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Mor exhaled a deep breath and turned back toward the door. If he was upset about what the redhead had said about him, he hid it well.

“Mor… I don’t care about what he told me. I don’t believe him,” she tried.

“I don’t care what you believe. Believe whatever you want, Violet,” Mor said back, and something sank through her stomach. She wasn’t sure why it bothered her. She didn’t care what he believed about her, either.

She cleared her throat and followed him out of the bedroom. He moved slowly enough for her to catch up.

“Let’s discuss The Fairy Post,” he moved on.

“You seriously want to talk about the newspaper right now?” she rasped, smoothing down a wrinkle in her sweater that wasn’t really there.

“Let’s have the secretary job interview we never got around to before,” he finished as he headed down the hall toward the stairs. “But I need to bathe first. It feels like I’ve been hibernating for a faeborn year.”

“An interview? But I’m already your secretary,” she objected. “I’ve been taking your calls, writing articles, I organized your office, and I even almost scheduled an interview with The Sprinkled Scoop. I told my old workplace that I’m the Secretary of Doom, too.”

Mor bristled as he descended the emerald-carpeted staircase. “If you’re going to call meDoom, then I’m going to call youPaint-Face,” he stated.

“Paint-Face?” Violet released an odd chuckle. “Why?”

“Because of the colourful paint you put on your face. The peach cream, the rosy lip stain, the black ink on your lashes,” he rattled off as he reached the bottom of the stairs and headed toward the kitchen.

Violet stopped walking on the stairs. “You. Are.Seriously.Terrible,” she stated to his back. “Do you know how rude it is to say that to a girl? And for the record, I wear makeup because it looks good on me,” she snapped.

“Hurry up!” he called, and she started moving again, a scowl etched into herpaintedface.

Thirty minutes later, after Mor was bathed and squeaky clean, they sat across from each other at the kitchen island. Mor held a latte, and Violet sipped a tall tea with sugar and plenty of ice. The kitchen was a quaint space with a dull window and a few bunches of herbs drying in the muted light. They were spread out on towels, categorized by plant. Baking supplies filled the rest of the countertops: measuring cups, muffin tins, and a spatula, all set in a neat little tower.

“You bake?” Violet asked.

“I worked in a café for numerous months. Baking is in my faeborn blood now. Tell me about your past, Violet Miller,” Mor said, changing the subject. He sipped his latte, waiting.

“My past?” she asked. “Oh, you mean like my work experience?” She scratched her head as she thought. “Well, I was in high school up until two years ago, and you already know I took an internship at The—”

“No.” The simple word cut Violet’s work experience story off at the knees. Mor slid the latte to the side and folded his hands on the countertop. Suddenly it started to feel like a real interview, and Violet’s grip tightened on her iced tea. She wasn’t great at actual interviews.

“The part about you waking up,” he said.

“Oh…”

That was totallynotan interview question, but Violet swallowed and cleared her throat. “Um… I was around thirteen years old when I woke up. I don’t remember anything of my life before that, but I remember what it smelled like when I opened my eyes.”

Mor tapped his fingers against his knuckles. “What did it smell like?”

“Well, there was a strong aroma. It was like flowers, and sweet cotton candy, and an earthy tea-like fragrance. Like a circus had passed through while I was sleeping. The grass was damp, and the sun was so bright that it turned the leaves above me fluorescent green. That’s what I remember waking up to—sweet smells and bright leaves.”

“Leaves. So, you were in a forest like the others.” Mor’s hands tightened together.

“I was one of the victims. Maybe the first one, I’m not sure,” Violet admitted outright. There was no point in avoiding it now—Mor had already looked her up on the internet. “It’s why I followed the story when it started happening again to other women this year.”

Mor chewed on his lip. “But the other victims only lost their memories of the twenty-four hours prior to waking up. The human internet told me that you lost all your memories. Every single one up until that day.”

Violet nodded. “I don’t know if it was your friend’s doing or not.”

“I imagine not,” he stated.

“Then we feel the same. I think we’re dealing with two different criminals. Your friend—”

“Enemy,” Mor corrected.