Page 87

Last time, Arthur had sent me here with only a folded bit of paper with a star etched upon it. When I failed to secure the Get, his indifference struck me as odd.You’ll have another chance soon enough, he’d said.

In hindsight, it’s clear that earlier Trip was merely a pop quiz.

This one is the final exam.

Dismissing the whirlwind of thoughts clouding my mind, I set my focus on the tarot card in my hand, wondering if there’s more to locating the Star than I initially thought.

In this Visconti-Sforza version, the Star features eight pointed rays and portrays a woman with blond hair, clad in a blue dress, donned with a…

A red cape…

A sudden realization tightens my chest as a rush of memories come flooding back. In my mind’s eye, I can see the figure in the red cape, vanishing and reemerging inside the labyrinth that once sprawled beneath my window at Gray Wolf—a figure who bore an uncanny resemblance to me.

Does the fact that I’m dressed in blue have any relation to this?

Or perhaps this is the kind ofcoincidencethat, according to my dad, doesn’t exist.

Everything is connected.

When I catch my reflection in the window, I suddenly realize that, despite my hair not being blond, the gold dust Charlotte applied earlier now lends it a similar hue.

Is this tarot card meant to be a clue, or some sort of message from Arthur?

I’m so engrossed in my thoughts, I completely overlook the creak of a door opening, then shutting softly. I miss the muted footsteps that traverse the rug, crossing the room to where I now stand.

You have seen this, done this before.

This time, I know it’s true.

Turning away from the window, my gaze settles on the tall, handsome man looming before me.

“Hello, Mr. Braxton,” I say. “It’s good to see you again.”

47

Unlike our previous meeting, where this blue-eyed man feigned confusion when he came upon me, this time there’s no pretense.

As our eyes connect and I take in his wavy dark hair, the precise lines of his face, and his imposing figure—a mirror image of his son—he simply says, “You. Again.”

I respond with a nod, then casually drop the tarot card onto the table between us. Using the tip of my gloved finger, I slide it closer to him.

“What’s the meaning of this?” His intense blue gaze darts between the card and me. “Why have you seen fit to return?”

“Because it’s time to put an end to this game,” I say. “Once and for all.”

Under his cautious watch, I slowly roll down my glove to expose the three golden rings on my arm.

A long beat of silence stretches between us. Finally, lifting his gaze to meet mine, he says, “It’s unfinished.”

“Just like your son’s,” I retort.

“My son?” He shakes his head, lets out a gruff laugh. “My son is a child.”

“Not where I come from.”

His head jerks back, that sardonic laughter gone from his face. Gesturing toward my arm, he says, “And how do I know it’s genuine?”

“Guess you’ll just have to trust me,” I say, smoothing my glove back into place.