The weight of Lord Greymoor's signet ring pressed against Nyelle's palm. She closed her fingers around it, feeling the intricate falcon crest impressed in gold. Four days of careful observation had revealed the nobleman's habit of removing the ring while writing correspondence—a small vanity to avoid ink stains on the valuable heirloom. More importantly, she'd noted exactly where he placed it on his desk, just within reach of the half-open window.
From her perch in the oak tree outside Greymoor's study, Nyelle had a perfect view of his writing table. The afternoon sun cast long shadows through the leaded glass, illuminating dust motes that danced in the still air. For three consecutive days, she'd watched the nobleman's routine without interference, learning his patterns, identifying the moment of opportunity.
Today she'd finally acted, her small hand darting through the window gap the instant Greymoor left to answer his steward's summons. The targeted theft would serve two purposes: providing a valuable item she could pawn if necessary, and—more importantly—testing whether Greymoor would connect this loss to her previous visits as his supposed illegitimate daughter.
Her first attempt to exploit the nobleman had ended in disaster and death. This refined approach carried less immediate reward but significantly reduced risk.
"Nyelle!" Torvald's voice carried from below. "Where have you disappeared to, child?"
She quickly pocketed the ring and descended the tree with practiced ease, dropping the final few feet to land silently on the grass.
"Here, Father," she called, emerging from behind a hedge with an innocent expression. "I was watching the noble ladies arrive for Lady Emmeline's tea gathering."
Torvald stood at the edge of the public gardens that adjoined the Greymoor property, his new guard lieutenant's uniform lending him an authority that transformed his bearing. The past week in his new position had already begun erasing the dock laborer's stoop from his shoulders.
"You shouldn't wander off," he admonished, though without real anger. "These gardens may be open to the public, but they're still meant for the Upper Quarter residents."
"The flowers are prettier here," Nyelle said, taking his calloused hand. "And I wanted to see you in your patrol."
Torvald's expression softened. "Well, I'm finishing my rounds now. Walk with me back to the gate, and I'll see you home before my evening shift."
As they strolled along the manicured paths, Nyelle kept careful watch for any signs of disturbance from the Greymoor residence. If the nobleman discovered his ring missing too quickly, the gardens might be searched before she could leave with her prize.
"You seem distracted," Torvald observed, his gaze sharp despite his casual tone. "Anything troubling you?"
Nyelle shook her head, grateful that questioning her knowledge was fundamentally different from questioning Return by Death itself. "Just thinking about Aerik's new position. Do you think Master Hemings will make him a full assistant after the trial period?"
The diversion worked, shifting their conversation to the family's improving fortunes as they exited the gardens. By the time they reached Cooper's Lane, Nyelle had almost relaxed, confident her theft had gone undetected—at least for now.
The Harringer home felt different lately. Small improvements had appeared with the family's increased income—new rushes on the floor, a second candle burning in the evening instead of just one, a ham hock hanging from the ceiling beam for next week's soup. The desperate edge of poverty had softened, though they remained firmly within the Lower Quarter's working class.
Elina looked up from her mending when they entered, her face brightening at the sight of Torvald in his uniform. "Home before sunset? What luxury is this?"
"Just seeing our wanderer safely back," Torvald replied, dropping a kiss on his wife's head. "I'm due at the north gate for the evening watch."
"I've left stew warming for both of you," Elina said, gesturing toward the hearth. "Aerik won't be home until after inventory is complete. Master Hemings has a shipment arriving from the southern provinces."
After Torvald departed for his night duty, Nyelle helped Elina with household chores, her mind still partially occupied with the stolen ring. She needed to determine its true value without raising suspicion. More importantly, she needed to ensure it couldn't be traced back to her or the Harringers.
"Mother," she ventured as they washed the dinner bowls, "do you know any trustworthy jewelry merchants? I heard Lady Meredith's maid talking about selling a brooch her mistress gave her."
Elina raised an eyebrow. "Curious topic for a child your age."
"I just wondered how people know they're getting a fair price for valuable things," Nyelle explained with practiced innocence.
"Well," Elina said thoughtfully, "Cordwainer Pettigrew's brother is a silver merchant in the Central Market. They say he's fair with his appraisals, unlike some who cheat the desperate." She gave Nyelle a curious look. "Why the sudden interest in jewelry trading?"
