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Charlotte responds with an enthusiastic grin, retrieving a gown from the rack. She presents it to me, and as my eyes take in the gown’s delicate powder blue silk, designed with an empire waist and short, puffed sleeves, a surge of panic rises within me.

When she brings out the long white gloves and satin slippers in the same shade of blue as the gown, I can’t hold it in any longer.

“This—this isn’t the right timeline!” I say, my eyes wide, my voice too thin and high. “This is for Regency England, not—”

Charlotte’s gaze meets mine, her expression etched with concern. “Not what?” she asks.

“I thought…” My words falter, my mouth gone suddenly dry. I silently scold myself to calm the hell down, I can’t afford to raise any alarms. “I was under the impression,” I say, “that I’d be Tripping to the time of King Henry VIII.”

Charlotte pauses, giving me a long, perplexed look before she finally says, “This is the instruction Arthur provided. Elodie is wearing the same.”

Elodie?

I shut my eyes, suppressing a sigh. So, Arthur has chosen his own daughter as my companion for the Trip.

Though I can’t say I’m surprised, I do question why Arthur decided on her.

Did he think she’d pose a greater challenge than Killian?

Then again, I suppose it hardly matters. The odds of either of them helping me are slim.

As I resign myself to being fitted into a dress from an era I wasn’t expecting, I wonder what additional surprises Arthur might have in store. Just when I thought I’d finally caught up, he manages to leap ahead another ten paces, leaving me scrambling to bridge the gap.

Once I’m dressed, Charlotte guides me to stand before a mirror, and my eyes fill with the sight of a me who’s not really me—a girl cast in a role she never auditioned for.

Concealed beneath the long, straight column of my dress is a slender, sharp dagger I truly hope I won’t need. The array of pockets hidden within the seams of the dress are filled with all the items I plan to take with me.

The thought of arriving in New York, when all is said and done, wearing a getup like this, brings a grin to my lips. If it were any other town, in any other place, it might be cause for alarm. But in a city as eclectic as New York, I doubt I’ll get so much as a second glance.

“What do you think?” Charlotte asks.

After taking another good look at myself, I opt for honesty. “I’m not sure I’ll ever get used to this. It feels like I’m caught in a dream.”

For a fleeting moment, a shadow flits across Charlotte’s gaze, hinting at something deeper I can’t quite grasp. But it’s gone in a blink, and she swiftly returns to her usual cheerful self.

“The gloves are fortunate to conceal your…” She gestures toward the collection of golden rings on my arm.

I give a slight nod, an unspoken understanding passing between us.

“And your talisman?” she asks.

I hesitate. Ever since the time I spent with my dad, I no longer need it to avoid falling into a Fade. Yet, not wanting to raise any suspicions, I quietly retrieve it from my pocket, watching as she takes great care securing it at my neck.

By all appearances, I’m ready. And yet, I’m not quite willing to leave just yet.

“Charlotte,” I begin, my voice cautious, words measured. “If you could Trip to any era or destination, where would you go?”

I inhale a breath, waiting for her to respond.

Charlotte meets my gaze, her eyes momentarily darkening before she replies, “Gray Wolf is my home.”

“But there was another place you called home once, wasn’t there?” I ask, aware I’m treading on delicate ground, yet needing to know.

Charlotte clasps her hands at her waist, regarding me with an inscrutable expression. “You are familiar with the saying:nostalgia is history stripped of its suffering?” Her unwavering eyes hold fast to mine. “In this place, there is an absence of that pain. So this is where I choose to remain.”

A silent understanding passes between us. Gently taking her hands in mine, I say, “Thank you,” recalling how it was because of her that I even thought to break off a piece of my pannier to defend myself from the duke. Without her guidance, I might’ve never survived that night. “You’ve been a true friend,” I add. “And I’ll always be grateful for that.”

Giving my hands a comforting squeeze, she says, “Good luck, Natasha. And may the fates be with you.”