Six names and one tray should not have mattered. That was exactly why the story tried to erase them.
Ren Lockwood had spent most of his life learning how not to be seen.
Servants survived by becoming useful furniture.
A tray could enter rooms where sons could not. A water pitcher could hear strategies meant for bloodline heirs. A folded napkin could carry more honest messages than a sealed noble letter because nobody suspected linen of treason.
Being noticed was dangerous.
Being noticed by Cedric Valdrake had once sounded like a short path to an unmarked grave.
Now Ren stood behind the amphitheater servant rail with both hands locked around an empty pitcher, listening to noble students argue about whether he had been worth saving.
"Sentimental performance," one Gold-tier boy said.
"Political performance," said another.
"Valdrake never does anything without a reason."
"Maybe the reason is humiliation. Imagine risking a noble body for staff."
Someone laughed.
