And I know if I take this dagger within my hand, it will cut me, and Anna will bleed away.

Mr. Wolfe disappears, and I am left with the decision, to bleed or not.

I choose not to, and it’s not because I am afraid of the pain but because I hear the pounding of an anvil in the distance. I follow the sound through a back door, down a dark tunnel that makes me shiver, into a workroom.

Mr. Wolfe is nowhere to be seen, but something claims the center of the chamber.

I approach it cautiously, a warning ringing in my mind. It’s a full suit of armor, standing upright, waiting for someone to step within it. As I draw closer . . . I recognize it. This is Emrys’s armor, the one he wears on the new moon, trespassing into nightmares.

Fresh blood drips from it. I watch it spill down the breastplate, pooling on the floor. I hear something move behind me and I whirl to find Mr. Wolfe standing in a doorway, framed by light, staring at me with shadows in his eyes.

“Whose blood is this?” I ask.

He doesn’t answer, but an axe gleams in his hands.

“Whose blood is this?” I ask again, louder.

He takes a step closer to me, the floor creaking beneath him.

I startled awake.

It was twilight, and my clothes were drenched with sweat. I had no idea where I was. Not until I sat forward and studied the sparse chamber that held me.

Trembling, I slipped from the bed and warmed myself at the fire, although the dream’s chill lingered in my mind. Why on earth had I dreamt such a thing? Olivette’s father, of all people. I quickly ate a few bites of bread and meat that had appeared on my table as Emrys foretold, washing it down with water.

I donned my boots and then sat on the edge of the bed, waiting for night to arrive. That’s when I noticed a folded slip of parchment sitting on the floor, as if it had been snuck beneath my door.

I rose and picked it up, suspicious until I recognized Imonie’s handwriting.

Be patient, be shrewd.

I smiled, remembering how she said this to me every new moon. But the warmth of the memory faded when I realized what she was saying to me.

Don’t get yourself killed, Clem.

I took the dagger my father had given me into my hand, pacing the room, anticipating what was to come.

The night deepened.

Ready, I approached my door, but my fingers paused on the iron handle. What if it was my dream that materialized in the hall? I shouldn’t have let myself sleep this first day. I had already failed on the shrewd part of Imonie’s message.