I shrugged. I couldn’t explain that I knew for a fact that it usually was pretty easy to turn off your feelings during unwanted advances. I’d done it plenty of times when my father had needed me to distract men for his missions. I’d flirted. I’d let them touch me and kiss me. And . . . I’d felt completely detached. It actually had been like another household chore.

   “I just want to go to Adoria,” I said at last. Neither Tamsin nor Adelaide knew about Lonzo. I couldn’t breathe a word to anyone—not even my beloved roommates—that my brother was a wanted murderer in Osfro.

   Tamsin made a face. “Well, I do too, and yes, you’re right that I’ll choose success over anything else, but I still hope I can snag some love and passion too. You don’t know what you’re missing out on.”

   “I do. Well, sort of.”

   “Oh?”

   “I kissed a neighbor boy a few times back in Sirminica, and I liked that.” I savored those memories for a moment, the way those kisses had stirred something inside me. “I left for Osfrid before it ever went beyond kissing. But sometimes . . . I wish there had been more. I mean, if I’m going to settle into marriage with someone who feels like a friendly roommate, it’d be nice to have at least known what it was like being with a man . . . just for the pleasure of—”

   “Stop, just stop. I don’t want to hear any more.” Tamsin sank onto her bed and gave up on brushing her hair.

   “But you know what I mean. No deep romance. Just a lover to—”

   “Yes, yes, I know exactly what you mean, and honestly I don’t know what’s worse: this likeable ‘roommate’ husband you’ll endure in bed or the illicit lover you don’t really care about.” Her expression turned affectionate and a little rueful too. “All I know for sure is you’ve got a lot to learn. Adelaide’s not even close to being the most deluded one here.”

   Adelaide returned right at that last bit. “Deluded about what? You aren’t still going on about some conspiracy, are you?”

   In the blink of an eye, Tamsin transformed from romantic advisor to the more familiar steely-eyed huntress we knew. “Something is happening! I can feel it. And not just the schedule change today. Did you hear Jasper mention that he was going to review files today? I’m telling you, don’t let your guard down.”

   Her words startled me—but not because of the dire fate she foresaw. Our files. Mistress Masterson kept all sorts of paperwork in her office. Few of us had ever been in it, but the room had taken on an ominous reputation. Girls were afraid to knock on its door. And no one would dream of breaking into it. But . . .

   Files. Files about all of us. Files about Clara.

   I waited until I was certain Adelaide and Tamsin were asleep, and then, for extra precaution, I waited a little longer. I lay in the dark, my heart beating frantically as I clutched the pick kit in one hand. Even when I reached a point where I thought everyone in the house should’ve long since gone to sleep, I still hesitated. What if some insomniac was pacing the halls? What if someone wanted a snack?

   But I knew that if I worried about those things much longer, I’d never leave. I’d stay petrified in my bed. I thought about Lonzo’s bravery, my father’s zealous determination, and even the fantastic deeds of legendary heroes that I still loved to read about in the one book I’d carried with me from Sirminica. I could do this.

   Neither girl stirred as I slipped from our room. The hall outside was silent and empty, as was the lower level. I cringed each time the floor squeaked under my feet. It sounded deafening to my ears, and my journey felt like miles. Mistress Masterson’s office was in a wing of the house we rarely visited.

   When I reached the door, I didn’t have a lot of light and had to do most of my work by feel. Many of the house locks I’d experimented with had been common and often straightforward when utilizing the right tool. This lock was new to me, and after some trial and error, I finally had luck with a twisty pick I’d never used before. It took a fair amount of finessing until I finally heard a click that I thought must’ve surely echoed throughout the manor. I opened and shut the door as silently as I could and lit a small lantern once I felt secure.

   Sylvia had been called here once and reported back that Mistress Masterson kept her work lair so organized and pristine that it felt eerie. So, I was surprised to see a handful of papers lying haphazardly on the desk. Leaning closer, I spied forceful handwriting scrawled on them that I knew wasn’t our housemistress’s. This sullying of her sacred space was Jasper’s handiwork.

   Some of the notes appeared to be directions from him: Reach out to contacts. Schedule Miss Garrison. Others were lists of names, including the girls from the other three manors the Glittering Court maintained. Each girl had a number by her name. Mine was 200, which I assumed would be my marriage fee. It was the minimum for any girl. Adelaide had 250 and a question mark while Tamsin boasted an impressive 350. Another cryptic list displayed fanciful names like Spirit of Henrietta and Good Hope, with dates written beside them. It was all interesting, but Jasper’s leftovers weren’t what I needed.

   I discovered what I’d been looking for in a wooden filing cabinet—locked, of course—that contained folders bearing each of our names. Clara’s immediately jumped out at me, but I reached for my own first. Most of the papers within it were copies of my standing so far, recording the results of all the major tests and assessments. Looking at my progress as a whole, I realized it was pretty respectable. But far more interesting was a document that was essentially my dossier.

   It contained my name, my last known address, and a brief biography that simply said I’d come from Sirminica and lived in Osfro for two years. There was no mention of Lonzo. In fact, my family was listed as NONE. The contact provided was to an elderly couple I’d lived with in the Sirminican district. Cedric was identified as my recruiter, and the field asking for how I’d been discovered simply said Referral. A few other comments in Mistress Masterson’s neat writing mentioned my life at the manor thus far and contained a backhanded compliment: Progressing well for a Sirminican.