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“Jesus,” I say. Looking to Milas, I add, “You’re lucky it didn’t kill you.”

“She was a bitch,” he says with a shrug. He glances at Beatrice, a taunting smirk pulling at his mouth. “You would have gotten along, actually.”

“All right. Enough,” Sebastian says. He has a thick stack of paper in front of him, and he’s spent the last ten minutes studying them, rather than paying us attention.

I haven’t forgotten he’s here though. I’ve been disgustingly attuned to his every movement. When he turns a page. When he reads something under his breath. When he shifts on our shared bench.

I’ve pushed all my energy into watching his inner circle, but my attention keeps snagging on him. The way he smells, moves, breathes. I’ve realized out here, they’re different. All of them.

They’re breathing , first of all. There’s a flush to their skin. They’re shivering in their coats.

They’re human, I think. Out here, exposed in the sun, I think they’re more human than I am.

“Cora,” Sebastian says, nodding toward her. “Tell us where we’re at.”

She doesn’t immediately respond. Instead, she leans across the stone table, taking a moment to inspect each of Milas’s collected ingredients. Once she’s done, she uses Milas’s jacket to wipe the blood from her palm. His nostrils flare, but he otherwise doesn’t react.

“This looks adequate,” she says. “Between this, my own collection, and Grace here, I think we’re ready.”

“You’re sure?” Sebastian asks. “We might only have one chance.”

His voice is a smooth blanket over my racing heart.

“We’re as ready as we’re going to be,” she says. “Grace has regular access to her magic. She’s not strong, but she doesn’t need to be.”

I want to ask what I will need to be. Despite the months I’ve been here, I still don’t know exactly how breaking a curse works. They need my blood. I need to have magic. But obviously they’ll need something more, right?

My heart thunders again, and I tap my foot in rhythm.

Though Sebastian’s face doesn’t change, he presses his hand to my knee. There’s nothing sexual or flirtatious about the movement. He only holds my leg still, like a weighted comfort.

“We’re ready,” Cora says again. She looks between us. “There’s a full moon next week. We’ll do it then. ”

They go over more details, but it’s things that don’t really matter.

Where? The same ballroom where the Nectoa tried to kill me.

Who? Just us. Sebastian, the inner circle, me.

When? Right before midnight, when the moon is at its most powerful.

I’m fidgeting, spiraling, losing myself so completely I don’t realize Sebastian has moved his hand from my knee to my shoulder until he squeezes it. His hand lingers there, rubbing softly, as Cora finishes her spiel.

I’m going to vomit.

I’m going to die , and I feel it with such certainty I’m not sure how I haven’t felt like this every moment of every day. Maybe Cora has placed some sort of soothing spell over me. Or maybe I’ve been living in a state of complete denial.

Jesus fuck. I am going to die . There’s no way that hasn’t been the plan all along. And I’ve just been sitting here, waiting for them to be ready. For them to prime me for the slaughter.

What else could you have done ? I ask myself silently.

Escape , is my stubborn response. I’m too overwhelmed to care I’m arguing with myself. I never even tried to escape.

There’s still time , I decide. It’s desperate, unrealistic. But if the full moon isn’t until next week, I have time to figure this out.

“Change the location to the auditorium,” Sebastian says.

I come out of my thoughts enough to register those words.

“The ballroom is better,” Cora says. “More windows. Better for the moon to?—”

“The auditorium,” he interrupts. “Or the courtyard, if we must. Not the ballroom. ”

Cora and Beatrice shoot me identical, accusatory looks. I haven’t said a single word, and they’re still looking at me like this is my fault.

None of this is my fault! I want to scream. You are the monsters, not me!

I stay silent. I already know they won’t care.

“Fine,” Cora says eventually. She collects the dead and dried and decaying items from the table before nodding to Milas. “Carry the rest, would you?”

He obliges, and the others depart just as quickly. Then, it’s me and Sebastian, alone in the courtyard.

I can feel him staring.

“Thank you for moving it from the ballroom,” I say without turning my head. I’m staring at the center of the table, where moments ago, a werewolf ear sat bloodied. Milas had carved it off a woman’s head, and everyone had made jokes about it.

Where was the woman now? Still alive? Or did he kill her to get that ear?

“Grace,” Sebastian says. His voice is low, smooth and gentle, and I hate it. I want to scream and thrash and have a meltdown until he’s forced to drag me to my room, kicking.

I push from the bench and start for the door. He’s soon at my side, but not with the unnatural speed I’ve come to accept. I’m right, I decide. He’s human. It’s not just in his movements. It’s in the faint color beneath his cheeks, made brighter by the wind.

“Once it’s over,” he says, “I’ll take you wherever you want to go.”

“I’m not going to survive,” I say. My voice doesn’t sound like mine. It’s disconnected, far away. “Don’t lie to me, Sebastian. ”

He forces me to stop, grabbing my chin, making me look at him.

“You are not going to die,” he says. “Understand? I am not going to let you die.”

“The ritual might need it,” I say. “It might be the only way?—”

“Then I will find a different way.”

“You can’t honestly expect me to believe that.”

“No, I guess I can’t,” he says. He releases my chin, looking behind me at the statue of himself. After a lengthy pause, he looks back at me. “It’s still the truth, Grace. I am not going to let you die.”

Maybe he’s telling the truth. Maybe he’s lying.

I need to leave before I find out.