Page 57 of Unravelled
Her stomach twisted. She reached out, taking the items from him, her fingers brushing the edge of the note before flipping it over. Brahn’s handwriting. Her pulse ticked faster. She opened the letter.
The officer’s name is Captain Dren Solvar. He’s been stationed along Kharador’s western front for a few years. Experienced, smart, but reckless. He doesn’t always follow orders. He operates well under pressure. And he’s willing to take risks if it means securing an advantage. Tell him we are going to be passing through Harrow’s Hollow in three day’s time. He prefers dark-haired women. Burn this note.
She glanced at the cosmetics kit, and her auburn hair on her shoulder. The implication sinking in. Change your face. Change your hair. Become the woman he’d notice.
Tharion cleared his throat, drawing her gaze back to him. His expression was tense. She lifted the garments that were delivered, the fabric shifting like liquid between her fingers. It was an exquisite ivory corset and undergarment set, crafted from shadowlace, thin enough to see through in parts, yet snug enough to mold to her skin.
Mira was no stranger to bare skin, to dressing for appearances, but this, this was different. Alongside was a dark, floor-length robe, its fabric soft yet deceptively heavy, meant to conceal and reveal in equal measure. She met Tharion’s gaze once more.
"I'm going to need some time." His jaw tensed, but he only nodded.
Without another word, he stepped back and shut the door.
14
The streets of Seacliffe stretched before them, alive with lantern glow and the hum of voices. Torvyn and Tharion moved beside her, their hoods pulled low, their faces half-hidden in the flickering torchlight.
Mira, however, looked nothing like herself. Her hair, now a deep dark hue, fell in loose, glossy waves over her shoulders. The transformation was uncanny, unnatural, like stepping into someone else’s skin. Kohl rimmed her eyes, the dark pigment sharp against her now-pale complexion. Her lashes, long, feathered, framed her gaze with an otherworldly allure. Even her lips, glossed and plump, whispered of mystery, of temptation. Her robe fluttered around her as they moved, the airy fabric tugged gently by the breeze, its hem weighted just enough to keep it grounded. Shadows clung to their frames, making them just another trio of nameless figures navigating the narrow streets.
But beneath it… Mira felt exposed. The exquisite corset and shadowlace undergarments clung to her, thin, revealing, leaving little to the imagination. A second skin, one meant to be seen, to be noticed. Every step made her hyperaware of how little she truly wore underneath. She lifted her chin, adjusting the way the robe settled over her shoulders, forcing herself into the role she had to play.
The alley behind the pleasure house was narrow, dimly lit, the scent of spiced smoke, ale, and perfume thick in the humid air. The faint hum of laughter and music seeped through the walls, a distant promise of indulgence and secrecy.
Mira forced herself to keep her steps steady. Ahead, Torvyn knocked once, twice, sharp and deliberate. A moment later, a metal eye slot scraped open, revealing nothing but a pair of sharp, assessing eyes. Torvyn and Tharion stepped aside. Mira lifted her chin. A pause, then the clunk of an iron latch. The heavy wooden door groaned open, revealing a broad-shouldered man with dark, inked skin, his forearms wrapped in leather bindings. His eyes flicked over Mira first, slow, deliberate, before shifting to Torvyn and Tharion, suspicion curling at the edge of his mouth.
"You're almost too late. We've been sending girls to tease him all night." His voice was gravel-thick, laced with impatience. Clearly down by too many nights in thehaze of this place. "I think he's almost done." Without another word, he stepped aside, motioning them forward.
Inside, the backroom was warm, suffocating, thick with the scent of burning incense, old wine, and bodies pressed too close. The walls were draped in rich, deep-colored fabrics, muffling the sounds of music beyond. Plush seating, velvet cushions thrown over low wooden lounges lined the space.
In the far corner, a half-curtained doorway led deeper into the pleasure house, where the true indulgences waited.
Torvyn moved first, leading them toward the far side of the room, where a small, private alcove had been set aside. And there, waiting with an air of effortless control, was Brahn. He lounged in one of the well-kept chairs, boots planted firmly on the floor, a glass of something dark and amber-rich resting loosely in his hand.
His sharp gaze flicked up as they approached, assessing, calculating. At his booth sat a young woman, arms folded, her expression cool. Mira studied her high cheekbones, keen dark eyes, and a confidence that spoke of someone who understood the power of this place. Her dress was simple but effective, the fabric clinging in a way that suggested purpose rather than accident.
She met Mira’s gaze before looking at Brahn. “This is her, then?”
Brahn nodded, setting his glass down. “Mira, and..."
His brows lifted just slightly. Anger crossed Brahn’s features, as though Tharion’s presence had not been accounted for. A flick of his eyes toward Torvyn. The message is clear. This intrusion will be dealt with later. Mira caught it, caught the silent exchange between the two men, but before she could comment, Brahn leaned back in his chair, resting his elbow lazily against the armrest.
Brahn’s eyes flicked between them, something knowing, calculating, settling behind his gaze. But he didn’t push. Instead, he gesturing between them and the young woman. “This is Aelynn.” A pause. Then, with the faintest hint of amusement, he added, “My cousin.”
Mira blinked, glancing between them. Aelynn gave a slow, knowing smile, tilting her head. “Surprised?”
Mira barely let her expression shift. “You don’t look like family.”
Aelynn laughed, a low, smoky laugh. “Good.”
Aelynn's gaze drifted down, scanning the robe Mira wore, as if she could see through it, straight to what lay beneath.
She turned to Brahn. “He’s expecting another drink. And something better than the last girl.”
Mira lifted her chin. “I had better get out there then.”
Mira moved toward the curtain, steady, deliberate. Behind her, she heard Tharion shift, felt the weight of his presence at her back. Before he could follow, Aelynn stepped smoothly into his path, cutting him off with effortless grace.
One brow arched, she murmured, voice like silk laced with steel, “If you come out of that curtain, you may as well declare yourself for sale.”
