Chapter 61 Ivy

Chapter 61 Ivy
Something feels… wrong.

Not fear exactly—more like a prickle at the base of my neck, the kind that doesn’t shout but lingers. I accept the bundled herbs from Mara and thank her, but my attention drifts, tugged toward the edges of the room.

The shop is the same as always. Warm. Safe.
So why does my pulse quicken?

I shift the satchel on my shoulder and glance toward the front window. The glass reflects the street outside—blurred figures moving past, a wagon rattling over stone, steam rising from sewer grates. Normal. 

And yet…

My eyes catch on a shape that doesn’t move with the rest.

Someone across the street. Half-hidden by the shadow of the tailor’s awning. Not browsing. Not talking. Just standing. Watching the shop.

I tilt my head slightly, pretending to admire a hanging bundle of herbs while tracking the reflection instead of turning outright. The figure shifts when I move—just enough to confirm my suspicion.

I straighten slowly, forcing my breathing to remain even. I glance toward Luca, catching the familiar set of his shoulders, the way his posture subtly changes when he senses something is off.

My fingers brush the satchel again—reassurance, habit. The herbs are secure. That’s not what worries me.

I step closer to Luca, lowering my voice just enough. “We should leave,” I say lightly.

His eyes flick to mine instantly. He doesn’t ask why.

“Alright,” he says.

As we move toward the door, I risk one last glance at the window.

The figure is gone.
Which makes it worse.

The bell chimes as we step outside. The street feels louder now, sharper. Too many sounds. Too many places for someone to disappear into.

I don’t say anything more—not yet. I won’t give fear the satisfaction of a voice.

But as Mark and Finley subtly tighten their formation and Olivia moves half a step closer, I know one thing with absolute certainty:

William was right to worry.
And Aaho and Rose…
Haven’t stopped watching.

Luca

The moment we step back onto the street, I feel it.

Not panic. Just that quiet shift in the air—the sense that the world has tilted a fraction out of alignment.

The market district is busier than when we arrived. Vendors calling out prices, people moving in loose, aimless patterns.

Mark moves ahead, scanning intersections. Finley drifts slightly to the side, using reflections in shop windows the way others use mirrors. Olivia stays close to Ivy, her presence calm but coiled.

I stay just behind Ivy’s shoulder.

She walks with purpose, chin lifted, satchel secured at her side. Anyone watching would think she’s just another noblewoman running errands.

They’d be wrong.

We turn down a narrower street, one that cuts behind the apothecary row. Footsteps echo differently here.

That’s when I notice it.
The rhythm.
Not ours.

A pause that matches when we slow. A step that resumes when we do. Too measured to be coincidence.

I glance at a darkened window and catch the reflection: a man several paces back, hood pulled low, posture unremarkable in a way that’s practiced. He stops when we stop. Pretends to examine a crate when we pause.

I don’t say anything yet.

Neither does Ivy—but her shoulders tense just slightly. 

Mark subtly shifts his path, angling us toward a busier crossing. The man adjusts. 

Finley meets my eyes briefly—just long enough to confirm we have a tail.

Olivia leans closer to Ivy, murmuring something I can’t hear. Ivy nods once.

We cross into the open square near the fountain. The sound of water masks footsteps. Children run past. A couple argues loudly near a bread stall.

The man lingers at the edge of the square.

I slow just enough to fall half a step behind Ivy, my voice low. “You felt it too.”

She doesn’t look at me. “When we were in the shop.”

Smart. Observant. Too calm for someone who nearly died yesterday.

Mark brushes his hand across his sleeve—a signal. Finley angles toward a side street, testing.

The man hesitates.
Then follows.

“Mark,” I murmur. “On my mark.”

Ivy’s eyes flick to me then. “Luca—”

“I’ve got you,” I promise quietly. 

She exhales slowly and nods.

We turn suddenly down a side lane barely wide enough for two carts. Finley disappears ahead, Mark pivots behind us. Olivia shifts, placing herself just enough between Ivy and the open street.

The footsteps behind us quicken.
Then stop.

Silence stretches—tight, electric.

I turn.
The man vanished.

Mark curses under his breath. Finley reappears, shaking his head slightly. No visual.

Ivy swallows, her composure finally cracking just a fraction. 

Olivia touches Ivy’s elbow gently. “We should return. Now.”

Ivy nods—but her eyes burn with something fierce and stubborn. “This wasn’t random.”

No. It wasn’t.

And as we move quickly back toward the main road, guards tighten their formation.

Ivy keeps moving, keeps her pace steady like nothing has changed. The guards tighten formation around us as we rejoin the busier street, blending back into noise and color.

“He wasn’t from town.”

I glance at her, surprised. “I know.”

She shakes her head slightly, eyes still forward. “No. You don’t.”

That alone makes my chest tighten.

She adjusts the satchel on her shoulder, fingers curling around the strap like she’s grounding herself. “When he passed the shop window, I caught his scent.”

My focus sharpens instantly. “What kind?”

“Winter jasmine.”

The words hit like a blade sliding between ribs.

I slow half a step before correcting myself, forcing my stride back into rhythm. “That’s… specific.”

“I know,” she says softly.

My mind races ahead of her words, names already surfacing uninvited.

Rose.
Too polished for her own good.
But then—

“Aaho uses it too,” Ivy continues before I can speak.

I swallow hard.

“That narrows it,” I murmur.

“Or widens it,” Ivy counters. “Which is exactly the point.”

I glance at her again. Her face is calm, but her eyes are sharp—alive with calculation, not fear. 

“He stood wrong,” she adds. “Balanced forward. Trained.”

That settles it deep in my gut.

We turn a corner, sunlight flashing briefly between buildings. I feel the weight of her words pressing heavier with every step.

“Jasmine doesn’t linger in cold air unless it’s fresh,” Ivy continues. “Which means whoever it was had been close. Recently.”

My jaw tightens.

“And whoever sent him wanted you thinking of Rose,” I say slowly. 

“Yes,” she replies. “Or doubting everyone.”

I exhale through my nose, frustration burning beneath it. “William needs to know.”

“I’ll tell him,” she says calmly. “But not yet.”

I look at her sharply. “Ivy—”

“I need to watch them first,” she interrupts, finally turning her head to meet my eyes. “See who reacts when I don’t accuse anyone.”

Fuck.

She’s not reckless. She’s deliberate. And that scares me more.

“You’re putting yourself in danger,” I say.

Her mouth curves faintly. “They already did that.”

We walk in silence for a few steps after that, the town carrying on around us like nothing has shifted.

But everything has.
Because someone close made a mistake.

And Ivy—brilliant, stubborn Ivy—just caught it.
And I know one truth:
I need to protect her.