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“By whom?” I squint past her shoulder into the empty hall, and then back at her.

“Sorry?” she says, the words slightly strangled. She looks as confused as she does hurt.

“Normally, it’s a boy who delivers my tray on Trip days.” My voice is scratchy but indignant all the same. And though I inwardly cringe at myself, it’s not enough to keep my gaze from dragging over her face, noting the way her brow furrows, her mouth flatlines, as my mind reels with questions I can’t bring myself to voice.

Did you leave the perfume and note in my room?

And if so, were you actually trying to make me disappear?

To Freya, I say, “Did something happen to him—the boy? I mean, why did they send you in his place?” I squint past her shoulder again, only to find the hall is still empty.

Is that a good thing? Or a bad thing?

I mean, if there’s no one around to witness…

“Natasha—” Freya cuts into my thoughts. “Are you okay?”

My attention snaps back to her face. Her complexion is whiter than usual, her eyes rimmed red with fatigue, and I’m overcome with shame for having acted like this.

This place is making me paranoid—making me turn everyone into a suspect.

“I’m sorry.” I scrub a hand through my tangle of hair. “I guess I’m just—” Frustrated, I shake my head and reach for the tray, hoping to unburden her, but Freya holds firm.

“Truly,” she says. “Are you okay?” She grips the tray with such force, her knuckles go white.

My gaze lands on hers, and though I’m far from dropping my suspicions, I also know I haven’t a shred of evidence to support them.

In fact, it’s entirely possible she didn’t leave the perfume. And if she did, it’s entirely possible someone put her up to it, and she was just following orders.

Besides, hasn’t this girl been through enough? According to Killian, she was nearly put to death after being falsely accused of being a witch.

Only Killian didn’t say she wasfalselyaccused, did he?

He only mentioned saving her from the swimming test.

When I look at Freya again, I’ve never wanted to get to Renaissance Italy more than I do in this moment.

Life here at Gray Wolf is starting to feel far more perilous than any Trip to the past ever could.

“Sorry,” I repeat, and this time when I reach for the tray, Freya allows me to take it. And honestly, my stomach is such a jumble of nerves, I’m pretty sure I won’t be able to eat any of it. “I’m just nervous,” I say. “I’m Tripping today, and—” I shake my head. I’m wasting time I don’t actually have.

“Good luck,” she says, dipping into a curtsy. Then, just as I’m closing the door, I swear she whispers, “Buon viaggio.”And just like that, my blood turns to ice and my belly bottoms out.

Why would Freya say that when I never told her I’m heading for Italy?

43

On Trip days, simplicity is key. Any prep beyond showering and brushing my teeth will be handled down in hair and makeup. Which makes getting ready quick and easy.

On my way out the door, I grab my Gray Wolf tote, and, after tossing in my talisman and the earrings Braxton gave me, I include the small onyx shiv that Killian made. But when I see the note from my mom that I still haven’t read, I run back to my closet to stash the envelope on the underside of a drawer. Then I head out to where the man in the electric cart is waiting.

As he whisks me through a series of long, meandering hallways, I idly thumb through the messages Braxton has sent to my slab.

He must’ve gotten up much earlier than me. The messages start at the crack of dawn.

Braxton:Are you up?

Braxton:I hope your silence means you slept better than me. Guess my excitement kept me awake.