"Also me."

Hattie blinked. "I don’t understand."

"For God’s sake," I interrupted, clearing my mind and tried to steel myself despite the tremor wracking my nerves.

"Gary was the name I called him when we were children. We grew up together on my mother’s estate. His real name is Elias Russell."

Hattie’s eyes widened, understanding finally dawning.

"Oh. Right. Makes sense."

She nodded once, twice, then froze. Her gaze snapped toward the kitchen door, toward the stairs beyond.

"Miss Eleanor, you’re not supposed to be out of your room. And—"

As if on cue, the pounding of boots echoed from upstairs. Orders barked in voices I didn’t recognize, echoing through the floorboards above our heads.

"Search every room. Miss Cornelia wants her found."

"—she couldn’t have just vanished—"

"—check the windows, the terrace—"

I cursed under my breath.

"We need to get out of here. Now. I need to send word to Casimir. But we’re trapped."

Hattie stepped forward, her small hands clasped tight enough to whiten her knuckles. Her eyes darted to the ceiling, to the sound of boots dispersing through the mansion’s upper floors.

"I know a way."

Hattie moved before I could finish, her hand closing around my wrist. "Follow me."

She moved to the pantry, her fingers finding the loose brick behind the flour sacks with ease. The passage beyond gaped like a mouth, cold and damp and smelling of earth and old stone.

"Inside," she whispered, pushing us into the dark.

"Hattie," I breathed, hearing my voice bounce off the stone. "How do you know about this place?"

"I’ve been a servant in this house since I was twelve, miss. You learn things. Ways to move without being seen."

I shivered immediately. My nightdress was silk, my robe genuine fur, but neither was meant for this. The cold bit through the fabric like teeth, found the spaces between my ribs, the hollow of my throat.

Hattie noticed. Her brow furrowed as she took in my state of undress, the way my arms had wrapped themselves around my torso without my permission.

The guard grunted. I heard the shift of his weight, the creak of leather.

"If you see anything, you report it. Immediately."

"Of course, sir."

The boots retreated. I counted to twenty in my head, my heart hammering against my ribs like something trying to escape.

With a slight twist of her body, she stares at the concealed portion of the wall before she disappeared into the narrow stairs.

I leaned my head back against the stone and looked at Gary. Even in the dark, I could see him shivering.

"Okay, seriously?" I whispered, the adrenaline making me punchy. "I am beyond pissed. Why do you get the psychic spoilers?"

Gary blinked at me, looking confused. "What?"

"The dreams, Gary. The memory downloads from Elias. I’m the one who’s been living in the trenches of this hellscape. I’m the one who dealt through worst. And yet, you’re the one getting the plot points? That’s total favoritism from the universe. I haven’t seen Eleanor in my dreams once. Not a single hint. No maps, no hey Clara, look under the floorboards. I’m over here winging it with a letter opener while you’re getting the director’s cut of Elias’s life."

Gary only shrugged, his silhouette shifting in the gloom.

"Trust me, Clara, I’d trade you. It’s like someone is scrubbing the inside of my skull with steel wool. It’s invasive. It’s... gross."

"I don’t care if it’s gross," I snapped, though I reached out and squeezed his arm. "It’s the ultimate favoritism."

He was quiet for a moment, then I felt him shrug.

"Maybe she likes me more."

"Or maybe," I said, "your brain is already scrambled from too much internet."

Gary opened his mouth to retort, then closed it. "Okay, that’s fair."

Hattie returned a moment later, clutching a bundle of dark wool and thick, scratchy fur. She thrust it at me.

"Change your clothes, miss. I apologize it wasn’t made of the finest wool, but it can conceal your identity and give you warmth."

Gary immediately turned his back, staring into the dark corner of the passage to give us a bit of privacy. I stripped off the silk, my skin puckering instantly in the draft. With Hattie’s help, I pulled on a heavy, nondescript charcoal dress. It was scratchy and smelled of cedar, but the warmth was immediate.

"Done," I said.

"So," Gary asked, turning back once I’d fastened the cloak. "What’s the plan?"

"We get out of here," I said, and my voice sounded different in these clothes, rougher, more certain. "We find the ledger. Where did you hide it?"

"The safest place I knew. The place nobody looks because they’re too busy looking up." A pause. "Or the memories of—"

He stopped, shook his head.

"It doesn’t matter. I know where it is. But we need to get clear of the estate first."

I was skeptical, but the muffled shouts of the panicking guards upstairs left me no choice. Going back was a death sentence.

The boots upstairs were still moving room by room. I thought of my own bed. I’d left it rumpled and empty, the window I’d opened to the terrace.

"I am coming too," Hattie said, her chin lifting.

I frowned and shook my head though she couldn’t see it.

"No, Hattie. You stay here. Don’t get yourself involved in this. It’s dangerous."

"I know," Hattie whispered, her eyes shining in the dark. "But wherever you go, miss, I go. I’m not staying in this house while it burns."

I opened my mouth to argue, to order her, to protect her from her own loyalty. But I heard the truth in her words, the same truth I’d heard in Casimir’s voice when he’d promised to ruin himself for my sake. Some bonds, once forged, could not be broken by reason or command.

I looked at Gary. He nodded once.

"Fine," I breathed. "But stay close. And do exactly as I say. Now we can’t go through the gates. How do we get out?"

"The delivery carriages," Hattie whispered. "The midnight coal and supply run. They leave through the service gate every night. If we can hitch a ride on the back of one, we can make it outside the city by dawn."

I nodded, mentally mapping our way out.

We moved through the passage, Hattie leading with steps she’d clearly memorized. The cold seeped through my new clothes, but it was bearable now.

The passage ended at a narrow door, rusted hinges screaming as Hattie pushed it open. Moonlight flooded in, showing me the grounds I’d only ever seen from above, the kitchen gardens buried in snow, the path to the stables, the gate beyond where freedom waited.

We crept out, single file, our breath misting in the frigid air. The estate was eerily quiet, the guards’ patrols concentrated inside now, searching for a woman who was already behind them.

The stables loomed ahead, dark and smelling of hay and horse and the particular warmth of living things in winter. Beyond them, I could see the shape of a carriage, boxy and practical, the kind used for deliveries before the household woke.

"There," Hattie breathed, pointing. "It leaves at dawn for the city markets."

I nodded, my mind racing. If we could hide in the back, we could be miles away before anyone thought to check.

We were halfway across the open ground when the sound came. Voices, from the direction of the main house.

"Run," I said. And we ran.