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The sculptures below, just like the cards in the deck, are basically archetypes that represent the various stops on the journey of life.

But what if the same could be said of us all?

What if Arthur has specifically chosen us as representatives of each of these cards?

In the world of tarot, the journey ends with the World card. And it comes as no surprise that Arthur’s personal journey ends there as well.

Why, I’m going to remake the world, he once said when I asked him what he planned to do once the Antikythera Mechanism was restored.

And since Arthur always means what he says, I was a fool not to take him at his word.

But what about what Braxton said when he told me how he ended up here?Just like you, I drew the Wheel of Fortune card, too.

Does that mean our destinies—or at least our destinies here at Gray Wolf—are somehow intertwined?

Or am I being ridiculous—seeing conspiracies wherever I look?

I huff out a breath that fogs up the glass as my gaze follows the ribbons of water that sluice down the pane. If the book really is hidden out there, then I hope it’s tucked away in a place that stays dry.

I turn away from the window, thinking I’ll order some food and run a bath, when my chime sounds again—and this time, it really is Braxton.

Braxton:Done for the day. Exhausted but still want to see you. I have a surprise.

Me:Always up for a surprise.

Braxton:Great. But first, I need a quick nap. I’m knackered.

I reread his message. Every time he needs a nap after a secret mission with Arthur, it means that he Tripped. And though, depending on the level of confidentiality involved, I may never know where he might’ve gone, I’m just relieved he made it back safely. That, this time at least, neither of us will join the growing list of lost ones.

Braxton:Can you be ready by 8?

I respond with the thumbs-up emoji.

Braxton:I’ll send directions. See you then.

After reading his last message, my gaze flips back to the one I sent just before, and I’m instantly overcome by a guilty pang in my gut.

It’s the same message I sent to Killian. Different context but still the same.

Nothing happened, I’m quick to remind myself.

But that doesn’t stop me from scrolling to Killian’s message and deleting the entire thread.

While I can’t erase the time we spent at the Hideaway Tavern, I will do whatever it takes to ensure that Braxton never learns I spent a good part of the day hanging out with the enemy he’s sworn himself against.

27

The moment I reach the spiral staircase, I know exactly where Braxton’s arranged for us to meet.

The Moon Garden is his favorite spot in all of Gray Wolf, and it’s one of mine, too.

When I push through the door, I’m met with the faint strains of classical music and the sight of Braxton waiting for me.

“Buona sera,” he says, and though I’m struck once again by how beautiful he is, Braxton pays so little notice to his looks, I’d be tempted to think he’s stopped caring about such things, if it wasn’t for the portrait of Narcissus that hangs in his room.

While I’m not exactly sure what might’ve occurred in his past, I’m guessing his taste in art, along with his determination to always be bettering himself, most likely stems from the sort of regretful deeds he’d prefer to forget.

He grasps my hand in his, presses a soft kiss to my cheek, then leads me to a table set with a crisp white tablecloth, etched crystal wine goblets, and gleaming silverware—all of it lit by the flickering glow of the candelabra that sits at the center. And I can’t believe how far I’ve traveled from the girl who used to eat lunch beside the recycle bin in the school cafeteria.