she needed only time. But the knife wound in her back had been deep, the infection concerning.

  "Is the tonic helping?" Selwyn asked, following my gaze.

  Joy's shoulders tensed slightly. "It dulls the edge."

  The tonic, a bitter remedy that smelled of crushed roots and mint, had been Clover's suggestion. Joy took it reluctantly, only when the pain became unbearable.

  "You should take more," I said. "Recovery requires rest."

  "I know my limits." A hint of steel entered her voice.

  The carriage passed into a narrower street, shadows from tall buildings darkening the interior. In this dimmer light, the circles beneath Joy's eyes became more pronounced. Exhaustion etched into her face despite her rigid posture.

  She'd been having nightmares. I'd heard her cries through the walls, though we never spoke of it.

  The carriage rounded a corner sharply. Joy's hand shot out to brace against the side panel, her sleeve pulling back to reveal the raw skin of her wrist, remnants of rope burns from the cellar. My chest tightened at the sight. She quickly adjusted her cuff, but not before I saw the way her fingers trembled.

  She wasn't as recovered as she pretended. Not physically, not otherwise.

  Despite my anger at her manipulation today, protectiveness surged beneath it. The need to shield her warred with my frustration at her refusal to be protected. The contradiction of Joy, fierce independence alongside vulnerability she refused to acknowledge.

  Even now, injured and diminished, that strength remained. It had kept her alive in Marcelo's cellar. Kept her fighting when others would have broken.

  Beside me, Selwyn cleared his throat. "We should be back before dinner."

  Neither Joy nor I responded.

  The knife she'd acquired rested at her hip, its handle visible against the dark fabric of her skirt. She'd manipulated us both, played us like chess pieces. Used herself as bait while still wounded, still healing. Used us as shields without consent.

  My hands curled into fists against my thighs. She noticed. A slight tilt of her head, a quick assessment before returning her gaze to the window. Always watchful, even in stillness.

  "You made your point at the market," I finally said, breaking the silence. "I imagine word is already spreading through the district."

  "Undoubtedly." She didn't look at me.

  Selwyn shifted beside me, uncomfortable with the tension. "Perhaps we should discuss our next steps when we return. With Ross."

  Her fingers traced the knife hilt absently. "Perhaps."

  The calculated casualness of her tone stoked my anger further. She'd maneuvered us through the marketplace, creating her spectacle with precision. Three hours. She'd made the most of them.

  Our carriage passed through the wrought-iron gates of Ross's estate. Unusually, no fewer than four servants waited in the courtyard. Their expressions indicated urgency.

  "Something's wrong." Selwyn leaned forward.

  The carriage halted. I descended first, turning to offer Joy my hand by habit. She ignored it, stepping down unassisted despite the wince she couldn't quite suppress.

  A tall Naerithi man approached. "The Senator requests your presence immediately."

  "What's happened?" Joy asked.

  "News from the docks, miss." His eyes flicked toward me, then back to Joy. "About Marcelo Levanth."

  Joy straightened, something fierce flashing across her face. "Where is my brother?"

  "East study. He asked to see all of you the moment you returned."

  I stepped forward. "We'll join him shortly. First, I need to speak with Joy."

  The servant hesitated, looking to Joy rather than me for confirmation. The subtle power shift wasn't lost on me.

  Joy nodded. "Tell my brother we'll join him shortly."

  The servant bowed slightly and retreated. Joy turned to me, one eyebrow raised in question.

  "Privately," I said.

  Joy nodded, already moving toward the east wing. "The small receiving room should be empty."

  She led the way, her pace deliberately unhurried despite the news waiting for us. Controlling the situation even now. The thought kindled fresh irritation as we entered the room, a simple chamber with modest furnishings, clearly meant for less important visitors.

  The door closed firmly behind us. The click of the latch echoed in the sudden quiet.

  Joy took a seat in a high-backed chair near the window, arranging her skirt with careful movements. "Well? You wanted privacy."

