Melody Verdane stepped onto the polished wood platform inside the glass gazebo and finished her song. Pink hair damp at her temples, she bowed to the small, perfumed crowd. She had only meant to sing for coin enough to leave the city. One more road, one more land she had never walked. That was the whole of her plan. The patron rose from his velvet chair. He pressed a gilded cage into her hands. Inside sat two sleek black crows, their orange eyes fixed on her face. "They will travel with you," he said, smiling. "Everywhere. So I always hear my bard's voice." He told her the gazebo had been built for her. He told her she would sing here, and only here, from now on. Melody set the cage down on the platform. She thanked him plainly and said no. She said she was leaving at dawn. His smile did not move. He told her the city's main gatehouse answered to him. A stone keep with ironbound doors, the only road out wide enough for a traveler on foot. By morning, he said, her name would be on a list there. The crows shifted in their cage, watching. Melody picked up her pack and walked out into the night. The road north was closed to her now. But she had heard him flinch when she sang the last verse, and that meant the song had struck something true. She turned toward the narrow woodland path no carriage could take, and started walking.

The woodland path swallowed the city's lights behind her. Melody walked fast, pack tight on her shoulder. Above her, two black shapes slid from branch to branch. The crows had not stayed in their cage. They tracked her, orange eyes bright, calling soft notes back toward the city walls. She stopped and tried to shoo them off. They only hopped higher. Each cry felt like a flare lifted over the trees. Somewhere behind, boots would already be moving. Her plan to slip away quietly was unraveling with every wingbeat. A low whistle came from the brush. A lean figure stepped onto the path, hood drawn, knife sheathed at the hip. He raised both hands, then pointed at a small stone tucked beside a root. A faint mark was scratched into its face. "Follow the stones," he said. "I left them for you. They lead off the path." He shrugged a heavy travel sack from his shoulder and pressed it into her arms. Bread, dried meat, a waterskin shifting inside. "Quiet feet. The birds talk for their master." He drew his blade, looked up at the crows, and threw. One bird dropped in a black tumble. The other shrieked and tore back toward the city. Melody ran. She followed the small marked stones between the trees, each one waiting where the last had promised. The trail bent away from the woodland path and ended at a low wooden shack tucked under heavy pines. The rogue eased the door open behind her and slid the bolt. She set the sack down and breathed. One crow was dead. One was flying home with her direction in its throat. She was fed, hidden, and no longer alone — and the patron's men now knew exactly which woods to search.