As she and the others approach in their Line-colored dresses, I feel the tingling sensation of Sel’s gaze, but I can’t find him in the crowd. He knows I can feel his attention now. I don’t know how I feel about that. Or the fact that, even though he knows I can feel him, he’s still looking at me.

Felicity makes one long squeal out of a string of words. “OhmyGod, Iloveyourdress!” The tiny bit of slur tells me she must be on her third glass of wine. At least.

“Thanks,” I say, passing nervous hands down the front of my gown.

Alice couldn’t have known this when she complimented the dress, but the gown is perfect for saying goodbye to the Order and finding my own place in root. While the A-line skirt is simple and elegant, flowing down from my waist in layers of champagne tulle, the halter bodice is an explosion of red and gold. Vines of lace and appliqué flowers climb up from my hips, flow across my chest and ribs, and gather together into a collar at my throat. Charlotte was right about my lacking accessories: I definitely didn’t have the strappy gold heels, or the sun-gold earrings, and would have never thought of smoothing my hair away from my face with a wide gold band. Behind the band, my hair stretches in shining black-brown curls that reach upward like the proud crown of a tree.

Felicity’s still admiring my dress. “Nick is going to lose his whole entire goddamn mind when he sees you.”

In a singsong voice, Sarah says, “Speak of the king…”

When I follow her eyes over my shoulder, I see Nick striding toward us, a vision in black and white. He’d opted for a black suit, but Jesus was it tailored for every inch of his wide shoulders and long legs. I freeze, bracing myself for his anger, his rightful disappointment, but I get neither. His expression shifts from shock to something very close to relief, and by the time he reaches my side, it settles into that heart-stoppingly handsome smile that makes my mouth go dry.

“Hey,” he says breathlessly.

“Hey.”

Nick bites his lower lip, and I want to both run away and fling myself at him. “You look amazing.”

“And you,” I say, “look like a newly recruited secret agent.”

“Oh yeah?” He spreads his arms wide and looks down at his ensemble. “Green and eager, but he’s got what it takes?”

“The one that intimidates the aging senior agent at first, but then, begrudgingly, the veteran takes the new kid under his wing.”

“And at the end, the new kid’s earned the vet’s respect. And maybe a new code name.”

“Yup.”