"This might become awkward," Cal stated, airing out his uncertainty.

He was right in more ways than one, but it was a little late to be having second thoughts.

"Callum," Olivia responded, leaning against a colorfully decorated wall, "you were the one to suggest we break in."

That was what she focused on? He'd meant it as a joke. Olivia was the weird one for pushing him from the handle and picking the lock in broad daylight.

Cal ignored her for the moment, allowing his eyes to drift across the lonely shop.

It was more cluttered than he remembered, with racks of clothing taking up much of the available floor space. The mannequins didn't help, but he couldn't tell if their number had grown or not. Out of precaution, he'd given them a thorough poking, finding nothing funny going on.

One area that stood out was the seating, mainly due to its lack of existence. During his last visit, Alice and Lily had been able to relax on cushioned stools. This time, he had to make do with stacking fitting platforms on top of one another. It wasn't a big deal, but it did add to the unease of their wait.

"That's not what I was talking about," Cal said, choosing not to fight about who amongst them was responsible for the break-in.

He considered revealing the real reason he was here, but it wouldn't sound right coming from him. Instead, he deflected to a believable tangent.

"I just think she might get stabby if she finds out I messed with another one of her colleagues."

First, The Whistling Death, and now The Watcher. From the outside, it might seem like Cal was on a crusade against Infinita Nox. He'd been surprised when Olivia had filled him in on the enigmatic man's affiliation, but he was starting to think he should have seen it coming.

"You're thinking too highly of them," Olivia criticized, her eyes shifting from the entrance to a purple curtain.

That thin sheet was all that separated them from the back, and neither had crossed it. It was a small show of respect.

"While they might fight under one banner, they're loyal to themselves. Statistically, most of the bounties collected from their heads are redeemed by their own members."

That made him question how they were still around. They must have some method to dissuade that; otherwise, they'd cannibalize themselves.

"Whistling Death was a chump though," Cal pointed out, earning a sharp look. "If what you said is true, this guy is more in a leadership position. I can handle it if things get ugly, but are you sure you want to be here?"

Off the tail end of their conversation in the bar, Cal knew Olivia wouldn't budge. This was the best way for her to stay in the know.

"Dealing with people who can kill me with a thought is part of my job description."

True, but he'd been disingenuous by framing it as a physical threat. It was more psychological in nature.

"In addition," Olivia continued unperturbed, "I've been working under the assumption my identity was blown ever since she ambushed you leaving the bar. If harm is to come to me, I'd rather face it now."

Cal didn't think Miss Plusier would bother with her. Out of sight might have been the better plan.

"And let's not forget," Olivia paused, clapping her hands once, "you used more magic in an instant than I have in a lifetime. Spider will have to take that into consideration."

That night it seemed like a coin flip whether the woman would have attacked him, but mentioning that would serve no one.

Cal idly drummed on the box beneath him, directing most of his focus to his senses. Despite how lackadaisical he appeared, his body was flushed with magic. Miss Plusier had gotten the jump on him once, and he wasn't eager to relive the experience.

"Think she knows about the smuggling?" Cal asked, referencing the second nugget of information Olivia had dropped.

A smile crept up on his face. Petro Lucerna was giving him gifts from the grave.

Now all he needed to do was figure out if this Elizabeth character was going to the brothel for recreation or business. Gregor had painted her as a typical noble, angling for useful connections. However, Cal was more concerned with the spirit's account of the girl as someone liable to get themselves killed.

"Yes, but my greater worry is that she's no longer in the city," Olivia confirmed.

A faint scent of lavender tickled his nose, and Cal's head snapped toward the curtain. Olivia took his cue, pushing off the wall. She took a few steps, ending up slightly behind and to the right of him.

"My, my, do help yourselves," the proprietress said, brushing the curtain aside. She stood in the doorway, her arm pushing against the frame. There was a broad smile on her face as she inspected both of them. "To think a woman could leave her humble boutique and return to find it crawling with miscreants. Why it makes one want to call on the knights."

Cal remained seated, leveling a steely gaze in her direction. Even with her in his sights, he could barely feel her signature.

"Our visit coincides with listed store hours," Olivia opened, folding her arms behind her back. "I'd suggest investing in a sign to indicate operating status if you want to avoid people wandering in at inopportune times."

He really didn't want to take his eyes off the assassin, but Cal had to steal a look to see if Olivia was serious. Her face was a familiar smooth mask of indifference, yet he got the sense she was.

