“Let’s just go out on a limb here and suppose that November knows her father better than you do, Aarya, and give her a minute to digest the message,” Ash says.

“Oooh, please don’t use sarcasm on me, Ashai,” Aarya says with overblown drama. “How will I ever go on?”

“With the same psychotic clown routine you’ve been using for years,” Ash says.

“Rawwwrr,” she says, and slashes her fingers at him like a large cat.

But I’m barely listening because I’m staring at the message, reading it repeatedly, not absorbing the words and my mind drawing a giant blank. I exhale in frustration. Stop it. Get control of yourself. It’s just like learning to fence. The more emotional you get, the more ineffectual you’ll be.

I elongate my breaths, slowing my heart rate and rolling back my shoulders. And I look at the message again. I’ll break it down in pieces, translate it, write it backward—whatever I need to in order to make sense of it.

“Okay,” I say. “What I’ve been doing so far isn’t working, so I’m going to think this through out loud. Jump in if you notice anything, ’cause right now I’m just spinning my wheels.”

Aarya puts her hand on her chest, looking aghast. “As if you thought I would keep my opinions to myself and deprive you all of my musings.”

I look from the paper to Ash, ignoring Aarya. “What we know is that every clue so far has required both me and Ash to decode, so I don’t imagine that this one is any different. There are probably things in here that you all will know and I won’t.” I clear my throat. “Let’s see…the first bit reads: We’re taking to the street in treason.” I pause. “On this part, I’ve got nothing. That doesn’t even sound like something my dad would say, to be honest.” I look up at them to see if they have any input, but no one says a word. “Then he writes: Welcome to the first Death Season. What’s weird about this is that he did say ‘death season’ to me once and only once, when I was six.”

“Would he expect you to remember that?” Ash says.

“Actually, yeah,” I reply. “It’s part of a story we’ve told dozens of times. And…hang on…you know what?” I say, feeling a glimmer of hope. “It’s time to make a change, and we’ve picked a day could also be a variation of that story.” I read the next line. “But The head Lion we will slay has no meaning to me beyond the obvious killing-Jag connotations.”

“A code based on personal experiences,” Ash says. “That fits the pattern.”

“It definitely does,” I agree.

“So let’s hear it, Ember,” Aarya says. “When did your dad say those things to you?”