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“Move in on my signal,” I whisper. “And for the love of all that’s unholy, don’t draw attention to—”

Crunch.

We all freeze.Every single one of usturns to look at the ancient, wise, terrifying philosopher currently standing on what appears to be a full bag of kettle-cooked chips.

Orin lifts his foot slowly.

The crinkle echoes like thunder through the courtyard.

Ambrose stares. Caspian exhales through his nose like he’s given up on the idea of consequences. Elias sinks to his knees and mumbles something that sounds like “We’re going to die here. We’re going to die stupid.”

Orin stares down at the flattened bag beneath his boot like it personally betrayed him.

“They were rosemary,” he says, solemnly.

“Orin,” I hiss, dragging him back behind the hedge, “why—why would you step on chips?”

“I didn’t see them.”

“They’re bright green andshiny,man.”

“They were obscured by your ridiculous beard trimmings.”

“Youcould have worn the elf ears like I asked.”

“I am not wearing elf ears.”

We’re now whisper-fighting in the bushes, the mustache glue on my lip itching like divine punishment, and Luna and Lucien arestaring right at us. I know it. I can feel her gaze slicing through the shrubbery like a curse I’d gladly die under.

Lucien’s mouth twitches again. Smug bastard.

“We’re compromised,” Elias says flatly.

“No, no, no,” I say, slapping wigs into their hands, shoving the glitter sunglasses over Ambrose’s eyes. “We just need to adapt.”

“You’re bleeding chaos,” Riven mutters.

“And you’re still wearing the grandma hat,” I snap back. “So unless you want Lucientriumphingwith his morally ambiguous cheekbones, we’re staying in formation.”

And that’s when Orin clears his throat.

Loudly.

Deliberately.

I whip my head around, and the old bastard—the man who speaks like fate itself has kissed his mouth—waves. He waves at Luna. With a smile. Asmile, like this is a tea party and not a full-blown covert tailing op.

Lucien blinks.

Luna stops walking.

And the rest of us are now absolutely, cosmicallyfucked.

“Why,” Elias says slowly, his voice hoarse with disbelief, “why did he wave?”

“He panicked,” Caspian offers.

“I did not,” Orin says, brushing nonexistent dirt off his coat. “I simply acknowledged her presence. She saw us, Silas. She was always going to see us.”