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THIS TIME, WE all sit together in the auditorium. We take four seats halfway up from the stage as the Collector audience continues to file in.

Nick leans in close to whisper into my ear. “Ava’s here. Down on the left.”

I follow his directions and find Ava seated by herself in the first row, one leg crossed primly over the other in a designer dress. “Up close and personal.”

“She’s up to something,” Nick says.

I don’t doubt it. She doesn’t look our way or even seem to have noticed that we’ve arrived. Instead, her dark eyes are focused on the empty chairs onstage.

When Mikael enters, the crowd quiets just as it did before, but there is something silent and electric in the room today. Word must have spread that today’s communion would include a confession to one of the weekend’s scandals, and every guest in the audience seems to lean forward. Eager to see what secrets Mikael will rip from his five victims today.

“Welcome, Collectors,” Mikael booms from the stage. “Once again, today we will reaffirm our discretion and truth with offered tribute.”

The first guest walks out onstage. A tall woman with long black hair, red nails, and a heavy robe over a velvet dress and heels. Mikael gestures for her to take a seat, but she tips her chin up. “I’ll stand, thank you.”

Mikael flashes her a grin. “As you wish.” He settles in the chair across from her, unbothered by her height or his position below her eye level.

I don’t know if this woman feels more powerful standing—I would—but I know that Mikael’s form of magic won’t care whether she is seated or standing. He will feed from her truths no matter what.

“I will ask each of our guests five questions,” Mikael repeats, “to help us understand if our community member can be trusted. If someone resists their natural inclination to tell the truth of things, I will know—and there will be a punishment.” Mikael turns to the audience. “Are we in agreement?”

“Discretion and truth,” the audience intones.

“Truth”—Mikael turns back to the tall woman—“and discretion.”

Again, Mikael’s illusion strikes at the back of my skull. But at least now I know why he reinforces it right before he feeds. It’s a precaution, in case he overindulges and loses control over his human costume.

“Did you attack and wound my guard?” Mikael asks. The glowing green smoke of his talent rises to the woman’s face, circling her mouth and nose.

Like the people Mikael interrogated yesterday, she shudders from its effects. “No.”

“Did you attempt to break into the outbuilding on the grounds of Penumbra?”

She dips her chin to her chest, fists squeezed tight at her sides. “No.”

“She’s not resisting,” I murmur.

“A strategy,” Nick says.

Mikael leans forward. “Three questions remain and serve as tribute. A sign of your loyalty.”

The woman nods. “I am ready.”

Mikael hums. “When did you commit your last crime?”

The woman tilts her head. “Five days ago.”

Mikael lifts his nose and inhales deeply—frowning. “And what was it?”

“Fraud.”

“She’s not ashamed,” Nick whispers. “Not feeling tormented or guilty. Not feeding him.”

“Lucky her,” I mutter.

Nick shakes his head, eyes narrowing at the stage. “No. He’s frustrated.”

Mikael’s jaw tightens. Instead of pursuing the same line of questioning he did with the five communions yesterday, he switches gears for his final inquiry. “By whom were you last betrayed?”

The woman flinches. Mikael grins. This time, the smoke around her face loops around her eyes and ears, filling her mouth as she inhales, scooping out her truth. “My sister. She… she seduced my husband. Lied to my children about me. Stole my grandmother’s wedding ring from my bedside table.”

“The closest betrayals deliver the richest wounds.” Mikael tips his head back, smiling. “Your pain. Your anger. Your sadness. Thank you.”

The woman blinks as if waking from a dream and staggers offstage.

The next three communions proceed much like the ones yesterday. An executive ignores product safety reports. Another inflates the prices of life-saving drugs. A judge accepts bribes for convictions. They leave the stage spent and confused, as if they never expected their secrets to be collected too.

Then, the last communion begins, and even at this distance, I can see Mikael’s eyes flash with hunger.

This is the third thief.

The man walks out onstage stiffly, as if his own elbows and knees are fighting him—and he drops into the chair as if pressed down by a pair of invisible hands.

Zoe nudges me. “Something’s up.”

