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“Do you know where I’m going?” I ask, hoping she’ll at least offer a clue.

“I’m sure you’ll discover that soon enough.”

I frown at the back of her head as she picks up the pace, forcing me to race to catch up. After leading me down another hall, she stops before the electric cart and directs me to hop on.

We ride in silence. Aside from flashing my ID at the various checkpoints, I’m mostly preoccupied with the nagging worry that I might be heading off to Renaissance Italy. Because despite having spent the last three weeks up to my ears in history books, I still don’t feel ready.

Last time, when Arthur sent me to Versailles to bring back the Sun, he provided clues taken from tarot cards and the symbols sketched on Christopher Columbus’s map.

This time, other than theSalvator Mundi, he’s yet to offer anything else that might help me locate the Moon.

The cart comes to an abrupt stop, and I follow Roxanne into the control room.

“They’re waiting for you in wardrobe,” she says, the words clipped. And before I have a chance to ask anything more, she’s gone.

On my way there, I run into Keane, one of the Gray Wolf instructors, and when he smiles and gives a friendly wave, I decide to ask him.

“Is this…” I start. “I mean, am I…?”

“Are you Tripping?” He quirks a brow. “Yes. Are you Tripping to Renaissance Italy?” He shakes his head, and all my anxiety whooshes right out of me.

“But if not Italy, then where?”

I watch as he takes a quick look around, ensuring we won’t be overheard. He tips his head toward me and says in a low voice, “Arthur’s decided to shake up the protocol.”

I stand frozen, aware of the twinge of unease clenching low in my belly as Keane draws away, acting as though that somehow explained everything.

Standing at full height, Keane is at least a foot taller than me, which forces me to crane my neck just to meet his gaze. And once I do, I’m reminded of Braxton. Not that they look anything alike, but with his gleaming brown skin, dark, tapered eyes, and perfectly sculpted body, Keane possesses the kind of good looks that seem tailor-made for the big screen. And like Braxton, he wears that star quality with a sort of bored obliviousness, like he can hardly remember the last time he bothered to look in a mirror.

“Shake up the protocol?” I search his face, having no idea what he’s getting at.

“Mason’s heading out,” he tells me.

At first, I take that to mean that Mason won the battle. That Arthur finally grew tired of trying to break through his walls and has decided to send him back home.

But as soon as I process the thought, I know it’s not true.

For one thing, Arthur would never give in so easily.

For another, the cryptic gleam in Keane’s gaze tells me thatheading outis a euphemism for something else.

“You mean he’s…Tripping?” I ask, but even after Keane confirms it, I’m still not sure I believe him. “But Mason’s a Green. He’s not been properly trained, he doesn’t speak any other languages, and—” I’m ready to recite the long list of reasons for why this can’t happen when Keane holds up a hand, halting my words.

“You don’t speak any languages, either,” he says. “And that hasn’t stopped you. Thing is, Mason’s been an especially tough nut to crack. So Arthur’s tossing him into the pool to see if he can learn to swim without any floaties.”

“And if he doesn’t…learn to swim?” I say, sticking with the metaphor. “If he drowns?” My voice cracks, betraying the full extent of my worry.

Keane opens his mouth, about to respond, when from across the room, another instructor, Hawke, calls out to him, effectively pulling his focus away. By the time he returns to me, his words are rushed. “That’s where you come in,” he says. “To ensure his safe return.”

I shake my head. “You do realize Mason blames me for being sent here. It’s highly unlikely he’ll listen to me.”

Keane’s lips pull tight, but his gaze softens on mine. “Then it seems Arthur’s putting youbothto the test.”

Hawke calls out again, this time gesturing impatiently for Keane to join him. But just as Keane turns away, I catch the edge of his sleeve, holding him in place. “Just—one more thing. Has Arthur ever done this before? Broken protocol like this?”

Keane gives me a long, considering look, and it’s like I can see the gears spinning as he weighs just how much to reveal. Finally coming to a decision, he says, “Not since he sent Braxton out for his first Trip. Like Mason, he was nowhere close to making Yellow.”

My jaw drops. I have so many questions, but there’s only one that soars straight to the top. “And who—” I start, my voice so shaky, I’m forced to clear my throat and try again. “Who was there to look after Braxton—to make sure he returned?” With jangly knees and a racing heart, I wait for the answer I’m pretty sure I already know.