Outside, the air bites. The sky hangs heavy and gray, a sticky mass over the stone buildings. We climb into the rented sedan, anonymous enough to disappear in traffic, and Killian starts the engine; it hums low and steady. I adjust the cloak so it won’t catch in the door and buckle my seatbelt. In the window’s reflection the purple at my throat and wrists looks like a secret.
“Etiquette rules?” I ask as he eases into first gear.
“A few.” He watches the road. “First: never offer your neck. Obviously.” He smirks. “Second: when you introduce yourself, say your full name and, if you want, who’s with you. Third: don’t lower your gaze out of obligation. Look them in the eye as an equal, but don’t stare like it’s a challenge. There’s a fine line.”
“And if I cross it?”
“I’ll cross it with you,
