“I’m afraid we are all far too tired this evening,” Khalila said, which sounded brusque but, in the way that only Khalila could manage, also sounded warm and kind. “Rosa, is it?”

“Yes,” Rosa said, and turned to her. She took in Khalila in one sweeping glance, head to toe. “You’re not one of us.”

“I am a Scholar,” Khalila said. “How does that make me alien to you?”

Rosa dismissed her and went back to Morgan. “Don’t worry,” she said, and pitched her voice a little louder to carry. “I know you missed your time, but Dominic is a patient young man. I’m sure you look forward to it.”

Dominic. Jess felt something dark settle into the pit of his stomach, because now he had a name for the Obscurist Morgan was expected to bed. Dominic. He scanned the room, wondering which of them it was. The puffy, pale one at the back with his attention fixed on his plate? The lean one watching them with silvery eyes? It would drive him mad, not knowing which one of them to hate.

Rosa started back toward her table but then turned around, as if she’d just thought of something. Pure, petty theater. “Oh,” she said to Morgan. “I don’t suppose you’ve heard about poor Sybilla?”

That, for the first time, broke through Morgan’s mask, and she quickly looked up. “What about her?”

“She had a . . . misadventure,” Rosa said. “Perhaps you should visit her on the hospital floor.”

This time, Gregory stood up from one of the tables not far away, and though he said nothing, Rosa quickly ducked her head and went back to her seat without another word. Gregory sank down, too, but Jess could feel his gaze on them.

On Morgan.

“Well,” Khalila said as they took chairs at one of the few empty tables. “I can see how the charm of this place might wear very thin. Morgan? All right?”

“Yes,” Morgan said, but in a toneless way that made Jess think the opposite. “Fine.” She swallowed and forced a little cheer. “The food’s very good. The servers will bring what you want.”

Thomas, settling uneasily into a chair too small for him, said, “Is there a list of choices?”

“No. You just tell them what you’d like. Wolfe was right; Obscurists are pampered. The best food, prepared just the way we want it; that’s just one of many ways they try to make us forget we’re—”

“Prisoners,” Jess finished.

“No,” Morgan said, and didn’t look at him. “Prisoners eventually get out.”

A servant wearing a gold band—didn’t that go against the entire structure of the Library?—came to ask politely what they wanted for food and drink. With no slate of choices, Jess was too tired to think creatively; longing a bit for home, though he didn’t know why, he just ordered roast beef and mash. Thomas must have felt the same, since he ordered schnitzel. Morgan asked for chicken; Khalila for roasted mutton. It was all very normal. As soon as the servant walked away, Thomas said, “The servants are pledged here for life as well?”