There’s a strange static hum inside my chest. Head tipped back against the chair, I rub it, thinking about what Fleur said back in my office. Gaia’s magic doesn’t sting—not like it did before—and the persistent pain that’s haunted me since I took the staff has dulled, as if a sharp corner’s been broken off and given to someone else.

Somehow, I have to get Fleur out of my head and end this. As the host, my mind might be in control of Gaia’s magic, but clearly that magic feels connected to Fleur. The possibility that Gaia’s magic is holding on to her like a security blanket poses a problem. How do I untangle us and still hold on to the power? And if I do manage to push Fleur out, will Gaia’s magic fight me once she’s gone?

I sit up with a sigh. A dead plant sags over the edges of a pot on a bookshelf beside me. The brown leaves are rigid and brittle, the soil so dry it’s sunken and cracked. I prod its edges with my mind, feeling for signs of life. When I touch it with the tip of a finger, a dried leaf breaks away from the stem and drifts to the floor. I’ve seen Gaia breathe life into things a million times. Watched Fleur revive a frozen butterfly on an old video feed. Leaning close to the plant, I blow a gentle breath. The dead leaves rattle, and two more fall.

If I’m truly in command of Gaia’s magic, I should be able to breathe life into something. Me, not Fleur. If I can’t bring back something as small as a houseplant, what hope do I have of creating new Seasons?

Soft footsteps pause in the hall, just outside Névé’s room. Fingers on the doorknob. A tentative knock.

I snuff out the flame as metal scratches against metal. A key—no—a lockpick slips into the lock. I take up the scythe, listening to a series of scrapes and clicks. After a few failed attempts, the knob turns, and a dim cone of hallway light stretches across the floor.

The door shuts quietly.

“Ruby?” Kai’s voice cracks. The narrow beam of a flashlight shines out in front of her, catching on the furniture in the sitting room. She follows the light into her sister’s bunk room, completely unaware of me, pausing when it reaches the Handler’s stripped mattress and empty shelves. “Ruby?” she whispers, her voice trembling as the beam moves over the line I drew in the dust on her sister’s desk.

The light swings toward me.

I stop time before our eyes can catch.