Where am I anyway? I sit up. Instead of piles of clothing on the floor, there’s a large piano. Further confirmation that this is not, in fact, my room.

I didn’t hook up with anyone last night, did I?

I’m still wearing my dress.

My dress. Carnevale.

Right. I was drugged. And something else had happened to me that had made Rafe and Kaylie worried. My skin crawls with unease as I take stock of myself. I can’t find any evidence of the red mark that Rafe had seen on my arm, and nothing hurts.

Along with the general foreboding, I’m also frustrated that I slept through the Atlas journey home, missing a second chance at cell service.

My phone!

Who knows what damning messages might have come through while I was unconscious? I was with Rafe. What if he saw? In my panic, I have difficulty fumbling for my pocket, but thankfully, my phone is there, locked and seemingly undisturbed.

I hear a soft knock, and I shove the phone back in my pocket before the door opens. Rafe strides over to me, owning the space in a way that can only mean this is his room. His bed. I swallow with the realization of the source of the heady scent from moments ago.

He hands me a goblet of tea. “I brought this from the infirmary. It will help you feel better, though you should be mostly healed by now.”

“Thanks,” I croak, my voice dry and raspy.

As I drink, I avoid looking at Rafe. I can’t believe I slept in his bed. Where did he sleep? My cheeks grow warm at the thought.

As if he can read my mind, he says, “Don’t worry. I left you to sleep alone. This is the first time I’ve been back since last night.” I nod in thanks and try to finish the drink as fast as possible so I can get out of here. We’re both being awkwardly quiet. Or at least, I am. Rafe seems lost in his own thoughts.

The drink—some kind of herbal concoction—really does make me feel better. As my head begins to clear, more hazy memories of the previous night come back to me. I’m surprised by Rafe’s helpfulness. But he lied to Kaylie, saying the Inquisitors weren’t involved when he thought they were. Even if it couldn’t have actually been the Inquisitors, I don’t understand why Rafe would hide seemingly important information.

Being in Rafe’s bed is uncomfortably intimate, so I climb out. Cool air on my exposed skin reminds me of my party attire, which feels far too revealing for these circumstances. I slide on my shoes and cross my arms, hugging myself. Rafe stoically hands me his leather jacket. It’s too big, but I burrow into it, seeking a barrier between myself and all this awkwardness.