"Just something I overheard," Nyelle replied with a shrug. "It seemed interesting."
That night, alone on her straw mattress, Nyelle examined the stolen ring in the dim firelight. The signet was larger than necessary for its purpose, the gold band thick and heavy—a statement of wealth as much as a practical tool. The falcon crest was expertly engraved, marking it clearly as Greymoor property.
It could never be sold intact. The risk was too great. But the gold itself would fetch a significant sum if melted down. Nirei's knowledge of precious metals included enough basic understanding to recognize high-quality gold when he saw it.
The next morning, Nyelle concealed the ring in a hidden pocket she'd sewn into her dress and headed toward the Central Market, supposedly to purchase herbs for Elina. The busy trading hub occupied a large square in the middle of Yorkton, with permanent shops lining the perimeter and temporary stalls filling the center.
Pettigrew's Silver and Fine Metals occupied a narrow storefront on the square's eastern edge. A bell chimed softly as Nyelle entered, announcing her presence to the thin, bespectacled man arranging silver spoons in a display case.
"Off with you," he said without looking up. "I don't need whatever you're selling, child."
"I'm not selling, Master Pettigrew," Nyelle replied politely. "I'm inquiring about a service."
The merchant looked up, adjusting his spectacles as he studied her. "Aren't you Torvald Harringer's girl? The seamstress's daughter?"
"Yes, sir," she confirmed, affecting a slight nervousness that wasn't entirely feigned. "My mother speaks highly of your brother's craftsmanship."
The flattery softened his expression slightly. "What service would a child need from a silver merchant?"
Nyelle glanced around the shop, confirming they were alone before approaching the counter. "I found something," she said, lowering her voice conspiratorially. "Something valuable, I think. But I don't know its worth, and I'm afraid of being cheated if I try to sell it."
Pettigrew's eyebrows rose. "Found something, did you? And where exactly did this finding occur?"
"By the river, sir," she lied smoothly. "Washed up on the bank after the spring flooding. I think someone upstream must have lost it during the high water."
The merchant didn't look entirely convinced, but curiosity overcame his suspicion. "Well then, let's see this river treasure."
Nyelle withdrew a small object from her pocket—not the ring, but a copper bracelet she'd legitimately found months earlier while exploring the city. A test to gauge Pettigrew's honesty before risking the more valuable item.
"Hmm." The merchant took the bracelet, examining it with practiced eyes. "Common copper, simple craftsmanship. Worth perhaps three coppers for the metal itself, maybe five to someone who likes the design."
His assessment matched Nyelle's own estimation—a good sign. "Thank you, sir," she said, taking back the bracelet. "That's very helpful."
"Is that all you wanted?" Pettigrew asked, clearly expecting something more substantive after her secretive approach.
Nyelle hesitated, then made her decision. "Actually, sir, there was something else." She lowered her voice further. "But this must remain between us. My father would be furious if he knew I'd been near the river unsupervised."
The merchant leaned closer, professional interest piqued. "You have my discretion, child."
With calculated reluctance, Nyelle produced a small cloth bundle and carefully unwrapped it on the counter—not to reveal the ring intact, but a small piece she'd managed to pry loose from the band using Torvald's tools during the night. The fragment was barely the size of her smallest fingernail, but clearly gold.
"The whole thing broke when I tried cleaning it," she explained, the lie coming easily. "This was the only piece I could find afterward."
Pettigrew picked up the gold fragment with tweezers, examining it closely. He rubbed it against a dark stone, then applied a liquid that made the resulting streak change color.
"High-quality gold," he announced, looking at her with newfound interest. "Where exactly did you say you found this?"
"The north bend of the river, sir," Nyelle replied without hesitation. "Where the old pier collapsed last winter."
The merchant nodded slowly, clearly calculating something in his mind. "I could offer you twelve silver pieces for this fragment," he said finally. "A fair price for the metal itself."
Nyelle pretended to consider the offer, though she'd already determined from Aerik's merchant contacts that the actual value was closer to fifteen silver. The slight undervaluation confirmed Pettigrew wasn't entirely honest, but neither was he grossly exploitative.
"Would you be interested if I found more pieces?" she asked tentatively.
A gleam appeared in the merchant's eye. "Most certainly. Gold of this quality is uncommon in river findings. I would provide equitable compensation for any additional pieces you might... recover."
