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I shake my head, ridding myself of the thoughts, then blink three times only to find there are less than fifteen minutes left on the clock.

I race for the end of the hall, nearly reaching the ballroom when Elodie appears from the other side of a door, her cheeks flushed, hair mussed, with a ridiculously handsome boy trailing behind her.

“Natasha!” she calls. “How wonderful to see you. You must meet my friend, Nash.”

Like any well-bred gentleman of his time, Nash steps forward and bows. While I, like any awkward Gen Z forced into a social ritual she’s not at all used to, dip into a nervous curtsy.

“Elodie speaks very highly of you,” he says, and when he grins, it’s clear why she’s so taken with him.

With his thick, dark curls, piercing green eyes, and blunt, masculine features, Nash emits the sort of natural magnetism that’s hard to resist. But, when he smiles, he lights up the sky as bright as Christmas Day and Fourth of July combined.

“Oh, dear.” Elodie frowns and gestures toward my neck. “It appears you’ve been scratched.” And though her tone effectively hides her alarm, the look she shoots me is brimming with dread.

I run an idle finger along the scrape left by that angry man’s sword.Was he a Timekeeper? Is that how he recognized me as a girl out of time?

“Oh, I’d almost forgotten.” I laugh, as though it’s all just an amusing bit of whimsy. “I came across a cat, and you know me—I couldn’t resist. Though the cat had other ideas.”

I laugh again, and it’s not long before Elodie joins in. And though her own laughter rings false to my ears, Nash remains unaware.

“Dearest Nash,” she says, placing a hand on his shoulder. She blinks three times and shoots me a look of alarm. “Would you mind terribly if I help Natasha attend to her—” She gestures to her own neck to indicate my neck, and the way Nash regards her, he’s clearly besotted with her. And despite what Elodie claims about her heart having wings—fluttering freely to whomever it fancies—it’s obvious she feels the same.

“You will save the last dance for me?” he asks.

“Always.” She grins, her gaze glittering on his. Then she tips onto her toes and right there, in front of me and well within view of the crowded ballroom, Elodie kisses Nash full on the lips, without a care in the world. Just like a girl from the twenty-first century would.

Then, grasping hold of my hand, the two of us break into an all-out run.

“Fuck,” Elodie whispers as we move through the crowd, scanning for Mason. “I mean, what the absolute fuck?” she repeats, her gaze turned to me as I search the dancers, the wallflowers, and coming up empty. “Seriously, Nat—what the fuck happened to you?”

“Nothing,” I say, trying to keep my expression pleasant as I pull her along. “All I care about now is finding Mason.”

“Screw Mason,” she says. “Forget that ungrateful little shit. It’syouI’m worried about. I mean, where is your talisman? Do you even know who you are?”

“It’s in my pocket,” I tell her. “The clasp broke, and—”

“Oh, so your clasp broke.” She shakes her head. “Just how stupid do you think I am?”

I release a lungful of air I didn’t realize I’d been holding. “Honestly?” I say. “You’re one of the least stupid people I know.”

She gives a satisfied nod, then narrows her gaze. “Then why are you lying to me?”

I take a moment to decide on an answer. “Because I can’t risk sharing the truth.”

Elodie considers me for an agonizing beat. “So,” she finally says. “What do you think of Nash?”

Classic Elodie.We have less than twelve minutes left on the clock, no sign of Mason, and Elodie wants to discuss her Regency crush. If the situation wasn’t so dire, it would strike me as hilarious. But who am I kidding—it still does.

“You did not overhype him. He’s totally dreamy,” I tell her. And while I’m glad she had a nice Trip, I’ve got bigger issues at hand. “But you do realize Mason doesn’t have a talisman,” I say. “Andapparently no one saw fit to warn him about Fade.And—”

“So, why didn’t you warn him?” she asks. “Is it because you were so caught up in Renaissance Italy you couldn’t be bothered?”

The words cut right to the core. Mainly because I know that she’s right. I could’ve done better, tried harder.

“Look,” she says. “All we can do now is make sure we find that rebellious little fucker before the clock runs out, which—”

I watch as she blinks three times, then I do the same.

Nine minutes and twenty-nine seconds left.