The iron gate of the Blackwood Estate didn't just lock people out; it seemed to warn them that what lay inside was never meant to be disturbed. Its bars were thick, twisted into the likeness of gnarled vines and clutching talons, topped with rusted spikes that tore at the moonlight. To the wealthy guests arriving in their horse-drawn carriages, the gate was a symbol of prestige. To Mia, it was a challenge.
She crouched in the canopy of an ancient oak tree, her boots gripping the rough bark. From her vantage point, she could see the entire sweep of the driveway. The carriages moved like a slow-moving glitter-snake, their lanterns flickering through the fog.
A sudden whoosh of air brushed her cheek. A great horned owl landed on a branch mere inches from her face. Its amber eyes were unblinking, twin gold coins reflecting the distant ballroom lights.
"Not tonight , friend. "Mia whispered, her voice barely a thread of sound. "I'm the only one hunting, tonight "
Mia waited for the gap between the guards' patrols. She knew their rhythm—the heavy clink of their armor, the boredom in their sighs. When the lead guard turned the corner to light a pipe, Mia dropped. She didn't fall so much as melt from the tree, landing in a silent crouch on the damp moss.
She avoided the main gate entirely. Instead, she moved toward the "Iron gates" secret flaw: a section of the perimeter wall where a massive root had split the stone decades ago. Shoving aside a curtain of frozen ivy, she squeezed into the narrow crevice. The stone was ice-cold, pressing against her ribs, threatening to trap her in a tomb of granite. For a moment, panic flared—a frantic beat of her heart against her chest—but she forced a slow breath.
Shift. slide .Excel
She popped out on the other side, shedding a few stray leaves from her dark cloak. She was inside.
The Glittering Trap
The transition was like stepping into a fever dream. Behind her lay the silent, starving woods. Ahead of her was the Blackwood Gala.
The air changed instantly. The scent of pine and decay was replaced by a cloying cloud of jasmine, expensive tobacco, and roasted pheasant. The silence was shattered by the upbeat, frantic trill of a violin quartet playing a waltz.
Mia stayed low, moving through the manicured hedges of the labyrinthine garden. She passed a fountain where the water had been dyed deep violet to match the evening's theme. Through the towering French doors of the ballroom, she could see them—the elite. They moved in synchronized circles, their silks and satins shimmering like the scales of exotic fish.
Mia reached into the hidden lining of her cloak. Her fingers brushed against the cold, smooth surface of her mask. It was a masterpiece of porcelain and gold leaf, molded into the sharp, predatory features of an owl.
She took off her heavy traveling hood, letting her hair fall loose before pinning it back with a silver dagger-comb. She pulled the mask over her face. The world narrowed through the slanted eye-slits.
She wasn't Mia the orphan, or Mia the thief, anymore. As she stepped out from the shadows of the hedges and onto the marble terrace, she smoothed her skirts and lifted her chin. She looked like a nightmare dressed in velvet.
A footman at the door bowed low, his eyes never rising to meet hers. "your invitation, my lady ? "
Mia didn't flinch. She reached into her pocket and produced a heavy, gold-pressed card she'd lifted from a drunk Duke three nights prior. "You're late in asking " she said, her voice dropping into a practiced, aristocratic purr.
The man stammered an apology and pulled the heavy oak door open. A wall of heat and music hit her. Mia stepped onto the polished floor, her eyes already scanning the room for the one thing she'd come to steal.