The arrangement was perfect—better than she'd hoped. She could gradually bring small fragments of the dismantled ring to Pettigrew, claiming they were ongoing discoveries from the same location. It would avoid the suspicion that selling the entire ring at once might create, while still converting the stolen gold to usable currency.
"Thank you, Master Pettigrew," she said, accepting the offered coins and carefully wrapping them in cloth. "I'll be sure to bring any other pieces directly to you."
As she left the shop, Nyelle felt the familiar thrill of a successful scheme unfolding. The plan required patience—the ring would need to be broken down gradually, brought to Pettigrew in small fragments over weeks rather than days—but it eliminated the worst risks associated with her original approach to Greymoor.
The market bustled around her as she made her way toward the herbalist's stall to complete her ostensible errand. Vendors called their wares, customers haggled over prices, and city guards maintained a watchful presence against pickpockets and scam artists. Nyelle navigated through the crowd with practiced invisibility, her small size an advantage in the press of bodies.
"Harringer's girl!" a voice called, stopping her mid-step.
She turned to find one of Torvald's fellow guards approaching, his uniform marking him as part of the market patrol.
"Sergeant Keller," she greeted him, recognizing her father's colleague. "Is something wrong?"
"Just keeping an eye out," the guard replied, studying her with vague suspicion. "Interesting to see you coming from Pettigrew's shop. Not the usual place for a child to conduct business."
Ice formed in Nyelle's stomach. Had she been observed? Was Torvald being watched because of her activities?
She adopted her most innocent expression. "Master Pettigrew's brother made Mother's thimble. The silver one she uses for Lady Meredith's fine work. It needs repair, and she asked me to inquire about the cost."
The explanation seemed to satisfy him. "I see. Well, tell your father I look forward to sharing watch duties next week. His combat techniques have been most educational for the younger guards."
"I'll tell him," Nyelle promised, exhaling silently in relief as the sergeant continued his patrol.
The close call emphasized the need for greater caution. Torvald's new position placed the family under increased scrutiny. Any connection to criminal activity—even minor theft—could destroy the respectability the Harringers had worked so hard to establish.
After purchasing the herbs Elina had requested, Nyelle took a circuitous route home, using the opportunity to check if Lord Greymoor's loss had become public knowledge. Near the Upper Quarter gates, she paused to listen to a group of house servants gossiping as they collected water from the public fountain.
"—absolutely furious," a round-faced woman was saying. "Turned the entire study upside down looking for it. Even accused poor Hemmons of theft after twenty years of loyal service!"
"The signet ring?" another servant asked. "The one with the falcon crest?"
"The very same," the first woman confirmed. "Been in his family for five generations, he claims. Lady Emmeline says he's inconsolable. Can't properly seal correspondence without it."
Nyelle moved on, satisfaction warming her chest. The theft had been discovered, but no connection had been made to her. Greymoor was looking inward, suspecting his own household rather than an outside infiltrator.
By the time she reached home, Nyelle had formulated the next phase of her plan. The twelve silver pieces from Pettigrew represented just the beginning. Properly managed, the remainder of the ring could generate enough coin to significantly improve the Harringers' circumstances without raising suspicion about the sudden influx of wealth.
Elina looked up from her sewing as Nyelle entered. "Did you get the feverfew? Lady Meredith's headaches are worsening with the summer heat."
"Yes, Mother," Nyelle replied, producing the herb bundle. "And I saw something interesting at the market today."
"Oh?" Elina threaded her needle without looking up.
"Master Hemings was purchasing a new apprentice bench," Nyelle said casually. "He mentioned needing it because Aerik is taking on additional responsibilities with the account ledgers."
The information—gleaned from actual observation rather than foreknowledge—brought a smile to Elina's face. "Your brother has found his proper place, it seems. A blessing after so many years at that dreadful tannery."
"And Father seems happier in the guard service," Nyelle observed, settling beside Elina with her own small mending task.
"Indeed." Elina's needle flashed in the afternoon light. "Though I worry sometimes. The Upper Quarter has expectations for guard families that our circumstances don't always meet."
The opening was perfect. Nyelle hesitated just long enough to seem natural before offering, "I've been saving my market errand payments. Perhaps we could use them to purchase better fabric for your work? Lady Meredith might recommend you to her friends if your samples were more impressive."
