The woman stares Lucius down, face furious. She leans back the slightest bit, like she wants to hit him but also knows she should run. She holds her ground, though.

“I felt nothing but a fly on my face… one easily smashed,” Lucius says slowly. “Sit down, Julia.”

The names together make me stand up straighter. Mom talked about an Edgar and a Julia in the troupe she was with before she joined my dad. She talked about a Samuel too—could it be the same magician who died? Am I fighting to fill the spot of a man who Mom told me stories about? I hope not. I try to search my memory of the pictures in her box that I didn’t steal. Do Julia and Edgar look familiar? It’s been too long to recognize them, but they have to be the people Mom knew. I can feel it in the way my heart speeds like I’m close to something I want.

Julia opens her mouth again, but Edgar catches her eye and shakes his head. Her mouth closes, and she steps back, chest heaving. Lucius waves a hand, and the man gets escorted out of the room. I turn to the mentalist apprentice. A smug smile sits on his face, like they knew this might happen and were willing to pay the price. It wavers as Lucius gestures with a finger for him to step down. It seems like the whole room holds their breath until Lucius points behind his shoulder at Annalise. “You’re done. Please wait with her. Memories will be wiped at the end.”

To his credit, the boy holds his head high as he walks away.

I glance down the line at the rest of the apprentices. Some, like Ethan, stand calmly, but most of us fidget, sharing glances with each other.

Ethan’s next. He pulls out an old-fashioned revolver and points it in my direction. I try to step back and teeter, my foot almost slipping off the edge, but he’s already raised it above my head. He fires. The blast leaves me trembling. My ears ring. I put my hands over them in a delayed reaction and glance around. What the hell did he shoot?

My eyes land on Willow. Her hand is pressed to her head, face frozen with her mouth slightly open. Roman’s standing up at his spot at the table, saying something I can’t hear, probably her name. Willow finally drops her hand. One side of her flower crown is in tatters. Ethan fired a bullet right next to her head and right over mine—an impossible shot that didn’t line up right but somehow was perfect anyway.

I glance back to Ethan, and he’s got that same smirk on his face I saw earlier. I want to rip it off. He dips his chin and mouths, Your turn. Or maybe he says it. My ears are still ringing.