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Heat stoppered my throat. To my embarrassment, my eyes filled, and I had to look away.

“Thank you.” I fastened my jacket. “Watch yourself out there. We know the Rag and Bone Man is hunting, and he’s captured you before.”

“I have no intention of being a prisoner again. Neither would I see you suffer that fate,” he said. “Please, Paige, do not take any unnecessary risks.”

“I’ll do my best.”

Our gazes locked. Before I could do something really stupid, I all but fled the room, grabbing my bag as I went.

In my haste, I almost forgot to disguise myself. Just before I left, I stopped by the mirror in the hallway, took out the dissimulator, and stretched it over my face. It warmed to the consistency of oil and gradually constricted. I squeezed my eyes shut, resisting the urge to pull it off, as it remolded my features. When the pressure eased, my nose was pinched, my mouth wider, my cheeks peppered with freckles. I was Flora Elizabeth Blake, a student from the University of Scion London, here to research her dissertation. Only if I looked closely could I see the tiny crinkles in my skin.

It was remarkable. Impossible. Like short-term surgery. Shame I wasn’t in the frame of mind to marvel.

Outside, it was pouring with rain. The dissimulator made my face feel badly sunburnt. I trudged through the dark, freezing and dismal, until I saw an illuminated entrance to the Métro. I bought a return ticket and waited on the platform, trying to iron out my breathing. At this rate, I would be lucky if I made it to Rue de Surène without throwing up.

When the train arrived, it was almost deserted. I took a seat at the back and burrowed deep into my jacket. Now I had a twenty-minute journey and only my thoughts to occupy it.

Eliza could spend a night with a stranger. She could share herself and walk away, all in the time it took the sun to set and rise again.

Nick could fall for kind eyes or a smile, not knowing what lay behind them. For him, love was a dive into deep waters. He trusted himself not to hit any rocks.

I had to see the depths before I jumped. I only seemed to want someone—to truly want them—when I cared for them too much to run. I wanted in ways that would always have consequences.

The first time I kissed Arcturus Mesarthim, I had known that there would be a price.

I hadn’t truly wanted him that night. Not beyond that minute in his arms and the comfort it had offered me. Faced with death, I had felt alone. He had been there and willing. That was all. Then he had come back into my life, and little by little, I had started to notice.

That I looked forward to seeing him. That he made me smile without ever smiling himself. That he challenged me. That I always wanted to hear his voice. And that even though he was a mystery, and there were shadows in him I might never disperse, I somehow knew him.

The train arrived at the right stop. I tottered back outside, into the blistering cold, feeling as if my head was stuffed with steel wool. At least the pressure on my face had eased.

A bakery glowed across the street, tempting in the predawn gloom. In my haste to leave, I had forgotten to eat breakfast. I stepped into the toasty warmth and ordered a large coffee and a chausson aux pommes. With this face, I was no longer a wanted criminal. I could do anything.

Rue de Surène was a short walk from the station. No cameras watched over it. I threw my half-finished pastry away before I found the right door and tapped the code into a pad beside it. The hallway beyond had a checkered floor. I trudged up to the third floor.

It was a postcard apartment, made up of a bathroom and a parlor with a tiny kitchenette. Beside the compact bed was the ventilator Ducos had promised. I tugged off my boots and flopped onto the couch, where I peeled off the dissimulator and pinched some feeling back into my face.

The apartment was cold and quiet. I finished my coffee. My thoughts returned to Arcturus, like birds to their branches.

I had been the one to end it. I had cut him away before I could fall for him, not realizing I had already fallen. Not realizing it was already too late.

It was also too late to try again. Even if there were no suspicious Ranthen eyes here—even if he still wanted me back, which he might not—we were better off as allies. Anything else was too complicated.

So I had told myself, to no avail. Still I wanted to know him in every way possible, down to the last secret and sinew. Our unexpected bond had paved the way for an attraction I could no longer deny. No matter how long it took, I had to crush it.

Despite the strong coffee, I dozed off, huddled into the corner of the couch, feeling as if I might shrivel into nonexistence. I woke to a familiar voice and an unfamiliar name.

“Flora.” A firm shake. “Paige. Did you sleep here?”

Ducos was leaning over me, hair pulled into a severe bun. She wore no makeup today. “No.” I licked my bone-dry lips. “Just got here early.”

“What about your auxiliary?”

“He’s not well.”

I expected some kind of reprimand, but all Ducos did was flick the heating on. “I suppose he was always doomed to catch your illness, with the two of you cooped up in there. Fortunately for you,” she said, “our medical officer will be here soon. She got back just in time.”

She helped me sit up. My temples pounded.