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MY CAPTOR SHOVES me into a tight space. Pitch-black. The sharp stench of cleaning supplies leaks through their fingers over my nose.

I wrench their hand away from my face and pivot, fist raised—

“It’s me,” whispers a familiar, low voice in the darkness.

Shock turns to anger. “Where have you been?”

Nick smacks a hand over my mouth again just as the voices outside the hall grow louder, echoing against the walls and tall ceilings. The sound of approaching footsteps—expensive shoes on marble floors—stops me from speaking more thoroughly than Nick’s hand ever could. I shove his hand away and shuffle past him to the door, pressing my ear against it before the voices get too close. He leans over me to do the same.

“Some of the guests knew the gentleman who failed the communion.” Bianca. “They are uncomfortable with his confession.”

“They aren’t the only ones.” Another voice. Lawson the warlock. “Did Mikael really have to off him in front of everyone?”

“His strength would have been contested if he hadn’t,” Bianca says. “Maintaining the community’s trust is a delicate balance. Which is why new players are not admitted midway through. We wouldn’t accept that in a normal year, and this one has exceeded our norms several times over already.”

“Yeah, I know. But this player brings cash. Lots of it.” A shuffling of fabric. “Says there’s more where this came from if he can join the auction tomorrow.”

“Mikael will need to vet him personally.”

“The guy says he’ll do what it takes. He’s outside the gates right now, waiting.”

A pause. They’ve stopped walking.

“Boss?” Lawson prompts.

“I’ll speak with Mikael,” Bianca replies. “Prep our visitor. Bring him in through the garden gate, not the front door. If Mikael agrees to let him stay, he’ll need to be masked. Keep him separate from other guests to safeguard against anyone noticing a newcomer and late admittance. No meals in the dining room, no tours, no attendance at tomorrow’s communion. He can attend the auction and only the auction.”

“Understood.”

Their footsteps pass by the closet door, receding down the hall.

“A new—” I begin.

“Shh,” Nick whispers. “Not yet.”

We wait until the footsteps grow muffled. When they finally go silent, I feel more than hear Nick counting the seconds under his breath. Thirty. Forty. Fifty. At sixty, he releases a long sigh. “Okay.”

“A new player?” I ask. “Someone wants in on the auction?”

“Someone who wasn’t invited in the first place,” Nick murmurs. “Could it be Erebus? Coming to retrieve you, his ‘investment’?”

“No. He checks on my bloodmark once a day, so he already knows I’m alive. Knows I’m strong enough to fight. This mission was a test, for me and Zoe both. If he was going to show up and crash Mikael’s party, he would have done it the first night when we didn’t go home; he’s the one who told us to pack overnight bags just in case. He’s too patient to rush in like this.”

“But he wants his crown.”

“Not just the crown. He won’t attack Mikael to get it, because he wants his Court back too. Wants Mikael and the other Nightshades to join him again. And even if he did come here, he can’t touch the crown himself. The Morgaines made sure of that when they bewitched it.”

“So this new player is someone new who just so happens to be in the market for rare artifacts during a weekend when at least three other people are here to steal one? I don’t buy it.”

“Neither do I, but it’s not like we can confront Mikael or Bianca about it. We’ll have to wait and find out tomorrow.”

“Waiting isn’t my strong suit.”

“Mine either.”

“I’m aware.”

I huff. Pause. “Where were you?”

“Chasing Ava.” Nick sighs above me, a rush of breath over the top of my curls. “I thought I had her in the gardens. Didn’t think she’d risk using aether while Mikael was still on the property, but her power—Morgaine power—is so subtle, it’s nearly impossible to detect. She blasted me back—stunned me. Knocked me out.”

I inhale sharply. “Did she hurt you?”

“My pride, maybe,” he whispers. “I’m more mad at myself. When I woke up, she was gone. I went to our room, and you were gone too. Went to Zoe and Mariah’s, and they said you’d gone looking for me, so I asked around until someone said they’d seen you walk this way.” He makes a sound of frustration at the back of his throat. “I shouldn’t have left you alone. I should have stayed back.”

