Page 53 of A Yulean Sister’s Guide to Getting Kidnapped

“Have you?” I assumed he was doing actual research.

“A few scripts about cursed jewelry, but nothing specific to your case.”

He took his glasses off and rubbed at the bridge of his nose. Dark circles sat under his eyes, probably from spending long nights investigating.

“I could help with some actual research,” I said.

His brow pinched as he put his glasses back on. “That’s what you’re here doing.”

“The act isn’t necessary,” I maintained a practiced tone. “I was handed a stack of children’s books.”

“I see the confusion,” he said. “But some of the best information can be found in the pages of passed down tales.”

“So… you think someone wrote a children’s story about my necklace?”

He shrugged. “Stranger things have been seen in this world.”

I contemplated that. At least I wasn’t just being patronized; I guess Shadowhart meant what he said about forcing me to work. And this wasn’t so bad.

“Would you like some tea?” he offered. “I can’t go long without one to sip.”

“I’d love one,” I said. “I didn’t even know there was tea here.” In the mess hall, there was nothing but black sludge they called coffee.

“I keep a special stash,” he said, standing. “You need to hide things like that here. Once⁠—”

He was cut off by the loud sound of tearing. As he stood, his waistcoat pocket caught on the corner of the table and tore from the front, leaving a dangling piece of fabric, and a hole in the coat panel. A couple coins and a travel quill case clanked to the ground.

“Moons!” he yelled. “This is the second one this month.”

“Tear clothes often?” I asked.

He sighed, heading to the kettle in the corner I hadn’t noticed before. It had a magestone in it that glowed brightly when he activated it and began heating the water.

“More often than I’d like. It’s hard to replace waistcoats on a ship.”

I nodded, but then remembered the sewing kit I found.

“I can mend it for you,” I said. “I found a sewing kit.”

“If you don’t mind, I would appreciate it.”

“Let me go grab it.”

I went to my room and back quickly, sewing kit in hand.

He handed the waistcoat over, and I set to looking for a matching thread. The one I found wasn’t perfect, but close, and I started stitching.

“How long have you been sewing for?”

“Years,” I said. “Needlepoint is a very common thing for ladies to do when they gather, so my tutor taught me.”

“Seems you’re very good,” he said, watching me stitch.

I shrugged. “I’m okay. Good enough to put your pocket back together.”

It didn’t take long to fix, with only the pocket tearing.

“Here,” I said, handing it over, “almost good as new.”