"Don't make a sound—otherwise I'll kill you," the gruff voice hissed in the dark. "You're terrible at threats," I said, because you don't get to whisper death to a nine-year-old and expect me not to answer. My shoes were wet from the grotto pool. My hands were stubbornly empty. The man stepped closer. Leather breathed. The point of a blade caught moonlight and promised a bad end. "Shut up," he said. His gloved hand tightened on my arm. The glove smelled like old smoke. He dragged me forward against the moss wall. "Tell your boss your glove smells like old smoke," I said. My teeth clicked when I swallowed. "I don't answer riddles." He laughed. Low, dangerous. "You are loud enough to wake the household," he said. "I don't need riddles. Keep quiet." My head banged the stone when he pushed me. I coughed. A sound like a frog croaked out, and the knife moved. "Stop!" a voice said, sharp and thin. The masked man didn't turn. He was waiting for footsteps, waiting for backup. He was a creature of plans. He believed he had the corner on every angle. A fist hit him from behind. There was a dull crack and the man folded like a puppet cut loose. The knife skittered on moss and stopped by my foot. I blinked. The man on the ground didn't move. Someone knelt beside him and pulled the mask off. "Get