I nod. The man is not moving easily, but there is no magic around him. No green smoke. Nothing to make him seem as off as he is.

But Mikael’s sharp eyes notice every movement, every twitch of the man’s fingers on his designer slacks, every pulse of the muscles in his jaw.

“Did you attack and wound my guard?” Mikael asks, unspooling his power around the man’s eyes and throat.

When the man answers, his voice comes out strained. “No.”

Mikael makes a low humming sound in the back of his throat. “Did you attempt to break into the outbuilding on the grounds of Penumbra?”

For this answer, the man visibly bears down on his back teeth, molars grinding. The audience murmurs around us in the darkness.

“Resistance is a confession,” Mikael reminds him.

The man’s jaw snaps open. “Yes.”

Several gasps erupt from the audience. Behind, below, and beside us. Whispers break the silence, threatening to disrupt the calm manner in which Mikael has conducted the communions thus far. Mikael rises slowly, withdrawing his magic from the man’s face. “Why did you commit this crime?”

The man struggles once more—until finally he seems to break whatever has been holding him back. “She made me!”

More gasps from the crowd. My eyes dart to Ava, who has not moved a muscle. She sits placidly, hands in her lap, eyes straight ahead.

“Who is ‘she’?”

The man’s eyes roll in their sockets.

“He’s been mesmered,” Nick whispers in my ear. “I see a spell woven into his body, and it’s not Mikael’s.” Nick’s eyes dart to Ava, who has not moved. “It’s the same magic that was on the warlocks who attacked us.”

I stiffen in my seat. “Ava sent them.”

“She timed the mesmer to fade before it could be connected to her or anyone else.”

I lean closer. “If she can mesmer, why wouldn’t she have just mesmered you?”

“She would have if she could, so maybe she can’t.”

Mikael’s magic focuses on the man, churning around his face. “Who is ‘she’?” he demands again. “Answer me!”

Tears stream down the man’s face. I can’t tell if he’s resisting Mikael or resisting Ava. In the end, he shakes his head so violently that spittle flies from his mouth. “No one. Nevermind. That was a lie!”

“You lied to me?” Mikael roars.

“Yes,” the man gasps. “Yes!”

Mikael’s patience snaps. His illusion flickers—red eyes burning bright. Quick as a snake, his hand darts out—and a dagger embeds itself into the man’s chest.

The stage lights go dark before the first drop of blood spills. The houselights rise—and down at the front, Ava is walking swiftly to the end of her aisle while most of the audience remains glued to their seats.

“We have to—” I start.

But Nick’s already moving. “Come on.”

And then we are pushing past people toward the exit, not bothering to apologize as we shuffle around the knees of the other seated guests in our row. The audience around us is gathering up their coats and talking among themselves, like this was a show and they’d gotten their money’s worth. But some are staring at us like we’re the strange ones.

“Slow down,” I whisper to Nick, and he slows his pace.

I feel a spike of worry for Mariah. For Zoe. For anyone who hasn’t seen this much death up close or caused it themselves. But Nick and I have to find Ava and quickly, before she disappears.

When Nick hits the outer aisle, he visibly forces himself to take even steps. To not clamber down the stairs two at a time to the first-level exit. To not sprint as fast as I know he can to the double doors. He turns to me with a strained smile, holding his hand out to help me down the stairs like a good partner would—and I know it’s killing him to do this. To pretend like we aren’t who we are, like we don’t want to fight Ava for what she’s done. I reach for his hand, and his grip squeezes tight; I find I don’t mind the pain. I squeeze him back too.

We walk down the stairs hand in hand, holding each other tight, our hearts pounding in our chests. When we finally hit the exit doors, the hall is empty—every other guest is still in the auditorium—and we break into a sprint after a shadow slipping around a corner.

Nick is a blur of gray down the hall, speeding after Ava. I don’t shout for him to slow down now because I am sprinting behind him, arms pumping, my skirt flying in the air behind me.

By the time I round the first corner, I don’t even see him. All I can do is follow the sound of his feet. I race to the end of a long hallway, trying to recall the map of Penumbra that Elijah showed us.

