“Mm.” Lianna turned a page. “You’ve been processing the same window for twenty minutes. What is it—your father’s estate? The new girl at the alchemy guild who uses too much moonstone?”

Lianna Lawson didn’t look up from the worn paperback in her lap. Where Claire was all shadow and cathedral arches, Lianna was the flicker before a storm—copper-red hair pinned in a loose twist, a single rune tattoo peeking from her collar. Her smile was a slow weapon.

“You’re brooding again,” came a voice from the chaise lounge, dry as vermouth.

Claire’s lips twitched. “Neither.”