Wait a second… was that why she had them wait in the bar so long? Just so she could follow posted hours?

Frankly, Cal didn't know whether to be appalled or impressed.

"How feisty," Miss Plusier commented, gliding from the doorway. "Was your other helper busy? I think I liked her better."

Cassey would be thrilled to learn that. Last he heard, she was still recovering. It was much slower than Alice and Lily, but she didn't have the benefit of proper medical facilities.

"She's indisposed," Olivia answered in a professional manner. "You may refer to me as Emily. I'm here to represent my benefactor's interest."

Cal thought her refusal to name the Federation was a bit paranoid, but there was no need to call her out on it.

"So formal," Miss Plusier said cheerily, cupping her cheek with one hand.

The assassin started to pace toward Olivia when Cal knocked on his seat. She stopped and inclined her head toward him. Cal shook his head in flat denial, prompting a pout from the older woman.

"Dearie," she chided in the tone of one speaking to a child, "you should learn to be more trusting."

In this specific situation, he definitely shouldn't.

"Any heat come your way?" Cal asked, steering things away from Olivia.

His question was also practical. He knew the official account didn't name her, but there could have been more private inquiries.

"To see the youth care for their elders. It warms my heart," Miss Plusier said, sighing contentedly.

She swayed slightly, and it looked like she might approach him.

"Guess that's a no," Cal responded.

Her smile grew dimmer, and she released another sigh, this one carrying annoyance.

"Not of the type you would expect."

Cal didn't have to think hard about who else might be pressuring her. Luckily, they were a topic of conversation Olivia and he were after.

"What happened to retirement?" he asked, his tone colored with humor.

There was a flash of silver, and Cal's lips pursed. A shrill whistle preceded the sound of clanging metal as a needle was knocked off course. It slammed into a wall, failing to hit its mark, Olivia.

Cal did a fist pump, satisfied with his aim. Miss Plusier's attack had the same energy as a gentle slap, but it was deadly. Being able to accurately knock it down with a toned-down sound manifestation was an accomplishment for it.

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"Well now," Miss Plusier commented with newfound curiosity. "That was only a tad off. I hadn't realized you replicated it that closely."

He did not preen at the praise. However, he did appreciate his efforts being acknowledged.

Olivia cleared her throat, unfazed by the attempt on her life.

"If you're having trouble with your organization, I'm authorized to offer limited amnesty in return for pertinent information related to your structure and active member list."

That had not come up before. He had to wonder if it was improvisation or a genuine offer.

"That's adorable," Miss Plusier declared before her face grew darker, "or insulting. I'm still deciding."

The Federation agent weathered the glare like any other.

"However you interpret it, understand touching me won't end well for you."

Olivia nodded toward him, and Cal contemplated whether he should do something intimidating.

Maybe growl?

No, that'd be stupid.

"Yo," he said, waving.

Yep, that should work. Olivia's aura of disapproval didn't seem to agree, but he deemed her opinion here irrelevant.

"Will it now?" Miss Plusier challenged.

This was a song and dance they'd done before, and Cal suspected the assassin had other motives for repeating it.

"Yes, yes, we're both very scary," Cal said, cutting through the bullshit. "Now, how can we convince you to tattle on your friends?"

Miss Plusier clicked her tongue in response. Reaching up to her hairbun, she pulled out a set of needles and shook her head. Gray and purple hair cascaded down, but his focus was on the thin strips of metal between her knuckles.

"Does no one care about my retirement? I traded my blades for scissors, yet trouble continues to seek me out."

Was it weird that he could sympathize?

Probably.

"If it's any consolation," Cal piped up, remembering an important detail. "I actually do need a new blazer. My old one got shredded."

Miss Plusier's eyes went wide, and the smile she wore turned less hostile. With a wave of her hand, the mannequins were pushed to the edges of the store. A roll of fabric that was hanging off the wall leaped forward, fluttering in the air around him. It did a loop around them before stopping in front of the woman, who ran a finger along it.

"Do stand," she said, pointing at the box underneath him. "I need to retake your measurements."

Oh, were they doing it now? Cal thought of it for a moment before deciding they could multitask.

He got up, removing one of the platforms and setting it down where she directed. Taking his place on it, he caught Olivia's slack jaw from the corner of his eye. It was corrected swiftly, and he could see her taking deep breaths.

