I didn’t sleep well. My head hurt too much, a pain that throbbed at my left temple. I lay between the sheets and watched the candle burn to nothing.

Warden had not sent me to my room at once. He’d offered me a little food and water, which I’d accepted out of sheer dehydration. Then he’d sat by the fire, gazing into the flames. It had taken me a good ten minutes to ask if I could retire for the day, a question he’d answered with a curt affirmative.

The upper floor was cold. The windows were like paper, and there was a leak. I wrapped myself in the thin sheets, shivering. After a while, I dozed off. Warden’s words trembled in my ears—that my eyes held death and ice. XX-12’s images flashed up every few minutes, still imprinted on my dreamscape. I’d seen a few oracular images before. Nick had once shown me a snapshot of me falling off a low roof and breaking my ankle, which had happened the next week. I never questioned his weather predictions again.

XX-12 had summoned me to meet him at midnight. I saw no reason not to go.

When I woke up, the clock was striking eleven. I washed and dressed before I went down to Warden’s chamber. It was silent. The curtains had been left open, admitting the light of the moon. For the first time in several days, I found one of his notes on the desk.

Find out what you can about the Emim.

A cold shiver ran under my skin. If I had to research the Buzzers, that must mean I was destined to face them. It also meant I was free to see 12. In a way, I’d be following orders. 12 had just faced his second test. I wondered what he’d seen during the night so far. Finally I’d have some solid facts about the Emim, provided 12 hadn’t been eaten, of course.

Just before midnight I made my way down the steps, closing the door behind me. Time to do my homework.

I passed the night porter. She didn’t greet me. When I requested more numa she handed them over, but she kept her nose turned up. Still sore over the siren incident.

It was cool outside, the air misted with rain. I walked to the Rookery and picked up breakfast—skilly in a paper cup. In exchange, I parted with a few needles and rings. Once I’d forced myself to take a sip or two, I headed for the building the harlies called the Hawksmoor: the building that guarded the library and its courtyard.

12 was waiting behind one of the pillars, wearing a clean red tunic. There was a cut across his cheek. When he spotted my cup, he lifted an eyebrow.

“You eat that?”

I sipped from it. “Why, what do you eat?”

“What my keeper gives me.”