The moment the door clicked shut Silas moved. The confused expression disappeared from his face completely and his eyes cleared and his body shifted from someone weak and recovering into someone calculating and precise. He was out of the bed before the sound of Alaric's footsteps had faded down the corridor.
He needed two things. The drive and something he could use as a weapon if tonight went wrong.
He went to the nightstand first and pulled the drawer open with quiet hands and searched through it quickly. Expensive watches. Silk handkerchiefs.
A small leather journal with nothing useful inside. He moved to the next drawer and found the same result. Decoration and wealth and nothing that could protect him when it mattered.
He crossed to the large wardrobe against the far wall and pulled it open. Suits in deep colors filled every section. Shirts pressed and arranged by shade.
Shoes lined in two careful rows at the bottom. All of it expensive and all of it unmistakably his exact size, not approximate, not close.
Exact in the way that requires time and measurement and careful planning. Silas stood still for a moment and let that land.
This wardrobe had not been made since last night. It existed before the balcony and before the fall.
Before any of the story Alaric had told him that morning. Alaric had been preparing a place for him before he ever had a reason to.
He filed that information away in the cold and practical part of his mind and kept searching. He checked the back of the wardrobe and behind the large painting on the east wall.
He checked along the window frame where small things could be hidden. He found nothing in any of it.
Then he heard the click at the door and he moved without hesitating. He crossed the room and got back into the bed.
He pulled the sheets up and rebuilt his expression in the time it took the handle to turn. By the time the door opened he was lying with his eyes half open and his breathing slow like a man still managing real pain.
Alaric walked in and he was not alone. Behind him came a small older man carrying a long leather case with a measuring tape draped over one shoulder.
The kind of person who moved quietly through rooms and made himself easy to overlook.
"You need to be fitted for your wedding suit," Alaric said, his voice smooth and pleasant while his eyes watched Silas with the attention of someone watching closely.
"The ceremony is in three days and everything must be correct." Silas sat up slowly and kept his expression cooperative.
He said of course and let the tailor approach. The man worked efficiently and asked Silas to stand.
Silas stood and extended his arms. The measuring tape moved across his shoulders and down toward his wrists with practiced speed.
Then the tailor leaned forward. Closer than the measurement required.
His voice dropped to something that existed only in the small space between them. It was hidden by the sound of the tape being pulled tight.
"The Boss wants the drive. We are coming tonight. Be ready."
Silas felt it move through him fast and sharp. He held every part of himself completely still.
He did not change his breathing or shift his weight. He did not let anything visible respond.
But he saw it now on the inside of the man's wrist. His sleeve had pulled back slightly.
Small and dark and clear. A snake.
The mark of the Vane family. His father had eyes inside this palace.
Silas had just found one of them.
He was not alone in here. That knowledge settled into him like something solid to stand on.
But when he brought his gaze back up Alaric was watching them from across the room. His arms were loose at his sides.
His expression was pleasant. But his eyes were not.
They were narrow and focused. They were reading every small detail of what was happening in front of him.
"Is something wrong, Silas," Alaric said. "You look pale."
"Still tired," Silas said. "The pain comes and goes."
Alaric looked at the tailor for one quiet moment. Then he spoke two words.
The man packed his case and was gone before Silas had finished taking a full breath.
The door closed. The room shrank.
Alaric crossed toward him. His hand found Silas's waist and pulled him forward.
It was not rough. But it was not optional.
"I did not like the way he touched you," Alaric said. His voice was low and barely controlled.
"You may not remember who you are or what we are to each other. But I remember every detail."
"And I do not share what belongs to me."
His eyes moved slowly across Silas's face. His grip stayed exactly where it was.
"Remember that."
Silas held his gaze. His face stayed open and uncertain.
But underneath that expression something was already moving.
Tonight the family was coming. Everything inside these palace walls was going to shift.
The only question was which version of Silas would be standing at the door. The Ghost. Or the fiancé.
He had a few hours to decide. And neither answer was simple.