A dagger trembled in Yingluo's hand. "Yingluo! Yingluo, dawn is breaking—what are you doing?" a voice hissed outside the curtain. Yingluo slid the blade beneath the mattress and squeezed her eyes shut. Breath measured. Fingers steady. She let the maid's words wash over her and became the sleeping girl the palace expected. "Don't you dare answer that loudly," she mouthed instead of speaking, and the curtain rustled as the maid leaned closer. "Miss, you're pale. The Empress will ask why you look like you've seen a ghost." The maid's whisper came sharp with the fear that lived in palace servants. Yingluo let the old pain flare and then shrink. She lifted one hand and flexed the fingers, keeping the lie in place. The room smelled of rice and bean paste and the thin linen that never left these quarters. The world felt almost exactly the same as when she'd left it—except for the dagger in her palm and the memory that would not be erased. "Say something," the maid demanded. "You're shivering." "Tell them I couldn't sleep," Yingluo said. Her voice was silk. She let her thumb rest over the ring of carved jade at her wrist, the one no one in the palace questioned. The maid stepped back. "You look upset. Did something happen with the High Consort's attendants again?" Yingluo let a small laugh slip out. "Just a nightmare. Tell Mingyu not to be late for