Elina looked up in surprise. "That's thoughtful, Nyelle, but children's pocket money doesn't purchase quality fabric."
"I'm very careful with what you and Father give me," Nyelle insisted, withdrawing three silver pieces from her hidden pocket—a fraction of what Pettigrew had paid, but a plausible amount for a frugal child to have saved. "See? Enough for at least some better thread and maybe small fabric samples."
The seamstress stared at the coins in genuine shock. "Nyelle! How did you—" She stopped, suspicion narrowing her eyes. "Where did this money come from?"
"I saved it," Nyelle replied, injecting a note of wounded pride into her voice. "A copper at a time. Sometimes the fishmonger pays me to deliver messages. And old Widow Hennet gives me a copper piece each time I read the temple notices to her."
The explanation combined truth with fiction—she had performed such small services, though they couldn't possibly account for three silver pieces. But Elina wanted to believe her daughter was simply industrious and frugal.
"You've been keeping secrets," Elina said, though her tone had softened. "You should have told us about your little jobs."
"I wanted it to be a surprise," Nyelle explained, biting her lip in calculated contrition. "For your Birthday. But when you mentioned the Upper Quarter expectations..."
Elina gathered her into a warm embrace. "You precious child. Always thinking of others." She held Nyelle at arm's length, studying her face with maternal pride. "Your father and I have worried about that smart mind of yours, but you're using it for good, aren't you?"
Guilt twisted unexpectedly in Nyelle's chest. The genuine affection in Elina's eyes made the manipulation feel suddenly, uncomfortably wrong. This woman who wasn't really her mother loved her unconditionally, believing the best of her despite evidence of secretive behavior.
"I just want to help," Nyelle said softly, surprised to find the words were true.
That evening, when Torvald returned from his shift and Aerik from his work with Master Hemings, Elina proudly related Nyelle's "surprise savings" and generous offer to invest in better sewing materials.
"Always knew you were sharp as a tack," Torvald said, ruffling her hair affectionately. "But I hadn't realized you were finding paying work around the neighborhood."
"Nothing dangerous," Nyelle assured him quickly. "Just errands and reading for those who can't."
Aerik studied her with speculative eyes but said nothing to contradict her story. Later, as they prepared for sleep, he cornered her near the hearth.
"Silver pieces from running errands?" he whispered, raising an eyebrow. "You'd need to deliver messages from sunrise to sunset for months to earn that much."
Nyelle met his gaze steadily. "I'm resourceful."
"That you are," he agreed. "Just be careful, little phantom. Some resourcefulness can lead to the flogging post."
The warning sent an involuntary shiver through her. Despite knowing she could Reset after death, the memory of the lash remained vivid enough to cause physical distress.
"I'm always careful," she replied, turning away to arrange her sleeping mat.
Over the following weeks, Nyelle implemented her plan with methodical precision. Every few days, she would "discover" another small fragment of gold during supposed explorations, bringing them to Pettigrew for increasingly substantial payments. The merchant never questioned her unlikely streak of good fortune, too eager to acquire the high-quality gold at below-market prices.
The resulting silver was introduced gradually into the Harringer household—small amounts presented as legitimate earnings from neighborhood jobs, gifts from satisfied customers, or lucky finds in the market. Elina used some to purchase finer materials for her seamstress work, elevating the quality of her samples and attracting wealthier clients. Torvald replaced his worn boots with sturdier ones more befitting his guard position. Aerik established a small investment with a midtown merchant, the first step toward his dream of an independent trading operation.
Meanwhile, Nyelle kept careful watch for any connection between her activities and Lord Greymoor's lost ring. The nobleman had eventually offered a substantial reward for its return, but as weeks passed with no results, the incident gradually faded from Upper Quarter gossip. Greymoor himself seemed to have accepted the loss, commissioning a replacement from the royal jeweler according to servants' rumors.
One month after her Reset, Nyelle sat on the riverbank, watching the late summer sun glint off the water's surface. The final piece of Greymoor's ring—the falcon crest itself—rested in her palm. Unlike the gold band, this distinctive element couldn't simply be melted down. It required special handling.
"Planning to skate stones?"
