“You’re right. Waiting a few days until you’ve recovered surely won’t make a difference.” It felt like a feeble, impotent wish, but what other choice did they have? Her magic and her intuition had misled her too many times before; she couldn’t risk both their lives on a hunch. “Besides, Lowry hasn’t harmed us yet. Whatever he has in store for us, he must be planning to act at this party he’s hosting. He’s waiting for something, or else hoping to make a spectacle of it. But we’ll stop him before that happens.”

She extended her hand into the tense, crackling space between them. After a moment’s hesitation, he accepted it. With that, it was done. For the first time in centuries, a Danubian and a Vesrian would work together. As much as it should have terrified her, the strength of his grip was a small comfort in the chaos she’d created for herself. Like the rest of him, his hand was smooth and unscarred and warm.

Untouchable, except to her.

Absently, Wren ran her thumb along the back of his palm. It wasn’t until she noticed his elevated heart rate and the distinct absence of his breath through the tether that she realized she’d even done it. Hal did not withdraw from her even when she raised her gaze to his. How terrible was it, she thought, to wonder how much closer he’d let her get?

Her mouth dried as his eyes drifted lower, and she dropped his hand. They had no time for whatever this was between them. Not when their mission had only two possible outcomes. Success meant preventing a war. It meant securing her position and finally knowing what happened to Byers—and why. Failure meant they might end up the fourth from each country to disappear.

Two more scraps of kindling for the war already sparking.

As late afternoon sun filtered through the window, Wren jolted awake to find herself curled up on an armchair she didn’t recognize. Her eyes were nearly welded shut with sleep and the collar of her nightgown was soaked with saliva. She’d clearly needed the rest, to have slept so soundly here of all places. With a contented sigh, she unfolded herself to the satisfying crackle of synovial fluid.

A ripple of unease spread from between her shoulder blades and settled, cold and buzzing, at the base of her skull. Someone else is here.

She turned over her shoulder and huffed in relief. Of course someone else was here. This was Hal’s room. He sat upright in bed with a peculiar, almost chastised, expression.

He averted his eyes and instead took great interest in the frost blooming like lichen across the windowpane. Had he been staring at her? Self-consciously adjusting her nightdress, she felt her ears began to burn.

“Good morning,” she muttered.

“Evening, I believe.”

Technicalities, really.