In other words, I’m about to feed him yet another lie.

  And though it’ll be a harmless lie, it still makes me cringe to think just how quickly these little fabrications are starting to pile up.

  Still, resolved to do whatever it takes, I’m making my way down the staircase, trying to think of the perfect response, when I glance at the screen to find the message isn’t from Braxton.

  It’s from Killian.

  And luckily, I have no problem lying to him.

  Killian: Hey—I know ur boy is off with Arthur. Does that mean you’re free to hang w/me?

  Me: Unfortunately, I

  Me: Unfor

  Me: Un

  Me:

  In the end, I don’t hit send. I just choose to ignore him and delete my reply.

  Not because Killian and I aren’t friendly—we are.

  Actually, I’m probably the closest friend Killian has in this place. Which isn’t saying much, considering how, from what I can tell, he doesn’t seem to have any friends.

  All I really know is that Killian’s been here longer than Braxton and almost as long as Elodie. But just because he was stuck in eighteenth-century France for the last four years doesn’t mean his return erased all the earlier baggage nearly everyone here associates with him.

  For the last three weeks, Killian’s kept to himself. And there was one night when I felt so sad to see him eating alone that I nearly gave Braxton a stroke when I invited Killian to join us.

  But Killian was quick to decline. And between Braxton’s thinly veiled hatred and Killian’s vague accusations—well, I was feeling kind of over it.

  For such a small group of Blues, we are teeming with resentments. And I guess in a way I’m no better, seeing as how I’ve been nursing my own anger toward Elodie from the start. But at least I try to get along. At least I’m able to get through a meal, attend her in-room parties, and put in the effort required to actually have a good time.

  But Braxton and Killian…forget it.

  Or, as Braxton said later that night: Never going to happen, so don’t waste your time. Followed by: And you should seriously consider staying away from him. He’s not who you think he is.

  I wish I knew what really happened between them. But those two aren’t talking, and no one else will give up any details.

  All I know for sure is that the whole thing makes me feel awful, which explains why I pretty much spent the rest of that dinner sneaking glances between Killian and Mason. Each of them exiled to their own tables. Each of them pretending not to care.

  Even after dinner, instead of joining the rest of us in the Autumn room, Killian just wandered off on his own, just as he has every night since he returned.

  For Braxton, that comes as a relief. But for me, well, I guess there’s still a part of me that feels like I owe Killian a debt I can never repay.

  When he found me in that cell in Versailles, I was so lost in a Fade that if it weren’t for him, showing up with the talisman that I’d lost, I may have never found my way out.

  Hell, I never would’ve made my way anywhere, seeing as how I was dangerously close to crossing my own timeline. And since the duality of existence results in nonexistence, I would’ve blinked out of the world as though I never was in it.

  “You cannot enter the same river twice, for it’s not the same river and he’s not the same man.”

  It’s a quote by Heraclitus that my dad once taught me. Which reminds me of the words engraved on the plaque that hangs over the entrance to Gray Wolf: “Panta rhei.”

  Translation: “Everything flows.”

  And while I’m still not sure exactly what it means, I do know there must be a connection between my dad teaching the eight-year-old version of me a quote and a phrase by the same ancient Greek philosopher being cited above the academy gate. It’s just too specific to be a coincidence.

  My dad, this place, the missing pieces Arthur expects me to find from their various hiding spots throughout the world—throughout time—so he can finally realize his dream of restoring the Antikythera Mechanism to its original glory—it’s all related, all connected.

  I just don’t know how.

  I pass priceless pieces of art, breeze through the room where wingback chairs hang from thick silver chains. I’m about to make my way down the hall with the reclaimed-wood floors that always reminds me of a posh bowling alley when my slab chimes again.

  Killian: FTR - I saw those 3 dots - u avoiding me, Shiv?

