What are these coins?

“Nick…,” the girl breathes, “Sarah said you were here, but…” A soft British accent curves around each word before her voice trails off in awe.

The boy squeezes her shoulder and steps forward with his hand out. “While Felicity here regains the power of speech, I’ll say it’s good to see you, man.” He doesn’t sound Southern at all. A New Englander, probably.

“Hey, Russ. Thanks.” Nick clasps Russ’s hand with a smile and nods in my direction. “This is Briana Matthews, my—” He clears his throat. “I invited her to join the Order.”

I shoot him a look that says real smooth, and his mouth quirks.

Russ notices our exchange but doesn’t comment. His mischievous eyes immediately put me at ease. “Nice to meet you, Briana,” he says while shaking my hand. “Welcome to the Lodge.”

“Thank you,” I say, keeping my tone light. Gracious. I force a goofy smile, hoping that I look overwhelmed and clueless. “I’ve never been in a house like this before. It’s so… fancy.” Nick’s first rule is still ringing in my ears.

“Remember that Sel thinks you’ve been mesmered twice: the Quarry and last night. So, behave as though you know nothing and have witnessed nothing. Everyone here has to think you’re an ignorant Onceborn brand-new to our world. Don’t let anyone know what you can do.”

“Yeah, well, we don’t really do things halfway.” Russ follows my gaze. “It has a certain museum-chic, don’t-touch-anything-or-else-someone-will-rap-your-knuckles charm, I suppose.” I giggle at that. The sound feels completely foreign, but I think I pull it off, because Russ gives me a wink. “Of course, fancy and formal means Flick made me wear something other than a T-shirt.”

Beside him, Felicity scowls. “I really hate that nickname.”

“Felicity is way too many syllables!” Russ exclaims. “Your parents were sadists.”

She rolls her eyes. “Ignore him.”

Somewhere a small chime rings, and double doors open at the back of the foyer.

As Felicity and Russ walk ahead, Nick and I follow at the back of the crowd. I lean in to him, my voice pitched low for his ears. “What’s their deal? And what are the coins?”

Nick replies quietly, without looking at me. “Felicity Caldwell, junior, and Russ Copeland, sophomore.” He waves at a tall boy with a gentle face and light-colored hair, who salutes him back with a wry smile. “Both Legendborn. They wear matching sigils because Felicity is a Scion, born with the title like me, and Russ is her chosen Squire.”

“Why do you hate them?”

He blinks. “Who said I hate them?”

I gesture over his shoulder to the undergraduates chatting around us, then to the opulent foyer. “Sel called you the prodigal son. You rejected all of this.”

A muscle twitches in his cheek. “The reason I renounced my title has nothing to do with the people here.”

“Then why—”