“My foot hit something in the shadows. A body. My foot hit a body.” I cover my mouth with my hand. “I think it was Matteo’s friend, the one with the long hair.” My words gargle and twist.

For just a second, Layla’s completely still.

I move toward her, my words tumbling out. “He was dead, Layla. Cold. I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t want to leave him there. But I panicked and ran back to our room. I think one of the guards spotted me as I was shutting the door.”

“How did he die?” Her voice is small and quiet.

“A knife in his chest. And blood. There was so much—”

“Stop.” She closes her eyes and takes a breath.

And I do.

“You know our rules,” she says with a steady voice.

I nod, squeezing my hands together until they hurt.

“If a guard saw you, they’re going to question you. And then they’re going to question me. We need to go to our bedrooms. Now.”

“Oh god, I just left him there on the floor, Layla.” I look at the door to the hallway.

“Go to sleep, November,” she says in a harsh tone. “If they find us here talking about a dead body, you can bet anything they will throw us in the dungeon.”

“Dungeon?” My voice rises sharply and I immediately pull it back down. “Shouldn’t we at least—”

“There is absolutely nothing we can do about it right now that won’t further complicate the situation,” she practically spits at me. Her eyes turn fiery and her graceful fingers clench into fists. “You left the room, you took the risk, and now you’ve pulled me into this mess with you.”

I take a step backward, her burst of emotion sobering me up. “Ash—”

“Ash nothing. I don’t want to hear that name right now. And I don’t need all your teary words, either. You didn’t even know Stefano!” She turns on her heel and disappears inside her bedroom before I can react.

I stare after her, my heart beating steady, heavy thumps, my palms slick. Stefano’s bloody chest flashes in my mind, his hair sticking to his face, his lifeless skin. My stomach wrenches and I run for the bathroom.

Chapter Ten

MY EYES SNAP open at the sound of my bedroom door creaking. I sit up so fast that Pippa looks startled as she enters my room. Her hair is tucked under her bonnet and she carries pressed clothes on hangers.

“Good morning,” she says cheerfully.

“Hi,” I say with a voice so rough from crying that it makes that simple word feel wrong and foreign. I’m sweating even though it’s chilly and I’m not sure that I slept for more than a few disturbed minutes at a time.