  Shiv. The nickname he gave me in reference to the weapon I used on the duke that I crafted from a few pieces I pulled from my pannier. And as much as I like to pretend it annoys me, it mostly just makes me laugh. Also, if I’m being honest, it makes me feel kind of badass.

  Better than my former nickname at my old school: loser.

  Me: Nope. Just v busy w/v important things.

  Killian: V important things = my specialty and u know how good I am at keeping secrets ur secrets.

  A furious blush spreads across my face. He’s referring to the kiss. That one time we first met when I was in a Fade. And the second time when…

  I shake my head, annoyed with myself for even following this particular thought trail. While Killian insists I kissed him back, I remember it differently.

  I remember biting his lip so hard, I tasted blood.

  I ignore the message and pause before the door when my phone chimes again.

  Killian: Ur killing me, Shiv. Whatsa boy gotta do 2 grab a coffee w/u?

  This is followed by a string of broken-heart and coffee emojis.

  Ugh. What is wrong with this guy? What will it take for him to give up?

  I shake my head and thumb a quick reply.

  Me: Can’t—sorry—heading to the library. Buried in research. Also, pls stop w/the emojis.

  There. That should end it. I visit the Gray Wolf library nearly every day, researching stuff for my upcoming Trip to Renaissance Italy. And since I’ve never once seen Killian around, I figure he’s not all that big on reading or books.

  I pull on my gloves and tug my hood so that it falls just short of my eyes, when a voice sounds from behind me.

  “Well, isn’t this a wee bit of a head-scratcher. Findin’ ya standin’ ’ere like tis?”

  I freeze. It’s Killian. Speaking in one of his many fake accents. Shit.

  “And here I thought the library was in the exact opposite direction.”

  Slowly, I turn. I mean, what choice do I have?

  “Whatcha up to, Shiv?” His bright blue eyes shine on mine. His lips ease into a grin.

  “N-nothing,” I stammer. Seriously. What is wrong with me? Pull it together already!

  “Sure looks like nothing.” His grin grows wider. He offers his arm. “What do you say I save you from whatever this is, and you and I go grab a coffee somewhere?”

  I glance longingly at the door, then back at Killian.

  Left with no other choice, I flip my hood back and step toward him.

  10

  “Where are you taking me?” I ask, gesturing around the hall Killian is currently leading me down. “Because this is definitely not the way to the Spring room.”

  “That’s because we’re not going to the Spring room,” he says.

  I stop in my tracks. Killian takes an additional step, then turns to face me.

  “Do you really think it’s a good idea for us to enjoy a coffee somewhere as public as that?” he asks.

  He makes a good point, but still I hesitate.

  “Can you at least try to trust me?” His blue eyes plead with mine. “After all, I did save your life.”

  I shake my head and frown. “Not this again.”

  Killian laughs.

  “And, while we’re on the subject, stop calling me ‘Shiv.’” I cross my arms against my chest, wanting him to know that I’m serious.

  Killian nods and starts walking again. After he takes a few steps, I rush to catch up.

  “So, let me get this straight.” He turns my way, and since he’s got a good seven inches on me, he’s forced to dip his chin to meet my gaze. “I can’t call you ‘Shiv,’ and we both know ‘darling’ is out. Discovered that one the hard way. Though I have heard a few people around here call you ‘Tasha.’”

  “Braxton,” I say, my voice edged with annoyance. “Braxton is the only one who calls me Tasha. Which is why it’s off-limits to you.”

  “Fair enough.” He nods. “Maybe Nat, then?”

  “No.” The word practically leaps off my tongue, which of course prompts him to give me an appraising once-over. Still, I won’t back down. Nat reminds me of the worst version of myself, the girl I was before I came here. The apathetic, self-sabotaging loser who was failing at pretty much every aspect of life.

  “Can you help me out here?” he says. “Because I’m all out of options.”

  “You can call me Natasha,” I say. “My actual name is Natasha Antoinette Clarke. See, there’s three names. You’re free to choose among them.”

