He leans back in his chair, studying me over steepled fingers, his old office coming into focus behind him, the poster of Cuernavaca mounted in the same place it’s hung as long as I’ve known him. The sudden pang of homesickness I feel surprises me. I don’t miss the Observatory at all, but Lyon’s office feels like a ley line to my soul. All those years, it was the one place I didn’t have to speak my mind or confess my heart, because somehow, Lyon already knew what was beating around inside it.

“How is she sleeping?” he asks gravely.

“Okay. Better.” It’s a lie. Fleur still wakes in cold sweats most nights, screaming. Sometimes, she thrashes and calls out Doug’s name, or Denver’s, or Noelle’s, as if she’s still wrestling with them in her sleep. We’re both fighting our own demons. There’s no sense in worrying Lyon over it. “She’s getting a little antsy. She wants to plan a trip.”

“I understand. It’s been a long time since you visited with your friends. Gaia and I would be happy to approve arrangements for you both to travel to California to see them.”

“Actually, she wants to go somewhere for our anniversary. You know . . . maybe do a little sightseeing. Just the two of us.” This last part is more about me than Fleur. Fleur would probably be thrilled to have Julio and Amber tag along for a whirlwind tour of the Mediterranean or a trip to visit Poppy and Chill and check out the sights in Alaska. But ever since the battle, being around them is hard for me. I’m not a Season anymore. The last time Julio and Amber came to visit, it was like I was on the outside looking in on them all, my hands pressed against the window glass. I’d been sitting right beside Fleur, and I’d never felt so apart from her.

Lyon scratches his cheek. “Are you sure that’s wise, Jack?”

“It would only be a week. The weather will be warm enough. Fleur will be fine.”

“I have concerns . . .”

“Concerns about what?”

“Nothing to do with you,” he assures me. “I know you and Fleur would do everything in your power to take care of one another. But the timing . . . There are still a few rogue Seasons we haven’t been able to track down, and word of this final Dismantling is bound to ruffle some feathers. I’d feel better sending a security detail to shadow you, but I can’t spare—”

“Never mind. You’re right.” I rub the glossy image from Fleur’s magazine from my eyes. “It’s probably a terrible idea.”