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  I remained standing, keeping the advantage of height. "That performance at the market was reckless."

  "It was necessary. Bait must be visible to be effective."

  "You're still healing." I paced the length of the small room, measuring my words. "The wound in your back hasn't fully closed. Your strength hasn't returned."

  "My health is my concern."

  "Not when you drag others into your schemes." I stopped pacing, facing her directly. "Not when you use Selwyn and me as accomplices."

  A flicker of something, perhaps guilt, crossed her features before vanishing. "I did what was necessary to find Marcelo. To find Ellah."

  "By endangering yourself?" The words came out sharper than intended. "By risking everything we went through to rescue you?"

  Her chin lifted. "I made a calculated decision."

  "Without consulting those most affected by it."

  Challenge sharpened her tone. "The market was public. Safe."

  "Nothing about Marcelo is safe." My control slipped. "Do you have any idea what it would do to me if I lost you?"

  The words hung between us. Her eyes widened slightly, lips parting in surprise. For once, I'd managed to catch her off guard.

  I hadn't meant to say it. Hadn't intended to reveal that particular truth.

  I cleared my throat, retreating to safer ground. "I meant what it would mean for the Velez name. For our reputation."

  She studied me too intently, seeing too much. "Of course. Your business concerns."

  "The associates who know you're connected to our household. The contracts that could be affected if anything happened to you." The lies came easily, born from years of hiding behind business interests. "There would be significant consequences."

  "Always the businessman." Her voice had softened, tinged with something like disappointment. "Even now."

  "Someone has to consider practical matters."

  She stood, wincing slightly as she straightened. "I am not your possession, Jacobi."

  "Yes, you are." The words escaped before I could stop them.

  We both froze. I hadn't meant to say it so bluntly. So possessively. Or perhaps I had.

  Her eyes narrowed, something dangerous flickering there.

  "Not like that." I shook my head, struggling to articulate what I meant. "But whatever happens to you affects my household. My staff. Selwyn. The people who have grown to care for you."

  "I never asked them to care."

  "Yet they do." I moved closer. "Your actions have consequences beyond yourself. Beyond your hunt for Marcelo."

  Her voice dropped lower. "Ellah is still missing. Still in danger while we argue about propriety and business reputations."

  "And you believe becoming bait will help find her?"

  "I know Marcelo." Her expression hardened. "He won't be able to resist proving his power over me. Showing that he's unafraid."

  "So you'll draw him out by walking the streets?"

  "If necessary." Her hand drifted to her shoulder, the unconscious gesture revealing more than her words.

  "That's not happening again." I crossed my arms. "We're returning home. To the Velez estate."

  Her eyebrows shot up. "Excuse me?"

  "If you won't look after your own safety, I'll do it for you."

  "You have no right—"

  "I have every right." My voice remained steady despite the anger pulsing beneath it. "You're registered in my name. Legally under my protection."

  The door opened without warning. Ross stood in the threshold, his tall form nearly filling the doorway. His eyes swept over both of us, assessing the tension.

  "I sent for you half an hour ago." Quiet authority carried in his voice, the kind that never needed to be raised.

  "My fault." I inclined my head slightly. "I needed to speak with Joy privately."

  Ross entered fully, closing the door behind him. "About your unauthorized excursion to Arkwell Market?"

  Joy moved toward her brother. "You heard already?"

  "I have eyes throughout this city." Ross's expression remained neutral, but disapproval emanated from him.

  Joy lifted her chin. "It was a message."

  "A foolish one." Ross's gaze locked with his sister's. "Marcelo was seen boarding a ship this morning. Not the ferry to the island, but a merchant vessel. Your performance came too late."

  Hope and disappointment flashed across Joy's face. "Which ship? Where was it bound?"

  "That's being determined." Ross turned to me. "I understand this outing was your idea, Jacobi?"

  Before I could respond, Joy stepped forward. "No. Mine. I convinced them to take me."

  "And they agreed?" Ross's eyebrow rose. "Knowing your condition?"

