The night I found her bleeding on the logging road, I should have reported her. But I brought her home instead. Three weeks later, I saw the raven mark behind her ear match the sigil on the stolen peace accord. That's when I knew: the amnesiac I was feeding cinnamon rolls was Lena Corvin, heir of the sworn enemy clan. The Guild put a target on her. Her mother's former deputy put shadows outside my door. And the only way to seal the town was to walk into a church basement with the woman they told me to destroy. So I brought a blade, a broken accord, and a plate of croissants. And I asked Vera Moreau the one question nobody had asked her in forty years: "Are you hungry?" Sometimes the only way to win a war is to write a name back into the record.
