“You can simply tell me where she is, and I’ll do fine on my own.”

“I don’t know where she is,” I admit. “But I can try to find out if I have your help. I care about Hypatia too. We can get her back if we work together.”

Rafe stands and begins pacing the room, talking as if to himself. “For hundreds of years, the Guard has protected the Makers from discovery by the Inquisitors. Now, for the first time in centuries, our enemy is taking risks, working with traitors in our society, and doing things that might finally lead us to them.”

He stalks toward me, staring, as if my eyes hold the answer to a riddle. “Then you come out of nowhere claiming to be able to bridge the gap.” He scratches the stubble on his jaw, still staring. “I need to think about this more. Leave me.” He begins pacing again as if I’m already gone. No indication of what he’s planning, no assurance that he won’t turn me in to the Guard. All I can do is hope that taking this risk was the right move.

I realize only after I’m halfway to my own room that I’m still wearing his jacket.

It’s difficult to focus during my classes when I know Rafe could decide to blow my cover—or plot my murder—at any moment. In Alchemical Arts Studio, I completely miss the instructions for how to mix a pigment so black that it swallows the light. In Testaments, I’m too agitated to follow the analysis of the history and family tree of Chorus’s mother, Psalm.

When I get to the Sire lab, Rafe is conspicuously absent, which only heightens my anxiety. It doesn’t help that Gloria—the recruit who always monopolizes Michael during Foundations—is apparently the other Sire who was captured last night, and she’s recounting the tale of her rescue by a heroic masked stranger to a rapt audience.

Mbali must have heard about my own Carnevale adventure, because she hugs me and utters something that sounds like a prayer in a foreign language. Today her long locs are wrapped into a large bun on the top of her head, and she’s wearing a jumpsuit in a patterned fabric of royal blue and sunshine yellow. She notices my attire too, eyeing my jacket, which she clearly recognizes. Why, oh why, have I not taken this gravdamn thing off already?

Rafe barges into the room and grabs my arm. “Come with me.”

“Hey!” Mbali exclaims sharply. She grasps his wrist and squeezes gently until he loosens his grip on me, though he doesn’t let go. “You need rest,” she whispers to him. Clearly, I’m not the only one who’s noticed he looks like compost.

“I will when I can,” he replies.