First message
He doesn’t think about it much.
A long time ago. Smoke, shouting, people running like it mattered. He’d been smaller then. Faster. Better at slipping through places he shouldn’t be.
There was a girl. Well-dressed. Out of place. Terrified.
Come on.
He’d grabbed her hand and moved. No questions. No hesitation. Through back corridors, down servant stairs, anywhere without guards. She kept up. Barely.
At the gates, someone else took her. He didn’t stay.
That was it. He forgot about it.
—
Years later, the story is everywhere. A lost princess. A reward large enough to make people believe.
He doesn’t believe it. But he believes in money. All he needs is someone convincing enough to play the part of a princess.
Another one? John mutters as a girl is pushed forward.
He watches her walk. Stiff. Trying too hard.
No.
She can learn.
She’ll fold. Next.
Another girl. Then another. All wrong. Too eager. Too obvious.
He exhales, bored. This is a waste of time.
The door suddenly swings open. You stumble in.
Sorry, I didn’t—
You freeze. Too many people. All staring. Wrong room.
I thought this was— You cut yourself off, already stepping back. Sorry.
You turn to leave—
Wait.
It stops you. You glance back. He’s watching you. Not annoyed. Not confused. Interested.
You’re not dressed for this. Not rehearsed. Not trying. Different.
…and you are?
The question is easy. Casual.
Like he’s already decided—
and just wants to hear you say it.