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“What about the tattoo?” I bite down on my lip, fearing that not only has time run out, but also that it’ll be impossible to hide, much less explain, should Arthur ever catch sight of it.

My dad looks at me, a deep, understanding flickering in his gaze. Then, leaning down to place a tender kiss onto my forehead, he says, “I have a feeling the mark will find you.” He speaks with the sort of quiet certainty I find myself cleaving to.

Then, taking my hand in his, he says, “And Natasha”—his tone grows more solemn—“I meant what I said about not trying to save me. I’ve found my peace with it, and now it’s time for you to find yours.”

I avert my eyes, staring down at my shoes in a silent rebellion against his acceptance of fate.

“You know,” he says, gently lifting my chin, guiding my gaze back to his, “there’s a Zen proverb that says:When the student is ready, the teacher will appear. When the student is truly ready, the teacher will disappear.”

A wave of uncertainty washes over me. “I feel ready,” I say, “but what if that’s just wishful thinking?” The question slips out, tinged with vulnerability.

“It’s not,” he assures me. “And someday soon, you’ll know that for yourself. But I’d be remiss not to urge you to try to determine exactly what drives Arthur to do what he does. Something tells me it goes far beyond a simple love of beauty and art. And it may provide just the clue you need to figure out how to stop him.”

I nod, a mix of hope and apprehension swirling within me. Knowing these are my final moments with him, and wanting to end on a lighter note, I playfully tug at the frayed hem of the borrowed T-shirt. “Is it okay if I keep this?”

My dad laughs, a rich, warm sound that’s so infectious, I can’t help but join in.

The laughter continues as we exit the apartment and head down the hall, connected in an unspoken understanding, we make our way to where Elodie waits.

13

“I still don’t get how you know Arthur’s back,” Elodie says, her voice rising above the cacophony of city sounds as we leave my dad’s building and step onto the bustling street.

“I just need you to trust me,” I say, my voice firm despite the gnawing hunger that seizes my belly the second I catch a whiff of grilled burgers and fries wafting from a nearby restaurant. Its welcoming lights seem to beckon as I stare longingly into the window.

No time,I remind myself, as I summon the strength to rush past. We’ll eat when we get back to Gray Wolf. If Arthur’s still willing to feed us, that is.

Elodie casts a skeptical glance my way. “Fine. Whatever,” she says. “But before we go, there’s something I need you to see—”

Before I can react, she’s latched onto my arm and is pulling me into the middle of traffic. Joined in a frenzied dance of blaring horns and shouting drivers, we dart through buses and cars, racing toward the other side of the street.

“I’d really prefer not to die in these ridiculous jeans,” I grumble under my breath, only half joking. When she stops before a storefront with a flashing neon eye in the window, I glance between her and the sign. “Elodie, what the—”

She’s just about to press the buzzer when the door swings open, an older woman steps out, and Elodie swoops in. “Here, let me get that for you,” she says, acting as though she’s only trying to help instead of her real mission of gaining entry without taking the risk of announcing herself.

The woman narrows her eyes, casting a suspicious glance in our direction. Then, deciding it’s not her problem, she rushes onto the sidewalk without a second glance.

“After you,” Elodie says, her voice tinged with an unspoken secret.

Reluctantly, I step inside the psychic’s lair, a room that reminds me a bit of my dad’s secret den. The walls are draped in rich purple tapestries adorned with celestial patterns that seem to dance in the dim light. Shelves overflow with an eclectic mix of mystical artifacts: crystal balls, tarot decks, and astrology books. The pungent scent of burning incense fills the air.

I’m about to question the logic of visiting a psychic when Elodie already knows the future—or at least everything that’s going to happen over the course of the next twenty-six years—but the words quickly die on my lips as another voice cuts through the silence.

“Please, have a seat,” a female voice calls. “I’ll be with you shortly.”

I whirl toward Elodie, confusion pinching my brow. A moment later, the purple velvet curtain is swept aside, and a girl with long dark hair and brown eyes peers out. “Do you have an appointment?” she asks, her tone professional with a dash of caution.

Elodie confidently steps forward, flashing a feigned apologetic grin. “Sorry, no,” she says. “I’m afraid this was all a bit spur of the moment.”

I study the girl, noting the way her eyes widen, the way the flush instantly drains from her cheeks.

No, it can’t be. Not here, and certainly not now. I’m exhausted. It’s been a long day. My mind must be playing tricks on me…

And yet, I continue to gape, only to find the girl frozen in place, her wary gaze darting between Elodie and me.

Even without the designer clothes and priceless jewels, even though she’s dressed casually in a pair of faded jeans, a simple white tee, and a silk blue shawl draped around her shoulders, she carries herself with such elegance and grace there’s no doubt in my mind she’s one of Arthur’s protégés. When I see the crystal charm hanging from her neck, my suspicion is confirmed.

Somehow Elodie knew. This is why she joined me on this Trip.