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My gooey heart melts a little at his admission, but I’ve known him just a little too long and a little too deeply to trust those wide silver eyes of his.

I look at him skeptically. “With normal people, no. With you? Absolutely.”

He smirks over the rim of his espresso, the first sign that I’m right. He does have something up his sleeve.

“So what is it?”

“You’ll find out soon enough.”

I do find out soon enough. The moment we reenter our suite, my training leathers appear on our bed.

I groan. “But I thought we were on vacation?”

“Your enemies don’t care about your vacation.”

He does have a point.

It’s no use fighting him on this; I already feel Des’s magic compelling me onward. Grumbling, I don the clothes as best I can, Des helping me secure the top around my wings, and the two of us head out of the room.

We leave the hotel and trek toward the dark wilderness that borders the city center. And itiswilderness, pretty as it is. I trip over loose roots and have to push ferns and exotic flowering plants out of the way as we bushwhack a path through the overgrowth.

The farther we walk, the more sluggish my movements become. I think it’s simple exhaustion from last night until the sensation becomes so extreme that it feels like I’m in a slow-motion action sequence. Des, meanwhile, seems to be moving just fine.

The wilderness opens to a clearing, and Des stops, turning toward me. He tosses me a sword, and it takes a ridiculous amount of effort to lift my arm and snatch it out of the air.

Mirth dances in his eyes. “Sword up, Callie.”

I tug the weapon from its sheath, my limbs heavy. It takes forever for me to lift my sword, and by the time I do lift it fully, he’s already coming at me. It’s all I can do to duck and dodge his blows. And he’s going easy on me. So pathetically easy.

“Faster, Callie.”

There is no way in heaven or earth that I can move any faster. I can barelymoveas is. It’s like trying to swim through honey. Not even the kick-ass leather outfit I wear makes up for the particular torture of training today.

Des, meanwhile, doesn’t seem afflicted by the same issue I’m having. Whether it’s because the place doesn’t affect him, or he’s using magic to counteract its effects, he moves swiftly, coming at me so much faster than I can defend myself.

I don’t know how he does it with such accuracy, but each time Des nicks me with the sword, he strategically slices into my outfit, making little cutouts in the leather. I now have dozens of tiny triangles speckling my upper chest and my outer thighs. And not once have I landed so much as a blow on him.

Not once.

Finally, after what feels like an eternity, Des announces training’s over for the day.

I fall into a heap, the sword clattering to the ground next to me. From the ends of my hair to the tips of my toes, I’m tired; my outfit looks like a cutout snowflake; and right now, I don’t give a damn about pretty much anything.

Day: 1. Callie: 0.

“You did good,” Des says, coming over to me. “This place is enchanted to move slower than the rest of the world—it’s said to mimic a slow-motion dream.”

That would’ve been helpful to know beforehand.

Of course, it doesn’t affect Des the same way it does me.

Sneaky fairy.

I lay my cheek on my knees, exhausted from the training.

He crouches next to me, his knuckles stroking my face. “We can’t rest just yet. We’ve got to move on to the next island.” His voice sounds half-apologetic.

There’s just no way I’m dragging my butt off this patch of grass.