“We were both chasing Ava down. You’re faster.”

“Something could have happened to you.”

“We won’t tell Sel—”

“It’s not about Sel ,” Nick whispers, voice harsh. “It’s about me . And not leaving you behind again.”

We fall silent. I listen to his breathing slow. Hear him swallow.

“You keep saying you left me,” I murmur. “I don’t remember you leaving me—”

“But I do—”

“I only remember me leaving you.”

Another pause. A sigh. “You had your reasons.”

“And you didn’t?”

“You’re a king.” I feel his forehead drop down against the back of my curls. Feel his hands fall to my waist, fingers light. “The only decisions kings make are the hard ones.”

“I know a man named Martin Davis died,” I whisper. “I remember someone else nearly died right after. And that person defended themselves against an enemy. If that was you—”

“We’ve all witnessed horrible things.” He sighs. “Sometimes we’re the ones who commit them.”

“Sometimes we attempt great things too.”

“Not like you. You’re looking for the crown to stop Erebus from going after the girls.”

I shake my head against him. “But Zoe’s right. If I give the crown back to Erebus, he’ll destroy the Order. It’s a shortsighted plan—”

Nick squeezes my hips. “It’s a plan that saves people. Those plans are always worthy. And the Order can’t go on as it is, anyway. It will fall. The cycle has to stop.”

“It’ll only stop if I die.”

“You won’t die,” he whispers. “The Order doesn’t deserve your life—and it will never deserve your death.”

I swallow tightly. Feel my eyes burning at their corners. “Because I’m its king?”

“No. Because you’re Bree.” Nick’s breath blows warm against my neck, intimate. “Brilliant, beautiful, brave Bree.”

I shiver at his closeness—and the memory of his kiss. Then I realize, belatedly, that the moment he pulled me into this closet, he’d touched me. Not over the layer of my clothes, but skin against skin.

I hesitate—then take a chance. Lean back against his chest. Fold deeper into his arms.

At first, his fingers loosen around my hips, and I worry that he might release me—or, worse, push me away. Open the door to invite the harsh, bright, terrifying world of Penumbra into our cocoon of stolen time. But then, Nick’s hands settle, firmer this time, until his heart beats steady against my spine.

Still, I wait for him to pull back. Wait for him to remind me that he shouldn’t touch me, even through my clothes. But Nick doesn’t pull back. Instead, he smooths one palm slowly forward along the curve of my hip.

His hand pauses, as if he’s making a decision.

Then, his finger slips under the hem of my sweater to slide across the narrow, exposed strip of my waist. I hold my breath. He doesn’t move to caress me further—doesn’t need to. Here in the darkness, this single point of contact, where his forefinger rests against my bare skin, consumes all of my attention.

I don’t know what’s changed. Why he’s touching me like this. What decision he’s made. But I find I don’t care, I don’t care. All I know is that Nick feels like…

“Cliffside at the ocean. Touching the sky.” His voice is a quiet ache. “Touching the horizon.”

I tip my head back against his shoulder. “And the fall?”

In answer, a gentle tug at the scarf around my neck.

Nick’s fingers, pulling the silk loose. It slips free. Drifts down to our feet, baring my throat and collarbone. Fingers lift my curls, pulling them back and to one side.

Warm lips press against the juncture of my neck and shoulder. Softly. Briefly.

And then they’re gone.

“The coast should be clear.” Nick whispers. “We should get back.”

My eyelids flutter. “You’ll have to… lead the way. I got pretty lost earlier.”

He chuckles. “I got you.”

Nick lets me shower first. The hot water loosens the muscles in my shoulders, but every time I close my eyes, I think of the man struggling in the chair. Ava sitting calmly, watching her spellcraft at work. Mikael—and the dagger I never saw coming.

By the time I’m back in my bed, wrapped in my pajamas, I’ve replayed the scene over and over again. And come to some dire conclusions.