  "They believed it was for fresh air." Joy's admission came reluctantly. "I didn't share my true purpose."

  Ross's expression hardened. "You endangered yourself." His controlled tone couldn't quite mask his anger. "After everything we've done to keep you safe."

  "I'm not a child to be protected." Her voice rose slightly. "I'm Tesh'ilia."

  "You're my sister first." Ross stepped closer to her. "And still healing from torture."

  I watched the siblings face off, feeling like an intruder in a private battle. The family resemblance became more apparent in anger, the same stubborn set to their jaws, the same intensity in their eyes.

  "I'm taking Joy back to Velez estate," I stated, breaking their standoff. "For her safety."

  Joy whirled toward me, then back to her brother, disbelief written across her features when he didn't contradict me. "You're siding with him?"

  "I'm siding with reason." Ross's voice remained calm. "The island provides natural protection. Marcelo's influence there is more limited."

  "But Ellah—"

  "Will be found by my people." Ross placed a hand on his sister's shoulder. "Your presence in the city makes our work more difficult, not less. We spend resources protecting you that could be used in the search."

  Joy stepped back, her brother's hand falling away. "I won't be locked up like a prize horse." Her gaze moved between us. "I won't be treated as property."

  "He's right, Joy." Ross's tone softened slightly. "Legally, you are registered to his household."

  "So I'm to be exiled." Bitterness edged her words. "While you men decide my fate."

  "While you heal," I corrected. "While we find Ellah and deal with Marcelo."

  She looked between us, disbelief giving way to understanding. "You've already discussed this. Before today."

  Ross didn't deny it. "It's been considered as an option."

  "Without consulting me." Her hands curled into fists at her sides.

  "Yes." I met her gaze directly. "Because your judgment is compromised where Marcelo is concerned."

  A dangerous stillness came over her. "My judgment?"

  "You bear his brand." The words felt cruel even as I spoke them. "You have reason to hate him that goes beyond Ellah."

  Ross winced, glancing at his sister's shoulder where the mark lay hidden beneath her clothing.

  "You think I'm being irrational." Her voice had dropped to nearly a whisper.

  "I think you're willing to risk too much." I kept my tone gentle but firm. "Including your life."

  "My life is mine to risk."

  "Joy." Ross spoke her name gently. "The island is temporary. Until we locate Ellah. Until Marcelo is dealt with."

  Her shoulders stiffened. For a moment, I thought she might refuse outright, might force a confrontation none of us wanted. Then something shifted in her expression, resignation, perhaps. Or calculation.

  "When?" She looked at me, not her brother.

  "Tomorrow morning." I didn't want to give her time to plan anything else. "The early ferry."

  Ross nodded his approval. "I'll send two of my men with you."

  "Not necessary." I met his gaze steadily. "My security is adequate."

  "My men go where my sister goes." There was no room for negotiation in his tone.

  "Fine." I conceded this point. "Two men."

  Joy watched our exchange with narrowed eyes. "Do I have any say in this at all?"

  "You can choose which of your belongings to take," Ross offered, not unkindly.

  Her expression suggested this was no choice at all. She turned toward the window, presenting her back to both of us. The line of her spine was rigid, her hands clasped tightly behind her.

  "I need to inform Selwyn." I moved toward the door, unwilling to witness more of her silent fury. "Make arrangements for tomorrow."

  Ross nodded. "I'll have Lilach help Joy prepare."

  We spoke of her as if she weren't present. Another small cruelty in the name of protection. I felt her eyes on my back as I opened the door, but didn't turn. Couldn't face the accusation I knew I'd find there.

  In the hallway, I released a breath I hadn't realized I was holding. The confrontation had gone as well as could be expected, Ross's support had been essential. Joy would be safer on the island. Protected from Marcelo and from herself.

  I told myself it was the right decision. That her anger was a price worth paying for her safety. That in time, she would understand why this was necessary.

  But the image of her standing at the window, back straight with wounded dignity, followed me down the corridor.