“There was,” Aries said. “A minor annoyance. It has been dealt with.”

He walked to the foot of the table, his movements slow and deliberate.

I stepped into the room behind him, holding the wet silk lining in both hands.

The council members stared at me, their brows furrowing at the sight of a woman in wet clothes holding a piece of cloth.

“Who is this?” Vancamp asked, his voice recovering some of its sharpness. “Since when do you bring your seamstresses to council meetings, Thorne?”

“This is Sienna Brooks,” Aries said. “She is the master tailor who has been preparing my winter wardrobe.”

He looked at Vancamp, his eyes cold and steady.

“And she is the one who found your signature in my coats,” he added.

Vancamp scoffed, leaning back in his chair. “This is absurd. You break into a council meeting with a tailor and expect us to take this seriously?”

“Show them, Sienna,” Aries said.

I stepped forward, placing the wet silk onto the polished wood of the table.

The silver-nitrate ink shone under the fluorescent lights of the office.