Someone honked behind him.

  Jack blinked, dragging himself back to the present. The traffic had moved forward. The billboard was closer now—Wendy's perfect smile, her father's restaurant empire, the life the Dust built on respectability.

  *A Family Tradition.*

  His phone sat silent in the cupholder.

  Jack pressed the accelerator, tearing his eyes away from the billboard.

  The traffic finally started moving at a steady pace. Jack pressed the accelerator, putting miles between himself and Millbrook, heading toward the capital and whatever his mother wanted from him this time.

  *Hero of Millbrook,* he thought bitterly. *If they only knew.*

  ---

  The caravan of wagons approached the eastern gate of Millbrook as the afternoon sun cast long shadows across the cobblestones. Big Bad sat in the lead wagon, dressed in the flowing silver and gold robes of a Brother of the Sacred Motion, one of those religious groups that believed faith could be expressed through dance and movement. The fabric felt ridiculous against his fur, too loose and shimmery, but it served its purpose.

  Behind him, the twelve princes were simirly dressed the wagon loaded with drums, bells, and the various props of their supposed faith. They looked the part perfectly: young, charismatic, handsome even. Exactly the kind of faces that drew attention.

  That was the point.

  The wall surrounding Jack's city loomed ahead, forty feet of stone and magic-reinforced mortar. Guard towers punctuated the perimeter every hundred yards. Big Bad could see the gate guards in their positions: four visible, probably two more in the guard house just inside.

  Jack ran a tight operation. The "simple mayor who'd killed a giant and brought prosperity to his people" had built Millbrook into one of the most secure cities in the region. Which made sense when you were running a drug empire under everyone's noses.

  The wagon rolled to a stop at the checkpoint.

  A guard stepped forward, hand already out for papers. "State your business."

  "We are Brothers of the Sacred Motion," Big Bad said, affecting the slightly reverent tone these religious types always used. "We've come to share our message of faith through movement with the people of this great city."

  The guard looked distracted. "Papers."

  Big Bad handed over the forged documents: traveling permits, religious organization credentials, all of it perfectly crafted by one of his many contacts. The guard took them, barely gncing at the pages before looking back toward the guard house.

  That was odd.

  Normally Jack's guards were thorough, almost paranoid. The man who'd climbed a beanstalk and stolen from a giant didn't stay on top by being careless.

  Big Bad's enhanced hearing picked up voices from inside the guard house. Magic mirrors. At least three different conversations happening at once.

  "...reports of something in the northern district..."

  "...Captain wants everyone on alert..."

  "...not sure what it is, but..."

  The gate guard was still holding their papers, but his attention kept drifting back toward the guard house. He looked at the documents again, flipped through them without really reading, then gnced at the wagons.

  "How many in your group?"

  "Thirteen brothers," Big Bad said. "Myself and twelve disciples."

  "Right." The guard stamped the papers and shoved them back at Big Bad. "Move through. Stay out of trouble."

  That was it. No inspection of the wagons. No questions about their route or how long they'd be staying. No checking faces against wanted posters or asking about their religious organization's credentials.

  For Jack's guards, that was practically an invitation inside.

  *Way too easy.*

  Big Bad took the reins and guided the wagon through the gate. The other visitors to the city followed in a line, wheels cttering over the threshold and into Millbrook.

  The streets were busy: merchants, citizens, the usual flow of urban life. Jack's city was prosperous, built on the wealth he'd acquired through his various "business ventures." The official story was about giant treasure and smart investments. The reality was drugs, information, and ruthless control.

  The buildings were well-maintained, the streets clean. Guards patrolled in pairs, visible but not oppressive. It all looked so legitimate.

  That was Jack's gift: making people believe the lie.

  Big Bad guided the wagon toward the main pza, three blocks from Jack's compound. That was the pn. Set up the distraction in the pza where the noise and crowd would draw maximum attention. Give Robin and the other half of the Hoods time to get into position and make their approach to Jack's estate where the harp was kept.

  The magical harp that could hear everything, see everything, know everything happening in Millbrook.

  The reason Jack stayed three steps ahead of everyone.

  The reason The Hoods needed a distraction big enough and loud enough to hopefully overwhelm even the harp's awareness.

  The princes were already moving. As the wagon rolled through the streets, they began their preparation: setting up drums on the wagon bed, pulling out bells and ribbons, stretching in that way dancers did before a performance.