  Killian shakes his head. “Sorry,” he says. “I just don’t see you that way. Maybe you should make up a new name, like virtually everyone else in this place. You think your boy was always named Braxton?”

  Killian glances down at me again, but I just shrug it off, not wanting to let on how much he’s surprised me.

  If Braxton isn’t his real name, then what is it—and why did he change it—and why has he never told me?

  “You think Elodie Blue is the name on her birth certificate?” Killian continues, drawing me away from my thoughts.

  I shrug. Having already guessed that about Elodie, I say, “And who were you before you became Killian du Luce?” I narrow my gaze, realizing that, despite sharing the bond of a harrowing experience, I know virtually nothing about him.

  Killian grins. “Nice try. But we’re talking about you. And I gotta say, you’ll always be ‘Shiv’ to me. Sorry, friend. It just suits you.”

  I breathe a frustrated sigh, but really I’m still caught on him calling me friend. I mean, I know that’s the best way to describe us, but it still strikes me as sad that we’re forced to hide that fact from everyone else.

  And yet, I’m the only one who seems bothered. Killian doesn’t give a shit what anyone thinks.

  “Now tell me—” He comes to a sudden stop. “What’s your favorite place on this rock? And, just a heads-up, there are no right answers, only wrong ones.”

  Deciding to play along, I make an exaggerated version of a thinking face—eyes squinted, finger pressed to my chin, as I stare into some unknown horizon. “Let’s see…that would probably be a tie between the Moon Garden and the Glass Room,” I say, though the second it’s out I’m overcome with regret.

  The Moon Garden is where Braxton and I almost shared our first kiss. It’s also where he confided in me about what really happens here at Gray Wolf.

  The Glass Room is where that first kiss finally happened—a kiss so glorious, just thinking about it makes my cheeks flush.

  I should’ve just shrugged it off, pretended I couldn’t possibly choose among all the awesomeness. The Moon Garden and the Glass Room are solely for Braxton and me. Which means I definitely don’t want to visit either of those places with Killian.

  “You really outdid yourself, Shiv,” Killian says. “I was only expecting one wrong answer, but you showed up with two. And judging by the looks of it, they really are your favorites. Just thinkin’ about ’em has put a bloom in yer cheeks.” He gestures toward my face, which only makes me flush even more fiercely.

  “So what is the right answer?” I ask, torn between being amused and annoyed—the usual emotional circuit when dealing with this boy.

  Killian grins, and while I can objectively agree that it’s an all-out heart-melter, it has zero effect on me. “Today,” he says, stopping before an elevator and pushing the call button. “You’re about to add a new favorite place to your list.”

  “That’s a pretty big buildup,” I say. “You sure you’re not overselling it?”

  “That’s for you to decide.” He shrugs. “But first, we need to get there. And it’s a wee bit o’ a journey, I warn ya.” He’s back to speaking in accents again, and I’m about to call him out on it when the elevator doors slide open and Killian ushers me inside.

  Straightaway we’re descending so quickly, I’m reminded of the time I visited the Vault with Arthur, though I’m sure that’s not where we’re heading now. When the car does finally stop, the doors slide open and I step into a space so plain, so dreary and austere, for a moment I wonder if we might’ve somehow left Gray Wolf.

  I mean, clearly we’re still on the rock, since the only two ways out of this place are by time travel or a terrifying ride through treacherous waters. And yet, there’s no denying that with one quick elevator ride, we’ve managed to leave our luxurious, snow globe–like world far behind, only to arrive in a space that would best be described as industrial gloom.

  The ceiling is claustrophobically low. The floor is made of the same cement as the walls. And it looks like some sort of weird indoor parking garage.

  “Well, this is…” I look all around, trying to summon just the right word. There’s not a single work of art, no elaborate crystal chandeliers, no expensive wall treatments to be found. Just miles of cold, gray cement harshly lit by fluorescent lights.

