I’m still shaken that the Oculus even knows that someone like me exists. I thought they worked with people more like… I don’t know, the Pope and the CIA. But, apparently, they also work with Kor, and by extension, yours truly.

In addition to learning about the Makers, they want me to find a way for them to gain access to the school. They also believe that there is some form of ritual or device that can give non-Sires the ability to create and use Ha’i. I am to confirm whether it exists and get all the information necessary to steal it.

Because yours truly is also now a thief, I guess.

I stop in front of a painting of an angel in flight. Confident brushstrokes capture the movement of her outstretched wings and the impossibility of her vivid, ethereal beauty. I know the painting well; it’s one of Kor’s older pieces. The art world recognized Kor’s talent years ago, but now with his music fame, the value of his work has skyrocketed.

I remember when Kor finished this painting. He’d gazed at it wistfully, then wondered aloud if his perfect girl was one too perfect for this world. It was back when I was still hoping he’d realize that I was his perfect girl. Even years later, with that desire far behind me, I can’t forget the heartache I felt in that moment, knowing I’d never be good enough for him.

I’m definitely no angel.

The familiar click of high heels and the subtle scent of bergamot and orange blossom make me turn with pleasant surprise.

“You thought I wouldn’t come to see you off?” my mother asks.

“We said goodbye last night.”

Mom had ordered a ridiculous mismatch of foods from my three favorite takeout spots, and we’d had a family dinner with Grandfather and Sal and Kor. It had been really nice, though it didn’t feel right without Izzy there.

“Give me a little bit of credit.” She pulls me into a hug. “I miss you already.”

I already miss her too. Miss the relationship we used to have compared to how busy and distant she’s become. She’s always been a workaholic, but these past few months have been next level.

“You know that all I want is what’s best for you, right?”

“Sure, Mom,” I say into her champagne-colored silk-blend blazer, which I know will still somehow be stain free by the end of the day.

She kisses the top of my head. “Ada, I mean it. I would never have allowed them to send you to this school just to be their errand girl. I’m only letting you go because I think it will be good for you to learn from these people.”