  People were already noticing. The princes had that effect. Young, impossibly graceful, with the kind of faces that made people stop and stare. They moved with an effortless precision that spoke of years, probably decades, of practice.

  These weren't just good dancers. These were *the* dancers. The twelve princes from the kingdom with the princesses, who snuck off to some underground kingdom or party. He didn't exactly understand. The princes had been part of it, trapped in that same spell, dancing until dawn in those enchanted ballrooms.

  Now they were part of The Hoods and didn't talk about their past, and their particur skill set made them perfect for this kind of operation.

  The wagon pulled into the pza and stopped. The princes dismounted with fluid grace, already moving to the rhythm of something only they could hear. One of them, Phillip, the eldest, began beating a slow, steady rhythm on his drum.

  The sound echoed across the pza.

  People turned. Stopped. Watched.

  Another prince joined in with bells, the chiming notes weaving through the drumbeat. Then another with a flute, the melody rising and falling in hypnotic patterns.

  The dancing started.

  Big Bad had seen the princes practice. Had even joined in a few times during rehearsals because the cover required it. He could hold his own: keep rhythm, follow the basic movements, not embarrass himself. But watching them now, in full performance mode, was something else entirely.

  They moved like it was a part of them, like wind, like something that existed outside normal mortality. Spins and leaps that should have been impossible without magic or some sort of technology, formations that shifted and flowed with unworldly precision. Their robes caught the light, gold and silver fshing in the afternoon sun.

  The crowd began to gather. First a few curious onlookers, then more, then dozens. The princes danced through the growing audience, encouraging people to join, to move, to feel the rhythm. Some did, ughing and clumsy compared to the princes' perfection, but the princes made it work, incorporated them into the performance.

  It was becoming a parade, a moving celebration that would wind through the streets toward Jack's compound.

  Perfect.

  Big Bad moved with them, doing the basic steps he'd practiced. He wasn't terrible. His natural coordination helped. But next to the princes, he was clearly just a participant, not a performer. That was fine. His job was to be present, to maintain the cover, and to watch for problems.

  And there was a problem.

  The city guards were watching the performance, yes, but they seemed distracted. Tense. Their hands kept moving to their mirrors, checking for messages. One pair of guards near the pza's edge were having a hurried conversation, gncing toward the northern gates.

  The same direction . He heard the guards talking about.

  Big Bad pulled his own mirror from inside his robes, keeping it concealed as he moved with the dancing crowd. He activated it with a touch, the surface rippling as it connected.

  Roslyn's face appeared. She was aboard the craft. He could see the rest of the Hoods standing around.

  "Red," Big Bad said quietly, the noise of the dancing and music covering his words. "We're in position. Distraction is active and working well. But something's wrong."

  Her eyes sharpened. "Wrong how?"

  "Gate guards barely looked at our papers. Jack's people are never that sloppy. Too distracted. I can hear them on their mirrors. Something's happening in the northern district. Multiple guards responding to something."

  Roslyn's expression shifted, calcuting. Behind her, Big Bad could see the inside of the craft. She and Robin's team were already in position, probably preparing for the jump.

  "You think Jack knows we're coming?" she asked.

  "Don't know. But whatever's got the guards distracted, it's not us. It's something else." Big Bad did a turn, keeping his movements simple while scanning the pza. "And I don't believe in coincidences."

  A prince spun past Big Bad, bells chiming, drawing a cheer from the crowd. The parade was growing, people joining the dancing, following the princes through the streets. Exactly as pnned.

  But the guards' distraction wasn't pnned.

  "We'll keep the distraction going," Big Bad said. "Moving toward Jack's compound as discussed. But be ready for complications. If that harp picks up whatever's happening in the north *and* notices the rest of the team..."

  "Understood." Roslyn's eyes moved, looking at something off mirror. "I'll rey to Robin. We're in pce. Stay sharp, Wolf."

  "Always."

  The mirror went reflective.

  Big Bad slipped it back into his robes and continued dancing. The princes were in their element now, the crowd growing rger with every block. People were ughing, cpping, some attempting the more complex moves and failing spectacurly. The princes made it all seem effortless, like they could dance forever and never tire.

  Big Bad did a turn, passable but nothing spectacur, and scanned the surroundings. The parade was moving through the merchant district now, one block closer to Jack's compound.

  Robin and the other half of the Hoods would be making their move soon. Infiltrate and extract the harp.