  “Surprising?” Killian suggests.

  I shake my head. “I was thinking more like bleak. But yeah, surprising works, too. Either way, it seems like an odd place to grab a coffee.”

  But not such an odd place to stash a body.

  The thought comes at me from out of nowhere. And despite the warmth of my parka, a shiver courses right through me.

  It’s fine. You’re fine, I struggle to convince myself. You’re just triggered. You’re in a confined, unfamiliar space with a boy you don’t really know all that well. It’s a loss of control. Nothing more. Just breathe your way back to comfort and peace, like Dr. Lucy said.

  But, while I’m busy slowing my breaths, my mind continues to unspool a ribbon of thoughts so alarming I’m filled with regret for agreeing to this.

  For one thing, not only does Braxton hate Killian, but I can’t even count how many times he’s warned me to steer clear of him.

  And there’s no denying how pretty much everyone else on this rock goes out of their way to avoid him.

  Everyone but me, apparently.

  I steal a glance at Killian. Surely I’m being irrational.

  I mean, Killian is my friend.

  He helped me out of a terrible jam.

  And yet, he also murdered a man—a Timekeeper back in Versailles. He plunged a blade right through his belly and left him to die. And according to him, it wasn’t the first time.

  Doesn’t matter that I still don’t know what a Timekeeper is. What I do know is that Killian failed to show even the slightest hint of remorse over ending his life.

  Also, isn’t it odd that we’ve traveled all this way without running into a single other person?

  Which also means that if something were to happen to me—no one will suspect Killian.

  Hell, no one will even know where to look for me!

  My thoughts are in a whirl. A deep sense of panic starts to take root. But I can’t let on. Can’t let Killian know just how anxious I’m feeling.

  I drag in a slow, ragged breath as I cast a furtive glance all around, searching for an exit, a way out—

  “Oh look,” Killian says, seemingly unaware of just how rattled I am. “Our ride’s right over there.”

  I glance in the direction he’s pointing, only to see one of the ubiquitous Gray Wolf carts parked diagonally against a wall.

  It’s the same sort of golf cart Arthur used when he took me to the Vault.

  The same sort of ride that whisked me to the control room both times I Tripped.

  Which is to say that they’re generally reserved for visits to the outer reaches of this place.

  Which only begs the question: Just how far is Killian planning to take me?

  “Ever drive one of these?” he asks, leading me toward it.

  “Um…no, I—” My heart is pumping too fast, my breath rapidly sawing in and out of my lungs.

  “First time for everything!” Killian hops onto the passenger seat and motions for me to take the wheel. “Hey there,” he calls. “Budge up, already. I’ve got a craving for a cuppa that won’t quit.”

  I swallow hard, give another anxious look around. There’s nowhere to flee, and even if there was, it’s not like I can outrun him.

  To Killian, I say, “But I—I don’t know where we’re going.”

  Killian throws his head back and lets out a quick burst of a laugh. When he finally rights himself, my gaze sweeps across his tumble of golden blond curls, to those deep-blue eyes the same warm hue as one of David Hockney’s swimming pools. His nose is strong, his cheekbones defined, his jawline a brutal sharp line—like one of Michelangelo’s statues come to life. And though I hate to admit it, the mere sight of him is enough to steal the breath right out of me.

  He chuckles softly. “I hav’ ta say, yer lookin’ a wee bit pale around the eyes there, Shiv. So, I thought maybe you might like to drive. Ya know, so you can feel more in control.”

  I inhale an anxious breath. So he did notice the shift in my mood. And, if worse comes to worse, I can always crash his side of the cart and make a run for it…

  Next thing I know, I’m settled onto the driver’s seat, asking Killian which way to go.

  11

  I steer the golf cart down a long series of hallways, following the directions Killian gives me.

  “Where’d you learn to drive, Shiv?”

  I shake my head, keeping a steady foot on the pedal and my hands secured on the wheel.