The sound of his voice ties my stomach into knots. I wish he’d stop talking. I can’t think with his voice in my head. Can’t plan. Latham’s gaze flicks to Bram and understanding drops into my mind like a stone in a lake. He wants me to let go of Bram’s hand. To separate us so I’ll be more exposed. But I won’t do it.

“I’ve heard Bram’s teaching skills are being put to good use once again,” Latham says, continuing his one-sided conversation.

“Don’t you dare, you worm.” Bram’s voice is infused with heat. My stomach clenches like I’m bracing for a blow.

Latham expression is smug as he turns to me. “Have you gotten the hang of it yet?”

“Stop it!” Bram shoves his entire fist into the pouch at his waist, and a dozen bone snap at once.

But Latham just laughs. “Tell her.”

Bram tugs on my hand. “Let’s go.”

I don’t move. “Tell me what?”

Bram stares at me. His mouth opens, and then he snaps it shut.

“Tell me what?”

“It took me a while to catch on too,” Latham says, “but once I did, it was such a useful skill. It made breaking the lock on your father’s bone box a breeze. Bram is a good teacher. You’re lucky to have him.”

My heart slows, seems to shudder to a stop. My vision fractures.

I let go of Bram’s hand and take a step back. “You helped him?” My voice comes out high and shrill. “You helped him steal my father’s bones?”

Bram’s expression is haunted. “Saskia, no.”

“So he’s lying?”

“It wasn’t like that. I didn’t know who he was then. What he was capable of.”

I didn’t think that Latham could hurt me any more than he already has, but I was wrong. I think of Bram showing up in Midwood after my mother died. I asked him how he found out what had happened. How he knew to come.

Master Latham let me know…. He’s kind of taken me under his wing this year.

Declan sold my father’s bones in the shadow market. But Bram helped Latham steal them in the first place.

I take another step away from him, but then I freeze. I’ve just moved closer to Latham, who laughs darkly.

“What if I told you that on one of your paths—maybe even this one—you come to me willingly?”

“I wouldn’t believe you,” I say.

He smiles. It’s the smile of someone who knows something I don’t.

He picks up a large bone flute from among the cache of weapons and artifacts. He turns it over in his hands, and a flash of color catches my eye. A yellow-orange sunburst.

Time seems to slow. Still. Turn backward.