I turn to the head of the table. Annalise sits in front of a full plate, staring down the table at nothing, while Lucius skewers a piece of meat and surveys everything. His eyes land on me, and the asparagus chunk I’m lifting to my mouth freezes in midair. I don’t look away, even though I’m screaming at myself to do so. Common sense says that if you’re in a staring contest with the oldest immortal at the table, you should probably let him win. But I don’t do it. I keep staring. His eyes narrow, and he finally turns from me, placing a hand on Annalise’s arm. She flinches like he’s woken her from a trance and lifts her fork, spearing a carrot and placing it in her mouth without ever looking at her plate.

“What are you doing?” Aristelle follows my gaze to Lucius, and the fire in her eyes turns cold. “Don’t.”

“Don’t what?”

She goes back to her food without answering.

I drop my fork and stare at my untouched wineglass.

My glass blinks out of focus, and then it’s filled with a golden liquid.

“Who did that?”

Reina giggles. “I think you did. The magic read what you wanted.” She turns to Diantha. “Did you see that? She is a natural.”

I reach out and take a sip of apple juice. It is what I was thinking of. The familiar sweetness calms me in this sea of chaos. It also makes me think of Parker, how I used to pack the lunches in the mornings for him and some of the other foster kids, and I would put two apple juices in his. I would’ve given him two of everything if I could’ve gotten away with it. I saw him once sharing his lunch with another kid and going hungry himself. He was always too softhearted. I tried to tell him not to share. He told me it was the kind thing to do—not the right thing, the kind thing. He saw a difference.

Something tells me he wouldn’t survive here. These people are sharp. There’s a greediness in the way they dig into their plates of food, eyes barely connecting with those around them. Even though the plates of food flicking in and out in front of me are constantly full, I can’t quite shake the sense of urgency in the meal. It makes me put my own fork down just as everyone’s plates disappear and the table is suddenly naked and gold. Without anything on top of it, it seems almost obscene.

I run a finger over the smooth top until Xander intertwines his fingers with mine and drops our combined hands between us.