I get up and throw open my closet door, digging around for dry clothes. “I don’t know. It felt wrong.” I jam sweatshirts and jeans into my backpack, along with the last of the bottled waters and some jerky from Chill’s drawer.

“Wrong? It’s yours, how can it feel wrong? It came for you, Jack. It knew you were in danger and it came to you. It practically jumped up your—”

I throw my pack on the bed. “It just felt wrong, okay? I don’t know why I didn’t take it. I can’t explain it. My smaze is broken! It’s damaged goods, and apparently there’s no coming back from that!”

Her brow furrows. “What do you mean, broken?”

I pinch the bridge of my nose, pushing back memories I’d rather forget. “It doesn’t feel like my magic anymore. It doesn’t listen to me. It feels . . . angry.” I think about what Kai said on the plane, about stolen magic being cursed. Is this my curse? A pissed-off smaze that refuses to forgive me?

“A little rage might be exactly what we need right now.”

I shake my head. “Even Lyon said it was dangerous. That I could hurt someone. I can’t control it.”

“And you’ll never control it if you keep pushing it away. Like it or not, that smaze is part of you. And if you want your magic back, then at some point, you’re going to have to face whatever it is inside it that’s bothering you.”

“I know. And I will.” I rub my eyes, weary and empty. Lyon and Gaia were supposed to be here, to help me piece myself back together. To help me figure out who I am now. But they’re gone. And Fleur’s missing. And the truth is, I’m not sure I can face what’s hiding in that dark fog alone. “My smaze won’t go far. I’ll try again.” I still feel it, hovering over me like a cold shadow.

“You blame me, don’t you?” At my puzzled look, she says, “For what happened with your smaze.”

“No,” I mutter. I blame myself, but I can’t tell her that. Not now. I’ve already stared into that abyss once tonight. I can’t stand the thought of taking Névé’s sister in there with me.

“Then when are you going to start trusting me?” Kai’s question catches me off guard. “No more kabob cracks,” she says. “No more jokes about keeping my arrows where you can see them. I didn’t bring you all this way to screw you over. And I don’t plan to start now.”

I try to wrap my mind around how I feel about that. The fact that we both did something terrible to each other, knowingly or not, doesn’t cancel out the damage we’ve done.