A chokehold. A quiet drag. Two unconscious bodies slumped behind a velvet curtain. He picked the lock on Emily’s door with a hairpin, and when the hinges creaked open, a small figure launched herself at his legs.
He wasn’t. Not from cold. Not from fear.
But Emily was listening. Somewhere in the next room, she was curled behind a locked door, hearing everything.
Corvo looked at his hands—the hands that had once held Jessamine as she died. The mark of the Outsider pulsed like a second heartbeat.
