Hawk glances from side to side, checking to see if anyone heard me. When he looks back, he’s furious. “I’m going to assume that was a rookie mistake, given your tender age.” His voice is a growl and he touches the knife hilt on his belt in a menacing way. “But let me be clear, if I see you there, or at any point before, poking around in my business, I will hand you over to Jag with pleasure.”

I stand and take a step backward, my heart pounding. Not only has Hawk confirmed there is a masquerade ball, but in the most horrible of coincidences, he is going to be there. I’m not sure if I’m deeply relieved that we figured out part of my dad’s clue or terrified that I’ve just made an enemy of Hawk.

Ash grabs my arm and the moment I look up I know why. Two men from the back table have gotten up and are headed straight for us, and by the way they are zeroed in on us, I’m sure they’ve figured out who we are.

We don’t hesitate. We move full-speed for the exit, weaving around Strategia and between tables. Any relief I had over the masquerade information is now eclipsed by panic.

Ash flings open the door and I run into the dark closet, grab the handle leading to the kitchen, and push it open. I look momentarily for a lock, but of course there is none. At a loss for options, I grab a rolling rack of dishes, and the second Ash clears the doorway, I wedge it between the door and the edge of the counter where a guy is chopping onions.

All at once, everyone in the kitchen turns to look at us, the room dropping into an eerie stillness. The kitchen staff don’t try to hide their worried reactions, telling me that at the very least, they’re not Strategia.

Behind me, the closet door slams into the dish rack, opening an inch, but the barricade holds. The staff’s agitation increases, and a few of them look like they might make a move toward us.

“Run!” Ash says, shoving aside a kitchen worker who steps into our path. And it suddenly occurs to me that even though they’re not Strategia, they might have been instructed to intervene if an event like this ever occurred. The instant I have the thought, and before I can move an inch, the guy chopping onions holds up his knife.

Without pause, I grab an empty pot and swing it as hard as I can toward his hand. But instead of lunging forward or swiftly moving out of the way, the guy jumps back and drops the knife, putting his hands in the air. Definitely not Strategia.