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Despite having learned how Freya and those like her found their way to this rock, I’m no longer sure it was worth it. If Braxton ever heard about this, he’d be incredibly hurt, and I just couldn’t bear that. Because despite what Killian said, despite all my qualms, I want to be with Braxton. I want us to work.

It’s Braxton I’ve given my heart to.

“Look—” I push away from the table. “I should go. I’ve got loads of stuff to do and…” I make a rolling gesture with my hand but leave the sentence undone. I’ve told enough lies for one day. No reason to keep adding to the list.

Killian’s gaze lands on my half-eaten shepherd’s pie. “Well, you gave it your best shot,” he says. Then, lifting my fork from my plate, he polishes off the remains, usingmyfork, not his.

Something about watching the tines slide in and out of his mouth, not long after they slid in and out of mine, feels way too intimate for two platonic friends just sharing a meal.

When he’s done, he rises from his seat and moves to my side.

“So, the Gray Wolf manners are also applicable here?” My voice pitches just a little too high. Still, I’m desperate to say or do whatever it takes to put us both back on track.

Killian pulls a half grin and helps me into my parka.

“Don’t worry about us,” he says. “Or rather, don’t worry about the two of us coming here together. No one need ever find out.” His face is just inches from mine, forcing me to go to great lengths to avoid meeting his gaze.

Though he walks me to the door, that’s as far as I’ll let him go. I’ve spent enough time with Killian for one day.

“Can you point me to the shortcut?” I ask. “Earlier, you implied we took the long way.”

Killian gestures to the opposite side of the street. “There’s an elevator just inside that small blue gate. It’ll drop you not far from where I first found you.”

“Thanks,” I say, turning to him. “For trusting me enough to show me this place and…and share all that you did.”

My gaze meets Killian’s, and I wonder if he can tell that I’m not entirely convinced of what I just said.

Was it a show of trust?

Or did Arthur put him up to it to test just how far my loyalty goes?

If Killian does know, he does a good job of not letting on. He just taps a hand to his forehead, dips his chin, and watches me go.

I’ve made it halfway across the cobblestone road when I chance a look over my shoulder. Though I don’t know what I’m expecting to find, other than Killian bellied up to the bar, flirting with Maisie as she makes him a drink much stronger than coffee—that’s not at all what I see.

Killian is standing right where I left him. His incinerator gaze centered on me. His face shadowed by the sort of thoughts I prefer not to know.

Even after I’ve crossed the street and made my way beyond the blue gate, I can’t seem to shake the uncanny feeling that Killian is still staring after me long after I’m gone.

15

The first thing I see when I step out of the elevator is Roxanne, and from the looks of it, she’s been waiting for me.

Though I’m still not sure what her actual job description is, every time I Trip, she’s the one who reveals the destination along with the list of Gets.

“Good afternoon, Natasha,” she says, emphasis onafternoon.Then, with a pointed look toward the elevator, she adds, “I trust you’re enjoying your day?”

She stands before me, face grim, bright blond hair swinging just shy of her shoulders. And I remember how the first time we met I took her for a bit chilly on the outside, though I assumed she was warmer and friendlier inside. Now I’m no longer sure.

I mean, while it’s not her fault that her sharp, aristocratic features lend her an expression of haughty disapproval, it’s safe to say that today her face is broadcasting her true feelings loud and clear: she knows where I’ve been, and she does not approve.

I cringe under her glare, wondering if I should try to explain. Then, realizing there’s no point, I look at her and ask, “Am I scheduled to Trip?”

Usually Tripping comes with advance warning. Then again, considering how I’ve only Tripped twice, I can’t be sure that’s always the case.

“Yes,” she says. “And you better hurry so you’re not the cause of any further delay.”

Before I can protest, she’s off, her sneakers squealing against the tiled floor, clearly expecting me to follow. Which, of course, I do. Roxanne just naturally emits an innate authority that makes you reluctant to challenge her.