I round another corner, nearly skidding into a wall, then another. By then, I’ve lost Nick’s path, lost the sound of his feet. I keep running anyway, straining to hear them, taking deep breaths in case I catch an aether signature. I pass a dozen rooms on the ground floor, two salons, and a gift shop before I finally stop running.

I stand panting in the hallway, chest heaving. I don’t dare cry out for him, but I don’t know where he’s gone. Don’t know where Ava’s gone.

I’ve lost them.

Two security guards spot me before I recover my breath. “Ma’am?” one of them says.

I can smell his pact magic slowly creeping out from his skin—a warlock, readying himself. I smile demurely and smooth my hands down my skirt. “Oh, hello,” I say, using every breathing technique Erebus ever taught me to control my panting breaths, tame my frantic heart rate.

The best lies are close to the truth.

I tug at my scarf and wave a hand. “Whew, it’s hot in here!”

The guards frown as they approach. “Can we help you?” The one who spoke to me looks at his watch. “The communion just finished, but you’re a long ways from the auditorium—”

“Oh, I know!” I say. “I was looking for the kitchen and got lost in this big old place.”

“The kitchen?”

I nod, pivoting on one heel, then the other. I rest my palm against my forehead. “I got outta there a little early because I got so overheated in my seat. It’s my first time at Penumbra, you know,” I say, letting my drawl have its way with my vowels, and smile. “I thought I’d get myself a cold glass of water or some tea… something to cool myself off before dinner.”

The warlocks exchange glances, uncertain. But after a moment, the scent of pact magic begins to dissipate.

“We can escort you to the dining room, if you’d like?” the second warlock says. “They’ll have any beverage you like available there.”

“Oh, would ya? I just got so turned around.”

“No problem. We’re walking that way now.”

I smile. “Please. Lead the way.”

Dinner is a nightmare. When I make it back to our usual table in the dining room, only Zoe and Mariah greet me. Nick is nowhere to be seen.

It’s another formal affair with bustling waitstaff in a busy room. While we could probably communicate without hushed whispers, no one feels like talking. I have no idea what I order, just that what arrives doesn’t look very appetizing.

We don’t bother keeping up appearances by being chatty. Mostly, Zoe and I exchange worried glances over Mariah when she’s not looking. She picks at her food, offering little commentary.

I don’t blame her.

One execution was too many, and now we’ve seen two.

“Did Benedict find…?” Zoe finally asks when it’s clear no one is really eating.

“I don’t know,” I respond, pushing a vegetable around on my plate. “I lost them. Couldn’t keep up.”

“I didn’t know she could do that. To someone.”

“I think it was rumored but not confirmed.”

“Well, we’ve confirmed it,” Mariah mumbles.

“Yeah,” I say.

As dinner closes down, Zoe turns to me as Mariah walks down the hall ahead of us, in the opposite direction of my and Nick’s room. “We’re gonna turn in,” she says. “I’ll take care of her. Go find him.”

She nods and squeezes my shoulder before jogging off after Mariah.

The energy at Penumbra is busy tonight—Collectors energized by what they’ve seen onstage and eager to talk about it, to mingle. I pass two wood-paneled drawing rooms staffed with bartenders serving cocktails to chattering guests. I drift down the hallway without being noticed much, slipping in and out of salons, hoping to catch a glimpse of Nick or Ava. I could go back to our room, but something tells me that he’s not there. If he had found Ava—he’d be confronting her. If he lost her, he’d have come back to the dining room to join us and keep up appearances. Make sure I was okay.

I give it another half an hour of moving around on the lower floor before turning down a more dimly lit hallway that leads to the indoor pool. When I round a corner, I feel a blast of warm, humid air, and my nose burns with the smell of chlorine. A steady dripping noise greets me as I peer down the hall. I take a few more steps—then freeze as I hear a pair of low voices and heavy footsteps heading in my direction.

I back up swiftly, reversing my path—until a hand clasps me over the mouth, dragging me sideways before I get a chance to scream.