"Good, remember to hold still. I wouldn't want to hurt you," the woman said with a giggle as needles leapt toward him.

They zipped past and around him, weaving an invisible web. Every now and then, he could feel a tug from the thin strings they were attached to.

Why she couldn't use a normal tape measure wasn't a question worth asking.

It went on longer than he liked, and it was almost a relief when he felt a blade slam into his shoulder blade, or the shell protecting it.

There was a hiss behind him, but he didn't overreact, sending his tailor a bored expression.

The woman blinked at him, frowning. Her eyes narrowed, glancing upwards at the ceiling. Cal kept his gaze on her and watched as she fixated back on him. Striding forward, she stopped at arm's length.

Both her palms found their place on his shoulders. He could feel their cold embrace through the thin fabric, but they weren't on his head, so he wouldn't take them just yet.

"You've grown," she stated. She stepped back, keeping her hands apart to visualize the length of his shoulder span. "Interesting."

He had? It must not have been a lot if no one else commented on it, but he'd take what he could get.

She wasn't finished, and her nail ran down his side, judging the size of his torso.

"That's enough," Olivia barked. "You're stretching our patience."

Did she have to be somewhere?

"You young ones are always in too much of a rush," Miss Plusier rebuked, pulling away and calling on more strips of fabric. They hovered in the air, orbiting her. "I'm not inclined to offer you any aid. Indeed, a few years ago I would have…"

Gleaming metal struck out, and the thick material was sliced into more manageable chunks.

"Where was I?" A lighter-red roll flew from the back room, and it too was cut apart. "Ah, yes. They've been rather troublesome of late—complaining, whining, even, I daresay, demanding."

A throaty chuckle left her lips.

"Testing would be a more appropriate description. I used to humor such endeavors; alas, it's a bother now. Even so, I believe we may be able to solve each other's dilemmas."

That sounded promising, and Cal knew there was a catch coming.

A second, maybe two, passed before Olivia's sharp voice responded.

"You're going to suggest Callum infiltrate Infinita Nox with that ridiculous disguise."

His mouth moved to protest when his brain stopped it short.

"Not as dim as you appear," Miss Plusier confirmed, her attention squarely on the floating pieces of fabric. Needles darted about, rapidly transforming it before his eyes. "They do so want to meet you. It works out nicely, doesn't it?"

One minute she was implying to be offended at the prospect of selling out her contemporaries, and the next she was offering them up on a silver platter.

It was said that you shouldn't look a gift horse in the mouth. Cal was tempted to ask for its full medical history.

"You haven't even asked why we want to meet them?" he asked, fishing for more information.

The assassin could have heard their intentions from the backroom, but he didn't know how much she overheard.

Granted, even if it was a setup, he'd happily walk into it as long as the authorities weren't involved.

"Is that what you ask?" Miss Plusier asked, her tone carrying a hint of misgiving. "Your confidence is earned, but I've seen terrors brought low before. Do remember this is the group that was already after your assumed identity. They would be well apprised of your performance the past night and be prepared."

If the Federation, with all its might, failed, Cal didn't consider the mercenary group an existential threat.

"You have a good point," Cal smoothly lied. "Those big names might cause me trouble. Especially that Watcher fellow."

That proved too obvious of a line, and the needles froze into place. There might have also been the sound of Olivia smacking her forehead, but he was too busy focusing on Miss Plusier to know for sure.

"Oh, my. That old man? You are after him?" Her puzzlement was punctuated by a raucous laughter. The tailor's behavior grew even more odd as she wiped tears from her eyes. "I've heard of fruitless pursuits, but this..."

Old was one way to describe a man who'd been around for a few centuries. Magic was great at prolonging people's prime years, but it had a significantly smaller impact on total lifespan.

Federation information had The Watcher as less of a man and more of a mantle. He skirted the pages of history, never quite being involved in things. Allegedly, he'd started a revolution in one of the Free Cities, instigated three wars on this side of the continent, and royally pissed off the Holy Enclave.

That last part wasn't too hard, but Olivia had stressed it for some reason.

"The Watcher is not our objective," his handler clarified. "However, as previously stated, any information is welcome."

"Specifically," Cal tacked on, "how to kill him."

Because the Federation had bupkis.

They knew about his husks and had even captured a few. Unfortunately, the things had a nasty habit of turning into goop. It was theorized that he controlled the puppets by bonding his magic to them. Except, you weren't supposed to be able to bond human flesh.