As Nick leaves the en suite in his T-shirt and pants, rubbing a towel over his head, I speak up. “We should have run the first night.”

Nick tosses his towel onto the window seat. “Huh?”

“We should have run,” I say, hopping off the bed to pace. “You’ll be able to pass the communion without lying, but who knows what you’ll have to reveal in the meantime? I might be able to pass while lying, but Mikael won’t accept that no one is guilty of the second crime—Bianca made that clear earlier. We should have just made a break for it.”

“Running would have been an admission of guilt, and he’d have killed us both.”

“We might have had a chance—”

“And leave Zoe and Mariah behind?”

I stop pacing. He’s right. I drop my head in my hands. “We’re never gonna even make it to the auction. The communion takes place right beforehand.”

“Hey, hey.” Nick strides over to me, grasping my arms through my sleeves. “We’ll figure it out. We’re gonna be fine.”

“How do you know that?”

“Because it’s you and me.”

I blink at him, gaping. “Why do you say that like it’s… like that’s an answer?”

“Because it is an answer.”

I bat his hands away. “Don’t change the subject.”

“I’d forgotten how prickly you get when I say sweet things.”

I scowl. “You’re not allowed to say sweet things.”

“Why’s that?”

“Because…” I throw my hands up. “We’re missing parts of our history, and you don’t want to touch me, but then you do touch me, and one of us might die tomorrow, and there’s still a war going on, and—”

“Hey.” Nick grasps my arms again, laughing. “Everything you said just now is true—except one.”

“Which one?”

He sighs, smile falling away. “I do want to touch you.”

“Then why do you keep saying you don’t? Why’d you touch me tonight?”

“I never said I don’t want to,” he murmurs. “But we have to stop.”

“Why?”

“It’s not a good idea.”

“Over it.” I turn to walk away—and he darts forward, catching my shoulder.

“Wait,” he says. “Please.”

I let him turn me back around. “Don’t mess with my head.”

“I don’t want to, I promise—”

“Then what do you want?”

“I…” Nick steps closer. He searches my face, torment pulling at his features. His gaze claims my brows, my eyes, my lips. When he finally answers, his voice is a desperate rasp. “I’m drowning in you, Bree. I shouldn’t want to. I should fight it. But I can’t.”

My eyes flutter closed, then open. I inhale a ragged breath. Exhale an answer.

“So drown.”

He groans—and we break against each other, mouths crashing. A wave of heat, lips, teeth. His palms capture my jaw, pulling me closer. A lifeline. An anchor. Skin to blessed skin.

When we part, I surface before he does. “You said you wouldn’t kiss me again,” I gasp. He is so still, I wonder if I’d thought the words instead of spoken them out loud. “You said—”

“I know what I said.” Then, his mouth surges to meet mine—and we collide.

Nick grips my thighs, lifting me up, walking me back, tipping me over until I’m pressed into the mattress beneath him. Heat, weight, and nothing that feels close enough.

The kiss in the elevator felt like fierce longing, but his words afterward still echo: A distraction. A strategy .

Now, when Nick grasps my chin, tilting it so he can kiss me more deeply, so our mouths meet more fully, those words become hollow. When Nick’s lips coax mine open, the elevator becomes a trick, one of his quiet lies.

I moan in response to his questing mouth—on my jaw, across my throat—and he answers with a deep, hungry sound. He drags my shirt down one shoulder, teeth grazing my collarbone—but when my leg hitches up around his hip, he pauses, pulls away.

“Wait, wait—” Nick pushes back to his knees, hand warm against my leg, stilling it against his lower ribs. “I didn’t… I didn’t say all that just to”—he runs a hand down his face—“just to get you in bed.”

I devour his breathless voice, the red flush on his cheeks. Collect them as if they’re mine. “Congratulations?” I say, grinning.

He breathes out in frustration, glaring at me over his fingers. “You know what I mean.”

