Ash undoes the hooked latch on the tall compartment. My brain screams at me to close my eyes, but I can’t manage to look away. And just as I feared, the X guard is standing upright inside, frozen white with his eyes half open. I take two bumbling steps backward and cover my mouth with my hand.

Layla brings the candle close to his face, accentuating his frozen features.

“No bruises or cuts,” Ash says in a hushed voice, and inspects the guard’s hands. “His knuckles don’t have any marks, so there wasn’t much of a struggle. Maybe he was outnumbered?”

“Nothing to suggest he took a hit to the face, either,” Layla whispers, and leans in to get a closer look at the gash across his neck.

“That’s odd,” she says. “The cut isn’t a clean line. I couldn’t tell in the hallway when he was covered in blood.”

“What does that mean?” I ask. “Did someone use a serrated blade?”

“No,” she says, and frowns. “The wound isn’t uniform enough for that, either.”

Ash leans closer and his eyes widen. For the first time ever, he looks rattled. “Glass, Lay. I would bet anything that it was glass—sharp enough to cut deeply and easily, jagged enough to make a much sloppier cut.”

My chest tightens, and his reaction suddenly makes perfect sense. “The broken glass from my room. Do you think…,” I say, and my voice trails off.

“Yes. Someone must have gotten a piece of it before Pippa could dispose of it,” Layla says, nodding.

“Wait…I don’t know if this is a big deal,” I say, “but Felix had a cut on his palm in poisons class. I remember thinking that it wasn’t there in fencing the day before, which was the day I was actually looking for cuts because of the blood message on my floor.”

“Ash, look into Felix’s schedule and see if you can find a reason for that cut, would you?” Layla says. “See if he had any classes between fencing and poisons that involved fighting. Or if there was another occasion where he might have gotten a cut. ”

Ash nods, but he’s still studying the guard with a look of concern.

“We should check his back,” Layla says. “If you two can tip him forward, I’ll take a look.”

They both turn to me, and it takes every last iota of my self-control not to tell them that it’s never going to happen. But there’s no time for me to be squeamish, so I force myself forward. Ash already has one hand on the guard’s right shoulder and one hand on his chest to support his weight.

I reach my hand into the metal-lined icebox and tentatively touch the guard’s left arm, which is hard and covered in frost crystals the way old ice cream containers are.

“You ready?” Ash says.

I gulp. “Yeah.”

I press my other hand to the guard’s chest and Ash tips him forward. I stumble under his weight and regain my balance, helping Ash bring him to a horizontal position. We crouch on the floor, supporting his stiff body.