Federation procedure for him was simple. Kill the husk, log it, and move on.

That did nothing to stop the root of the problem, but as long as he didn't poke the Federation too hard, they were content to pretend he didn't exist.

"I can tell you it's not by gouging out his eyes, flaying his skin, or inverting his spine," Miss Plusier dutifully informed while counting off her fingers. "More serious attempts involved binding covenants, ward traps, and seizing his magic."

Damn. That last one was his next idea.

"And we're sure we ruled out the blow-him-up angle?" Cal asked, intent on being thorough.

Strictly speaking, Cal didn't have to go after him. The smuggling ring was his larger concern. However, leaving the guy around just screamed bad idea.

"I believe that approach has been exhausted," Miss Plusier said, putting a downer on his dreams. "I would also temper my expectations, dearie. The Watcher is not even a formal member—more of a… how to put it in terms you'll grasp? Ah, like a guest lecturer. Yes, that's apt."

Cal looked back at Olivia, seeing if she'd have anything to say about it.

"His files are within my clearance. The affiliation is clearly defined."

The word 'clearance' triggered his memory. Right, he needed to get to that.

"There or not," Cal said, shrugging in a display of indifference. "Is there a meeting I can expect to get an invitation to?"

He'd have to get the shroud back from Lennard. Hopefully, he wasn't too mad about that Justiciar stuff.

"I'll see what I can put on the books," Miss Plusier, or the Spider, said agreeably. "I'll deliver it the same as the last."

So in the form of a note found in his dorm room.

"Careful with your threats," Cal fired back. "I won't take kindly if you harm Alice or Lily."

She hadn't yet, and maybe it was dumb to draw attention to them, but he didn't want there to be any point of confusion there.

"I have more right to the girl than you ever will," Miss Plusier taunted, carving another swath of fabric.

Cal didn't like the phrasing on that.

"The math stays the same," he said, reinforcing his position.

A quiet but poignant staredown occurred, both sides understanding what the other was capable of. Cal got a sense of acceptance, but it could have been his imagination.

He could also feel Olivia's eyes on him, and it didn't take long for the agent to add her piece.

"Apologies for interrupting you both with logic," she stated flatly. "But this isn't like the last time. These people would have met the person you're trying to impersonate. They won't fall for your deception."

They probably knew his magical signature as well. If the plan wasn't to immediately and indiscriminately kill them all, that complicated things.

"That shan't be an issue," Miss Plusier replied confidently. "There's a rudimentary technique that will see you go unchallenged."

Cal was all ears. He could hide his signature just fine, but changing it was beyond him. Given who Miss Plusier was acquainted with, there was a real possibility she knew a secret method.

"Brazenly and brutally attack anyone who questions your identity. Easy, no?"

Was that an insult? He wasn't certain. However, that was a 'technique' he was able to achieve with his current set of skills, which was a relief.

"Please don't encourage him," Oliva said, attempting to douse the idea.

Did she want him to kill the bad guys? This felt like mixed messaging.

"Tsk, tsk," Miss Plusier reprimanded with a wag of her finger. "Stay your judgment; there's merit in it. There's no way to masquerade as the Whistling Death to those who knew him, but you don't have to. Strength is respected. Show it, and while they'll know the truth, they'll accept you as one of their own."

This was starting to sound like a convoluted recruitment pitch. To be fair to her, having the green light to attack your superiors was a strong selling point.

Sadly, he was still on option A, which was killing them all. Saner parts of his mind lobbied against that, arguing that it would be better to play nice and figure out exactly what their role was in all of this.

Their smuggling operation might be entirely disconnected from the dealers, but elements of their group had been at the tower, so there was some demonic involvement.

"If only my love were here," Miss Plusier said wistfully. "None of this nonsense would plague me if they were. Alas, their journey takes them elsewhere. Tell me, little snake, do you think it would read as desperate if I pen a letter or two to them? And by pen, I mean send. I have hundreds prepared. I can never get it quite right."

Cal took a steadying breath, giving Olivia a meaningful look. He knew it was lost on her, but it wouldn't be for long.

He'd made the decision to reveal part of his past. This was not the best place to do it, but it felt like the only way to get it across.

Of course, that was only if the conclusion he'd jumped to in the tower was correct.

"It's time we talk about the elephant in the room," Cal said to a pair of blank faces.

Right, elephants weren't a thing here.

"It's Mask. We're talking about Mask."

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