My heart leaps into my throat when a pair of black-cloaked Brothers turns into our aisle. The one on the left is about Finn’s height, tall and lean. My pulse hammers in my ears, and I swallow, mouth suddenly dry.

As he strolls toward us, I realize his gait is all wrong. Too purposeful. Finn ambles, taking in everything around him with his quick eyes and quicker wit. Still, I wait for the man to get closer and confirm that he isn’t wearing spectacles before I look away.

Stupid. It’s the fifth time I’ve done this in the two hours I’ve been here.

There are hundreds of Brothers in attendance. Even if Finn is roaming around the bazaar, we could very well miss each other.

It’s not as though he has any cause to seek me out.

I straighten the scarves on my side of the booth. Some are more expert than others. Mei, having grown up with a tailor for a father, has a steady hand and a good eye for color. Pearl and Addie often knit in the evenings while they chat, and their stitches are as meticulous as everything else about them. We’ve already sold five of Pearl’s scarves, all a beautiful, soft gray wool. And Lucy’s sister Grace has been sewing nonstop since she arrived from Harwood. The repetitive motions seem to comfort her. She sews. Livvy plays the piano night and day. Sister Edith’s niece paints. Caroline chatters at anything, even potted ferns. And Parvati—

What does Parvati do? She’s been having lessons with Inez, I know that much, and taking her meals with Maura and Alice.

I botched that.

A man’s callused hand picks up a small blue scarf, startling me out of my thoughts. “I’d like this one, please.”

I glance up, right into the face of the muttonchop man from the Resistance meeting. He smiles at me from behind his gingery whiskers. “Hello, Cate.”

“Hello.” I glance over my shoulder. Vi and Rilla are busy with other customers; the two younger girls are oblivious.

“The answer is yes, miss,” he says. “It was unanimous. Alistair’s bark is worse than his bite.”

“I’m glad to hear it, Mr. . . . ?” I trail off.

“Moore.” He watches as I fold the scarf for him. “I’ve got a lad at home, nine years old. I hope the world will be a better place by the time he’s grown.”

“So do I.” I take the coins he proffers. “Thank you, Mr. Moore. Have a good night.”

“We’ll see you on Thursday, then, miss.”

I nod and smile as I watch him go.

Mei pops back in, clutching a clockwork dragon. Her round face is troubled. “Have you heard anything about an outbreak of fever? Down near the river?”

“No, but I haven’t been in that part of the city since—” I wince. Since I helped Tess on her unsuccessful mission to free the Richmond Square prisoners, including Mei’s sisters.

“There have been a handful of deaths already. All in the river district.” Mei swipes her bangs out of her black eyes. “At Cora’s funeral, one of the nurses from Richmond Hospital mentioned they were overworked. I didn’t think much of it at the time, but—”

“Should we volunteer to help?” Since Sister Sophia’s off getting the Harwood girls settled at another safe house, we haven’t been making our usual rounds at the hospital.

Mei nods. “Perhaps we can stop it before it gets out of hand.”

“Of course. Do you want to go look for presents for your sisters? We’re not very busy here. Then we can watch the puppet show together.”

“Sure,” Mei agrees, handing me the toy. “Watch this for me?”

The clockwork dragon is dead clever. I pull on the tiny lever that makes its tail whip back and forth and its mouth open in a silent, ferocious roar.

“Sister Cate?” The words are unfamiliar, but the voice isn’t.

I drop the dragon onto the pile of scarves as I turn.

Finn’s ears are flushing red, the way they do when he’s embarrassed. His brow is furrowed, the space between his eyebrows pulled into the upside-down V that my fingers itch to smooth. His coppery hair is messy as ever, as though he’s run his hands through it a dozen times since it last saw a comb.

But behind his wire-rimmed spectacles, his eyes are different. Not full of love or want. He doesn’t look at me like I’m his anymore.

My heart breaks all over again.

“Brother Belastra.” I choke out the words. They feel foreign, too formal on my tongue. “How are you?”

He gives me a smile that reveals the tiny gap between his front teeth, but it’s only polite. The smile he’d give a stranger, a customer at the bookshop. “Very well, and you?”

“Fine.” I’m not fine. I pull my elbows in tight, folding my arms across my chest. “Are you enjoying the bazaar?”

“Yes. I’ve been hunting down a gift for my sister.” He examines the wares. “Are any of these yours?”

I laugh, short and staccato, before I realize he won’t know his question is ridiculous. “Er, no. I’m a terrible seamstress. I prefer to spend my time in the gardens with my hands in the dirt—or now that it’s winter, in the conservatory.”

It’s futile, testing him like this. He won’t know. Won’t remember the way he snuck out and met me there and kissed me senseless. But—

“I remember,” he says, and hope blooms through me, bright and lovely as an April tulip.

“You do?” My voice is too sharp, too desperate.

“Your father told me. We were—I don’t quite remember.” Finn frowns, the V in his forehead deepening. “He said you weren’t the scholarly sort, that you preferred gardening to books. Funny that you’ve ended up in the Sisterhood.”

Funny? An ache cuts through me, bitterer than the December wind. “I could say the same for you.”

Finn glances over his shoulder. There are no Brothers in the vicinity. He gives me another bland smile, but now his eyes are curious. “I’ve always liked books.”

What is the point in this? What am I trying to prove? I know I’m being foolish, and yet—

“But you’ve never been the Brotherly sort.” My voice is so low, he has to lean over the booth to hear it.

He stares at the ground, shifting his feet. “I confess, of late, I’m not entirely certain what sort of man I am.” His tone is rich with disgust. What must he be feeling, having found himself a member of the Brotherhood, with no notion of why?

“What do you mean?” I ask, then flush. In his mind, we barely know each other; I’ve been an occasional customer at his mother’s bookshop, nothing more. Nothing to invite confidences. But I can’t bear the notion that he’s confused and alone and—damn Maura for doing this to him.

“Nothing.” Finn straightens, running both hands through his hair. “I’m sorry to have bothered you.” His voice has gone starched and his shoulders stiff as he remembers the proprieties.

I reach out, fingertips just brushing his wool cloak. “You’re no bother. If I can do anything to help—”

“That’s very kind of you. Very—neighborly.” He barely glances at me as he pulls his hood up and steps away. “Thank you, Miss Cahill.”

Neighborly? I watch him blend back into the crowd, my eyes blurring with tears. Then I kneel, ducking out of sight behind the counter, pretending to riffle through the boxes at my feet.