Lincoln chuckles. “Nat’s taking his role as chaperone rather seriously.” His mouth thins to a straight line. “There’s one more thing you need to know. For my plan to work, my people must return to Antrum immediately.”

Sadness wraps around me, heavy as a blanket. “When do you leave?”

“Next Saturday.”

I nod, processing the news. “If these are our last days together,” I straighten my shoulders, “then I want to have fun.” I wag my brows up and down. “Maybe get into some more deep trouble.”

He laughs; the sound curls my toes. “More Reperio demons?”

“No way. That’s so two weeks ago.”

“I have it.” Lincoln rises to his feet. “There’s a party Thursday night, a kind of official send-off. We could be troublesome there.” He offers me his hand.

I slide my fingers into his palm. The warmth from his skin is yummy. “Sounds like a plan.” Lincoln pulls me to my feet.

Our bodies are only inches apart now. Our hands are still entwined; neither of us is letting go.

“Excellent. I’ll have you added to the guest list.”

“Can you add my friends Cissy and Zeke too?” If I go without her, I’ll never hear the end of it.

“Of course.” He releases my hand, and this time the loss of his touch hurts even more. “The Great Ladies of the court are organizing this event; it’ll be traditional thrax attire. Someone will be in touch about making you another gown.”

I wince. “I went through all that with the tournaments. I’m not really Ball Gown Girl. Maybe we can break-in somewhere again?”

Lincoln chuckles. “With the scrutiny I’m under, I’m afraid that won’t be possible. But I’d really like to see you at the ball.” Tilting his head, he looks at me from his slate-gray eye. He slowly runs his pointer finger down my jaw-line. “Say yes, Myla.”

A warm blush crawls up my neck. “Yes.”

The Old Timer paces the classroom, a massive set of nail clippers in his fingers. With his free hand, he twiddles what’s left of his handlebar moustache. Cissy sits nearby. A few days have passed since Lincoln invited me—plus Zeke and Cissy—to the thrax ball. They won’t shut up about it, which makes this nerve-wracking event wrack my nerves all the more. I’m starting to wonder if I should have invited them at all.

“Class, please note the proper equipment for overgrown cuticles.”

A few students glance in his direction. The rest are busy whispering.

“Have you sent your measurements in?” Cissy has appointed herself event manager for Lincoln’s going-away ball. She’s already bugging me about wearing thrax undies.

“Yes, Mom did it right away. I’m a guest of the House of Gurith, so I’ll be in red and gold.”

“I’m a single lady for the House of Rixa, so I’m in green and black.”