We all step inside. Mom closes the door behind us, then points dramatically to the couch. “This is where you’ll be sleeping, Lincoln, the thrax.” She fixes him with the exact same stare Lincoln’s father gave me, the one that says ‘I know what’s on your oversexed little mind.’ And hey, that’s not untrue, but we’ve got it under control. Mostly.

He bows slightly. “Of course.”

Mom wraps me in a long hug. “I’m glad you’re safe, baby. Don’t stay up too late.” She glances at Lincoln and sighs. “Thank you for watching over Myla. It says a lot about your character.” She kisses him gently on the cheek. “Good night.”

I let out a long breath. That was a downright normal interaction between Mom and Lincoln. She’s been bouncing back from her overprotective mode into her old Senator Lewis self faster and faster these days. What a relief.

Mom pulls her threadbare robe tighter and walks into her bedroom, closing the door behind her with a soft click.

Lincoln and I exchange a look that mixes shock and relief, the kind I normally reserve for near-miss accidents with Betsy. I half-smile. “I’m not sure who wins for weirdest parental interaction of the day.”

“Come on. Me, definitely.” He enfolds me in his arms. “I’m so sorry about that, by the way. Father should have focused on your safety, not a power play with the Earl. He used to be…Very different.” He gives my back a gentle pat. “But enough about my family for one day.” Leaning forward, the Prince moves to set his mouth on mine.

“I’m not sure that’s such a good idea.” Frowning, I glance at Mom’s closed door.

Lincoln releases me and steps backwards. “I understand.”

We’re so close to goodbye. After tomorrow’s Arena match, Lincoln returns to Antrum and Walker portals me into the Gray Sea safe house. The weight I felt on the ride home grows heavier, settling into every cell of my body. My eyes sting.

I wrap my fingers around Lincoln’s hand and lead him into my room. Sadness hangs in the air like fog. Lincoln sits on my bed, his back against the headboard. I climb onto the mattress and curl up beside him. My cheek nestles onto his chest; his long arm wraps loosely about my back. My eyelids grow heavy.

That night I dream of an office decorated entirely in red. Crimson walls stretch off into the distance, with no end or windows in sight. My bare feet stand on a blood-red wooden floor dotted with small round carpets of the same hue. To my left, scarlet-colored leather chairs encircle a large table made of red crystal. At my right, there looms a massive cherry-red desk, and behind that desk sits Armageddon.