“We have the best drinks in town,” he said. “Anything you want.”

Cloverye, Tavia thought. Just leave the bottle.

But “I’m fine” was what she actually said. “Really. Tek.”

The waiter nodded and walked away, though he left the menu, and if Tavia hadn’t been waiting out a horde of buskers, she would have called him back for that bottle of Cloverye and a straw.

As she looked around at the bar, she thought about how the Last Hope really was aptly named, because Tavia couldn’t imagine anyone who enjoyed fun making it a frequent choice. The music was low and far too smooth, forgetting to toe that gentle line between being quiet enough for people to order drinks but upbeat enough to let any worries fade away. It didn’t have the same violent charm as the Crook.

“Fancy meeting you here.”

Tavia closed her eyes in a sigh.

“Small world,” she said, turning on the stool. “One might say it was suffocating.”

Nolan did not look impressed, and Tavia suspected that it wasn’t just because of his new black eye, or the blood on his mouth, or the various scrapes her duplicate selves had been good enough to give him.

Behind him, ten of his busker friends glared in perfect unison.

At the very least, she was happy that the other Tavias had managed to take down two of his crew, but eleven against one was still crappy odds, and she kicked herself for spending so long watching the front entrance to the Last Hope and turning her attention from the back.

Rookie mistake.

Something Wesley would have never let happen.

Except, try as hard as she could, Tavia wasn’t Wesley. She was fast, but not fast enough. She could scout an escape and throw magic at her enemies, but she couldn’t have eyes in the back of her head like he always seemed to.

She was good, but still not good enough.

“Just tell me that you weren’t able to follow me,” Tavia said. “I might be having some bad luck, but I swear you weren’t on my tail. Save me some pride here.”

“There’s a tracking charm in the backpack,” Nolan said. “Might have been good for you to check your stolen merchandise.”

Tavia cursed, loud enough for him to raise an eyebrow. She’d have to remember to take that out after she kicked his ass. Tavia couldn’t risk Nolan following her back to the forest.

“You have something of mine,” Nolan said.

“And you have something of mine.” Tavia gestured to his black eye. “Though you can keep that. How about I keep the backpack too and we’ll call it even?”

“You’re hilarious,” Nolan deadpanned.

“Thanks,” she said. “Most people don’t appreciate how hard humor can be in the face of death.”