"This is Lin Mo—bring her forward."
Chains clinked. A guard shoved her through the gate and barked the command again, like a hammer striking a nail.
"Name?" Per Palmer's voice was too smooth for an outer gate eunuch. He smiled with a mouth that only meant inspection.
"Lin Mo," she said. The name landed like a stone. No pleading, no sorry. Plain, even. There was pride buried under the dirt.
"Lin of Linsheng's line," Per added, as if he could bury her twice. "Chancellor Gui sent her. The House will accept whatever the Chancellor wants."
A maidlet at the back stepped forward, small, plain—Hana. She moved like a shadow but her eyes were quick. She pressed something into Lin Mo's palm while no one watched: a scrap of paper folded to a sliver and two characters inked inside.
Hana's whisper stabbed the noise. "Stay alive."
Lin Mo folded her fingers over the scrap. "I will," she answered.
The House of Refinement trained women for influence, service, and secrets. It took girls from worse places than prisons and shaped them into tools or trophies. People paid for access to what the House produced.
"Step inside," Per said. He waited like an audience expects a performance to begin.
They pushed her into the courtyard. The servants stood apart as if whatever came through the gate might stain them. Their faces were polite walls: eyes lowered, mouths neat.
"Hold her here," Per ordered. "She goes to the
