By the time Corinne was back in her workshop, that feeling of freedom had faded and twisted into the suspicion that what she’d really just done was run away. A feeling enhanced when she closed the door and brushed her hand along the frame, instructing the nima to keep any light from spilling out—to make it look like no one was here.

Okay, so she was hiding. Not exactly empowering. But there it was.

Corinne rubbed at her shoulder as she walked over to her workbench. She might have slammed the flyer door, getting out, which had been cathartic at the time, but it had only reminder her the demon injury wasn’t completely healed yet. She should probably be a little careful. She didn’t know how thorough a job that legionnaire sharir had done, and going to a doctor now would only raise questions.

She did wave open the tablet on her bench and added a reminder to go see her father at the academy. When it was just the two of them, they could talk. Corinne could tell him about the fight with the demon, and then sneak in some complaints about her mother, and that would all be good.

Corinne had hung the nima mirror over her workbench. If any of her teammates wondered about the ornate, elegant decoration in the otherwise utilitarian workshop, no one had said anything.

Now, from that mirror, a low, rich voice spoke, sending a shiver across Corinne’s skin. “I wondered when I’d see you again.”

Lady Snow’s face looked down on her. Exactly the balm Corinne needed right now.

But it was hard to shake the frustration, the anger that had driven her here in the first place. She only managed half a smile in return.

Earning her a searching look from Snow. “Is something wrong, my little dragon?”

Alone in her workshop, talking through the mirror, it fostered a strange sense of intimacy. Of privacy. While the sensible part of Corinne’s brain was still very much aware how little she knew Lady Snow—how little she knew of Lady Snow—the rest of Corinne was so desperate for someone to talk to, so very much in need of a sympathetic ear.

So she confessed. “I walked out of dinner tonight. Just up and left before the first course had even been served.”

“Dinner with your family?”

“Yes. My mother was…she said…” The trouble was, when Corinne tried to remember examples of her mother being horrible, there was nothing she could quote that sounded bad out of context. Nothing that would justify her leaving as anything more than a temper tantrum.

She settled on, “She loves to provoke me, and she’s good at it. I decided rather than start yelling, I’d just leave.” She looked up, straight into Snow’s eyes. “For the first time it occurred to me that I could leave. That I don’t owe her my misery.”

“You don’t owe misery to anyone.”

“I know.” Corinne reached up to touch the face in the mirror, pretending it was skin she felt beneath her fingertips and not cold glass. “I guess it had just never occurred to me, before Shadow Court—before you—that there were other options. That I could choose something else.”

Snow smiled beneath Corinne’s fingers. “You would have come to it on your own. I’m certain of it.”

“I’m not. All my life, she’s been doing this. When I’m around her, I feel like I’m ten again and never quiet enough or smart enough or just good enough. Like if I don’t live up to her expectations, if I don’t follow the path she sees for me I’m…” Worthless was the word that came to Corinne’s mind, but she couldn’t bring herself to say it out loud. Not in front of Snow.

But even from an unknowable distance, Lady Snow retained the unerring ability to see into Corinne’s heart. “You are a brilliant and accomplished young woman with a bright future ahead of you, whatever path you choose.” Her own hand touched the mirror, fingertip to fingertip with Corinne’s. “All that fire—don’t let her take that from you.”

Corinne pressed against the glass, against Snow’s touch—the touch she wished she could feel. But the angle and sudden effort sent a twinge through her shoulder.

Corinne pulled her hand down, rubbing at the injury without thinking about it.

Snow frowned. “Is your shoulder bothering you? You should have it looked at. It’s not good to neglect an injury, especially—”

She stopped, paused only the briefest moment, before brightly, “But you’re a soldier. You’ve done this before. I’m sure you know what’s best.”

What had Snow been about to say? Especially when you’re young? Especially when you’re active?

Or the other ending that ran through Corinne’s mind. A more sinister ending to that aborted sentence. An injury that should be watched closely if it came from a fight with a demon.

But that would mean Lady Snow knew about the demon. Which would mean the efforts to keep that whole business a secret had failed.

If a rumor had spread—and that was a big if, based on words Snow hadn’t even said—if other people knew, then that would mean Corinne could talk about it. She could warn people. She could, if she were brave enough, stand on the parliament dais and publicly ask her mother what was being done to keep people safe.

But that was only if the information was out. For now, Corinne couldn’t ask about the secret without giving it away.

Lady Snow was powerful, and Lady Snow was charming, and she seemed to have connections in very high places. Corinne wouldn’t be surprised to find out she knew things that other people believed were secrets. “Can I ask you—”

Snow held up a hand and her smile fell away. She turned her head, like she was listening to something Corinne couldn’t see or hear. When she turned back, her smile didn’t return. “I’m sorry, my dear, but I must leave you. Something is…I have to go. But we’ll speak again. Soon, I promise.” She touched the mirror again. “I have plans for you.”

Corinne felt herself flush at the implication.

Snow was looking to the side again, distracted. “In the meanwhile, try not to let your family upset you so. Know that I’m thinking about you.”

The mirror went dark, leaving Corinne alone with questions racing through her mind.