It had to be Jill. Her hair was sleek and glossy and looked like it had been brushed a thousand times a day for the last ten years. Jack’s hair had never been that well-cared-for. More importantly, the girl’s wrists were thin and delicate. The muscle of Jack’s arms and shoulders had always been the most obvious distinction between her and her sister. She’d worn long-sleeved shirts with buttoned cuffs, but it had always been clear that one of them did physical labor and one of them … didn’t.

Probably-Jill somehow managed to look moonwashed even in the electric glare of the basement light. She was wearing a lacy, diaphanous nightgown. It was elaborate enough that Christopher was pretty sure he was supposed to call it something pretentious, like a “peignoir,” and it was cut to show an uncomfortable amount of her too-pale skin. Despite all that, the collar was high enough to brush her jaw and so thick with lace rosettes that he couldn’t tell how much scar tissue it concealed. Perfect for a vampire’s adopted daughter.

The stranger opened her mouth, working it soundlessly for several seconds before closing it and shaking her head.

“I’ll get help,” said Cora, turning and running up the stairs before Christopher could ask her not to.

Honestly, he wasn’t even able to quite formulate the reasons why he would’ve objected. Maybe it was the ozone in the air, the charged feeling of something getting ready to break down or break through or break to pieces around them. He was a student at a school for kids who’d traveled between worlds, crossing thresholds that should have been uncrossable; for something to feel strange to him, it had to be pretty extreme.

The Wolcott—Jill, it had to be Jill—in the stranger’s arms remained pale and motionless. Christopher frowned.

“Do you want to put her down?” he asked. “My name’s Christopher. I was a friend of Jack’s before she went back to the Moors. I mean, not really. Jack doesn’t have friends, she has minions who haven’t figured out their place in the grand scheme of things. But she liked me okay, and Jill tolerated me, and this used to be their room. You could put her on my bed if you wanted to.”

The stranger shook her head again, looking frustrated. Her mouth moved.

“I’m sorry. I can’t—if you’re making any sort of sound, I can’t hear it.”

The stranger took a deep breath and mouthed something, lips moving slowly and deliberately. Christopher blinked.

“Too soft?” he asked. “Is that what you’re saying, the bed is too soft?”

The stranger nodded.