“Oh. Ahh . . .” Thisbe swallowed hard. She thought about what it might look like inside. How would Alex have left it? Reminders of how awful their relationship had been began pounding incessantly in Thisbe’s head. After a moment she cringed and nodded. “Yeah, I’m okay with it.” Maybe it would be nice to see something so closely related to Alex again. Maybe it would help her.

Florence stopped at the door to the head mage’s quarters and rested her hand on the knob. She looked at Thisbe. “Ready?”

Thisbe nodded again. “Let’s do this,” she whispered.

Florence uttered a magical phrase under her breath, and the handle turned. She pushed the door open and went in, then moved out of the way.

Thisbe stepped inside. Sunshine flooded through the windows, and dust particles hung in the light. The room smelled stale, having been closed up for a long time. The bed was neatly made, and there was a single robe hanging on a hook on the wall. The closet stood ajar, as if, in a hurry to get going, Alex had swung it closed, but it hadn’t clicked shut.

There was a pile of books collecting dust on his desk, and a sweater was slung over the chair back. Thisbe blinked and looked around, expecting a blackboard to greet them, but she didn’t see it. “Where’s Cromwell?” Cromwell was Alex’s blackboard—the one who’d replaced Clive after Clive had died in the final battle in Artimé. Alex and Cromwell had never hit it off quite like Alex and Clive had.

“I reassigned him to a new Unwanted once we knew Alex was gone. It was torturous for poor Cromwell, being stuck in here knowing his person would never return.”

“That was really thoughtful of you,” Thisbe murmured. It would have never occurred to her. She pressed her lips together, then lifted Alex’s sweater and held it tightly in her hands, feeling the silky fabric. She brought it to her nose and breathed in. She closed her eyes tightly and grimaced, feeling a startling pain inside her ribs. “It smells like him.”

“I would imagine it does,” said Florence, trying to read the girl’s expression. “Is that comforting to you? Or . . . perhaps just the opposite.”

“It’s . . . okay,” Thisbe said. “It’s weird, I guess. I mean . . .” Thisbe could only think about the last time she’d seen Alex, before she and Fifer had run away with Hux. He’d been angry with them, as usual. The last in-person memory Thisbe had in relation to Alex was his angry, disappointed face. Something she’d seen time after time.