“So there are limits.” I cling to the thought with all my might, and try to ignore what a weak reassurance it is. Accidentally imagining the door unlocked is well within the realm of reasonable, and it can get us killed just as easily as anything else out here.

Elliott pauses in the act of zipping the duffel bag closed, apparently hearing the tension in my voice. “You okay?”

I grab the clothing. He’s right about warm and imaginary being better than real and soaked, I suppose. “No,” I answer, “but let’s go anyway.” I turn and start toward the door before I can lose whatever scraps of courage are left to me.

Behind me, he sighs long-sufferingly. “It’s fine, don’t worry, I’ll carry the enormous bag full of supplies for both of us, which I painstakingly packed all by myself.”

“I’m just looking out for you,” I reply over my shoulder. “You’ve got all that muscle … wouldn’t want it to atrophy from disuse or anything.”

A folded poncho hits me in the back of the head. I catch it before it slides into the water and pull it on, smothering a smirk. I tuck the clean clothes into the poncho’s large internal pockets.

Then I’m standing beneath the door. Streams of rain waterfall down from its seams, splattering my poncho. I wrap my fingers gently around the handle. It’s still locked, both dead bolts drawn closed. Thanks to Elliott’s concentration.

I glance back at him. He’s shrugging the bag’s strap over his shoulder, wading toward the stairs behind me, not saying a word about how my presence is a liability or how maybe he’d be better off on his own. I was asleep on the bed for who knows how many hours and he didn’t abandon me.

Yesterday, he was my enemy. I was a mirror dealer and he was the shadowseeker. But now … I don’t know what I’m supposed to make of him. I’ve told him about the most vulnerable parts of myself, and he accepted them without a quibble. We’d both likely go back to trying to kill each other in a hot second if we weren’t dependent on each other for survival—after all, he did get me arrested, and I did sell his brother a telescope—but still, at this moment and in this place, something feels different between us.

I flip the dead bolts and push the door open.

The wind catches it immediately, ripping it out of my grip and nearly yanking my arm out of its socket in the process. I stagger and throw my hands up to shield my eyes from the driving rain. The wind is screaming like a wildcat, tearing at my poncho. It’s pitch-black out; I must’ve slept through the whole day and into the night.