I pulled the drapes apart. Golden sunlight poured into the tower, glinting on the instruments and books. Near the window, Michael—the amaurotic—was setting out a breakfast spread on a small table. He looked up and smiled.

“Hi, Michael.”

He nodded.

“Where’s Warden?”

Michael pointed at the door.

“Cat got your tongue?”

He shrugged. I sat down. He pushed a stack of pancakes across the table. “I’m not hungry,” I said. “I don’t want his guilt breakfast.” Michael sighed, wrapped my hand around a fork, and stabbed it into the pancakes. “Fine, but I blame you if I throw it all back up.”

Michael grimaced. Just to please him, I sprinkled the pancakes with brown sugar.

Michael kept a sharp eye on me as he puttered around the room, tidying the bedclothes and the drapes. The pancakes awakened a punishing hunger. I ended up eating my way through the whole stack, along with two croissants with strawberry jam, a bowl of cornflakes, four slices of hot buttered toast, a plate of scrambled eggs, a red apple with crisp white innards, three cups of coffee, and an ice-cold pint of orange juice. It was only when I could eat no more that Michael handed me a sealed manila envelope.

“Trust him.”

It was the first time I’d ever heard him speak. His voice was barely more than a whisper.

“Do you trust him?”

He nodded, cleared the breakfast table, and was gone. And even though it was daytime, he left the door unlocked. I split the wax seal on the envelope and unfolded the sheet of thick paper inside. It was bordered with swirling gold. Paige, it began:

I apologize for upsetting you. But even if you resent me, know that I sought only to understand you. You can hardly blame me for your refusal to be understood.

Some apology this was. Still, I continued to read:

It is still day. Go to the House. You will find things there that I cannot supply.

Be swift. If you are stopped, tell the guards you are collecting a fresh batch of aster for me.

Do not judge too quickly, little dreamer.

I scrunched the letter into my hand and threw it into the hearth. Just by writing it, Warden was flaunting his newfound trust in me. I could easily take it straight to Nashira. She would recognize his handwriting, I was sure. But I didn’t want to help Nashira in any way whatsoever. I hated Warden for keeping me in this place, but I needed to get into the House.

I went to the upper floor and dressed in my new uniform: yellow tunic, yellow anchor on the gilet. A bright, sunshine yellow, visible from a mile off. 40 the coward. 40 the quitter. In a way I liked it. It showed I’d gone against Nashira’s orders. I’d never wanted to be red.