Nyelle started at Aerik's voice, quickly closing her fingers around the evidence. He stood a few paces away, his new leather apron marking his improved status as Master Hemings' official assistant.
"Just thinking," she replied, slipping the crest piece into her pocket as she turned to face him.
"You do a lot of that lately." He settled beside her on the grassy bank. "Mother and Father have noticed too."
The observation wasn't accusatory, merely thoughtful. Nyelle chose her response carefully.
"I realized something when I was sick," she said, offering a version of truth that wouldn't trigger the shadowy punishment. "Life can end suddenly. It made me want to help our family while I can."
Aerik nodded slowly. "Noble thought. Though your methods remain mysterious."
"Does it matter, if the results benefit everyone?" she countered.
"Depends on the risk." His expression grew serious. "The guard captain was at our shop today, showing Master Hemings a distinctive piece of metalwork. A falcon crest, removed from a gold band."
Ice formed in Nyelle's stomach. Her hand instinctively covered the pocket containing the very item he described.
"Apparently," Aerik continued, watching her reaction closely, "they've traced fragments of Lord Greymoor's missing signet ring to various metal merchants across Yorkton. They're seeking the final piece—the crest itself—and whoever has been selling the dismantled ring."
Nyelle fought to maintain a neutral expression. "What a strange theft," she managed. "Why break apart something so valuable?"
"To avoid detection, obviously," Aerik replied. "Clever, actually. Almost worked perfectly." He leaned closer, lowering his voice. "The guard is offering immunity for information, not punishment. They want to understand who took it and how they breached Greymoor's security."
The implication was clear. Aerik suspected her involvement but was offering a path to safety. Turn informant, claim to have found the ring, and avoid prosecution.
For a brief moment, Nyelle considered it. The majority of the ring's value had already been converted to silver and distributed through the family. The remaining crest piece was the most dangerous to possess but represented a small portion of the overall worth.
But immunity would require explanation. How had she obtained the ring? Why had she broken it apart? The investigation would inevitably lead to questions the Harringers couldn't answer without revealing darker truths about their daughter's activities.
"I should head home," Nyelle said instead, rising to her feet. "Mother will be wondering where I've gone."
Aerik caught her wrist gently. "Little phantom," he said softly, using the nickname with deliberate significance, "whatever you're involved in, be careful. Father's position would be forfeit if his daughter were implicated in Upper Quarter theft."
The reminder stung precisely because it was true. Nyelle had justified her scheme as benefiting the Harringers, but discovery would destroy everything she'd helped them build.
"I understand," she replied, meeting his eyes directly. "Some secrets are best laid to rest permanently."
That night, under cover of darkness, Nyelle slipped from the house and made her way to the river's edge. The crest piece—the final evidence connecting her to Greymoor's ring—dropped from her fingers into the deep current with barely a splash. The water closed over it instantly, carrying the golden falcon to rest among the river's accumulated treasures.
No one would find it now. The investigation would eventually conclude that whoever stole the ring had panicked after the heightened security measures, disposing of the distinctive crest rather than risking its discovery.
As she walked home through Yorkton's silent streets, Nyelle reflected on the lessons of her refined con. Unlike her first disastrous approach, this method had yielded substantial benefits with minimal risk. The Harringer family's circumstances had improved significantly—not enough to lift them from the Lower Quarter entirely, but enough to secure their positions and provide foundation for future advancement.
More importantly, she'd proven that knowledge from her previous timeline could be leveraged effectively despite the restrictions imposed by Return by Death. The rule of silence hadn't prevented her from using what she'd learned to navigate a safer, more productive path.
When she slipped back into the dark house, Aerik's voice nearly made her jump out of her skin.
"Problem solved?" he asked from his sleeping pallet.
Nyelle hesitated, then nodded once in the darkness. "Permanently."
"Good." He turned over, pulling his blanket higher. "Some questions are better left unanswered."
As Nyelle settled onto her own straw mattress, she realized Aerik had offered her something precious—understanding without explanation, trust without confession. He suspected what she'd done but chose to protect her rather than expose her.
The bond between them felt suddenly, unexpectedly real. Not the fabricated relationship of an impostor wearing Nyelle's body, but a genuine connection between siblings who protected each other's secrets.
For the first time, Nyelle fell asleep feeling truly part of the Harringer family, her refined con having yielded something far more valuable than silver coins.