“I do.” I tug at the hem of his shirt, pulling him down until he falls with both hands on either side of my head.

He lets me kiss him again until he fists the quilt. Until he uncurls a hand to gently grip my shoulder, breath catching in his throat. “Bree…”

“Yes, Nick?” I drag my fingers through his hair, against his scalp.

He groans at the sensation, eyes closing in pleasure. “That feels—” The hand on my shoulder rises to my own, stilling it in his hair.

“One night,” I whisper, my own voice breathy.

“What?” His eyes snap open.

“One night, before tomorrow,” I say quietly. “That’s all we have for certain.”

His eyes soften. He pulls my palm down to kiss it with a hot, open mouth. “I know.”

Anticipation zips through me, my breath turns shallow with want.

“And…,” he murmurs, “I’m sorry.”

I freeze, realizing what he’s said without saying it. I withdraw my hand from his lips, flush with embarrassment. I wish I could shrink, become tiny and invisible. Slip out from under him without either of us noticing.

His eyes widen. “No, that’s not—”

“No, it’s okay. I, um… I can…” I reach for the blanket, even though I’m already dressed. As if covering myself up with another layer might protect me further, hide me better—

“Hey.” He dips his head to catch my eye, squeezing my knee. “Look at me?” A request.

I look everywhere but him. “Nope.” I shake my head. “Can’t—”

“Bree, look at me.”

When I finally meet his eyes, they strike me deep—a mixture of banked heat, fond amusement, remorse. His thumb presses into my bare shoulder, a warm stamp against my skin. “You understand why I can’t be with you like that, don’t you? At least a little?”

“Because you don’t,” I whisper, “want—”

“No, B, no.” His pleading sigh sends his hair floating above his brow. “I can’t be with you because you’re not yourself in full yet, and I know you want to be. This isn’t about missing people or missing memories. You’re still y ou , and if you have to, you’ll make new memories. I’m talking about what’s been done to you. What Erebus took. Your quest—your real quest—isn’t complete.”

I gnaw on my lip, feeling as fragile as old glass. As breakable. Especially because I know he’s right. “I know,” I admit.

But it still feels like there’s something he’s not saying.

Another thought occurs to me. “If this is because it’s my first time…”

“It’s not.” Nick presses a lingering kiss against my forehead. “But thank you for letting me know. That’s information I want to have.”

I flush beneath him. “But there is something else, isn’t there?”

He looks up and around, at the room, the mansion, all of it. “ This is not how I want you. I don’t want masks and artifice. Where we have to be Benedict and Iris because if we’re Nick and Bree, we could be killed. When there’s risk if we don’t… pretend.”

I purse my lips together. Consider what he’s saying. I want to rebel against his reasoning, but in the end, I can’t. Still…

“How would you want me?” I ask. “If we weren’t pretending?”

Nick’s eyes flash, pupils widening as my question sweeps through him. He leans close until our mouths are nearly touching, until our breaths mingle and my face heats.

“If we weren’t pretending, I would want all of you, Bree Matthews.” His voice rumbles low enough to carry through my body, from the tips of my ears, across my hips, down to my toes. When he shifts against me, I gasp. “I want you whole.” His next kiss is a promise that leaves me trembling. “I want you entire .”

Nothing about that felt hypothetical. It feels so real that it takes a few attempts to speak. The first sound that leaves my mouth is definitely not a word. After another struggling moment and ragged breath, I finally manage something verbal. “Oh.”

He grins against my cheek. Chuckles low beneath my jaw. Traces soft kisses around my chin, to the edge of my mouth.

“Can we…?” I whisper against his mouth as it glances over mine. I run my hand down his side until he’s the one shuddering. “Can we pretend to be… Nick and Bree?”

He draws back. “B…”

“Just while we sleep?”

He lifts my chin with a finger. Studies me. The connection between us flickers like a candle, then holds. “Okay. We can pretend to be Nick and Bree.”

When he pulls the covers over us and wraps me in his arms, neither of us pulls away.