Chapter 7: A Spy Smiles Too Much

Ava's POV

I slept with the note in my fist.

Not because it meant anything. Just because I didn't know where else to put it, and I was too tired to think clearly, and by morning it was crumpled and slightly damp and I threw it across the room the second I woke up.

Then I went to find Leta.

She was in the laundry room, elbow deep in soapy water, humming to herself. She looked up when I walked in and smiled.

"Morning."

"Did you touch my wardrobe?" I asked.

The smile stayed. "Good morning to you too."

"Leta. My clothes are gone. All of them."

"What?" She straightened up, water dripping from her arms. Her face did something complicated. "What do you mean gone?"

"Replaced. With expensive things. Soft things. Things that did not belong to me and that I did not ask for." I crossed my arms. "So I am asking you. Did you do it?"

She stared at me. Then she laughed. Loud, genuine, slightly offended laughter that bounced off the stone walls.

"You think I did that? Ava, I share a room with three other maids and own four dresses total. Where exactly would I get expensive fabric from?"

"I don't know. That's why I'm asking."

"I didn't touch your wardrobe." She picked up her scrubbing brush and pointed it at me. "And I'm a little insulted that was your first thought."

"You're my only friend here."

"That's sweet, but I'm broke." She went back to scrubbing. "If someone replaced your clothes with expensive ones, that wasn't me. That was someone with money and access and a very strange way of showing it."

I already knew that. I had known it since last night. But blaming Leta had felt safer than saying his name out loud, because saying it out loud made it real.

I leaned against the doorframe and watched her work.

"Can I ask you something?"

"You literally just accused me of a crime, so yes, that seems fair," Leta said.

"Do you know when the guards rotate? On the east wing?"

She paused. Just for a second. Then she kept scrubbing. "Why?"

"I walked into a guard last night. Coming back from the kitchens. I want to avoid it happening again."

"Midnight," she said, casual and easy. "East wing rotates at midnight and again at four."

I nodded slowly. "And the Triplets. Do they use the east corridor in the mornings, or the main hall?"

"Main hall, mostly. East corridor is Ryker when he's doing rounds alone, usually before seven." She looked up. "Why are you asking about their schedules?"

"Avoiding them," I said. "Same reason."

She accepted that. Went back to work. And I stood there, watching her, filing away the fact that she had answered those questions very quickly. Too quickly, for someone who was just a maid. Maids learned their own routines, their own corridors. They didn't usually memorize Alpha schedules.

I didn't say anything.

I just remembered it.

Lunch was served in the small staff room near the kitchens, a noisy, crowded space where nobody paid attention to anyone else. I sat in the corner with a bowl of something warm and tried to be invisible.

Max found me anyway.

He always found me.

"There you are." He sat down across from me, smiling, setting a cup of tea on the table like he'd brought it specifically for me. "I've been looking for you all morning."

"I've been working."

"You look tired." He leaned forward, studying my face. "Are they working you too hard? I can talk to someone, get your duties changed."

"I'm fine, Max."

"You don't have to be fine all the time, you know." His voice dropped, gentle and private. "Not with me."

Something about the way he said it made my spoon stop moving.

He reached across the table before I could react and pushed a loose strand of hair back from my face. Slow. Deliberate. His fingers lingered near my jaw for just a second too long.

"You're still the same," he said softly. "Even here. Even after everything."

I pulled back. Not sharply, I didn't want to make a scene. But I moved my face away from his hand and looked down at my bowl.

"Max."

"Hmm?"

"We're at work." I kept my voice light. Careful. "People are watching."

"Let them watch." But he leaned back, giving me space. He was still smiling. "I just worry about you, Ava. I always have. You know that."

"I know."

"You're my Ava." He said it simply, like it was a fact. Like it had always been true. "That hasn't changed just because the location has."

My Ava.

I smiled back at him because it was the easiest thing to do. Because smiling meant not having to answer. Because something cold was sitting in my stomach now, quiet and still, and I needed time to understand what it was before I reacted.

He talked for the rest of lunch. About the palace, about the staff, about nothing important. I listened, nodded, and ate my food.

When it was over I walked back to my room, moving fast, needing a minute alone to breathe and think and untangle the feeling in my chest that wasn't the bond this time. This was something older. Something that had started small and was now pressing insistently against my ribs.

I pushed open my door.

Max was sitting on my bed.

I stopped breathing.

He was calm. Relaxed. Like he had been there for a while. In his hands, turning slowly between his fingers, was a photograph. Small and creased and slightly faded.

My pack photo. The one from before the rejection, before everything. I had hidden it inside my mattress, pushed deep into a small tear in the fabric. Nobody knew it was there. I hadn't told anyone.

He looked up at me and smiled. Warm. Easy. Like this was completely normal.

"I've always kept your secrets safe, Ava," he said. "All of them."