Page 32 of Stealing Infinity (Stolen Beauty)

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I blink, expecting him to crack a smile, admit to the joke. When he does neither, I move over to the window.

“Look,” I say, finger pressed to the pane. “Right there.”

He stands behind me, breath wafting over my ear. “I am looking,” he says.

I tip onto my toes, press closer to the glass, and gaze down at the same Tarot Garden I wandered through the night before. No sign of a maze anywhere.

“I—I don’t understand…” I squint at the collection of colorful sculptures; it doesn’t make any sense. In all the other Unravelings, it’s only the people who weren’t real—the surrounding landscape stayed unchanged.

Does that mean the maze existed before Arthur installed the Tarot Garden?

And if so, just how far back did that Unraveling go?

“Maybe this will answer some of your questions.” Braxton leads me back to the settee, where he hands me an off-white tote bag with the academy name in a blocky black font stamped across the front, and a strange cross-like symbol marking the center. Inside I find a green sweatshirt with the exact same design.

GRAY WOLF ACADEMY

“You don’t seriously expect me to wear this?” I run my thumb over the fabric. It’s soft, but now that I have access to Gucci and Prada, I’m not about to go back to wearing a hoodie. To Braxton, I say, “I mean, have you seen inside my closet?” I toss the sweatshirt aside.

“Everyone wears one,” he says.

“Even Elodie?” I shoot him a challenging look. And the second Braxton confirms it, I try to picture Elodie wearing something so ordinary.

“Only hers is…”

I turn to find Braxton contemplating his coffee, hesitating in a way that puts me on edge.

Well, even more on edge.

“Hers is what?” I prompt. “Covered in sequins? Designed by Hermès?”

“Hers is a different color,” he says. “Most of them are. But only because everyone else has been here longer. And I’m sure that in no time, you’ll catch up and—”

I drop my croissant, cross my legs at the knee, and lean toward him. “In case you haven’t noticed,” I say, “this little coffee klatch you’ve arranged isn’t going nearly as well as you hoped.”

Braxton sighs, runs a hand through his thick mop of movie-star hair. “What I’m trying to say is that all the students wear the academy sweatshirt. Which means you need to wear one, too.”

“Butyou’renot wearing one.” I motion toward his black sweater, which, though I can’t say for sure, appears to be cashmere.

“I’m not a student.”

“What are you, then—a teacher?”

He shakes his head.

“A hall monitor?”

“Look,” Braxton says, “I don’t have a title, okay? I’m just here to help.”

“Oh, so that’s what this is—helping.”

Braxton’s gaze meets mine, but whatever he’s thinking, he keeps it hidden from me. Because, of course. “Look,” he finally says again, setting down his cup. “If we can just stay on schedule, then—”

“Fine,” I cut in. “But first, just answer my question. Who else wears green?”

With a weary sigh, Braxton closes his eyes, which is all the answer I need.