He had idle time in the day. Idle time that he best look busy for, but idle time nonetheless. Idle time, coin to spare... room to let his mind wander. To things like his family. His reputation, and his future. It was one matter to be one of the invisible hands that prepared food for elite mouths – it was another thing entirely to visibly exist to some posh legitimate bastards and their pampered family.

It wasn’t the first time that week he found himself debating burning a certain unwed daughter's letters. He doubted they were particularly incriminating on their own, but an ounce of prevention was worth a pound of cure.

The best prevention would have been disregarding the first letter entirely. No matter.

It was a strange sort of dread that settled in his stomach, like he’d left a beautiful candle somewhere precarious and just saw the first line of embers catching irreversibly aflame.

He had a basket in hand when someone walked straight into him, sending it flying. A bag flew to the floor, bursting open on impact in a puff of off-white powder. He coughed into his hand and looked to the offender.

“Sorry ma’a-”

His sentence died abruptly, brow raising in confusion only to furrow in recognition. Of course.