He grins. “Well, good. And I must say, this is a much more welcoming group than the one I nearly joined.” He motions toward a clump of apprentices all dressed in green. They’re clearly his friends, judging from the goofy faces he’s pulling at them. “They thought a group with only one specialty was a bad idea.”

“I’d say they had a very good point,” Jacey says, her voice full of amusement. “Six Watchers on a team seems like you’d be begging to lose.”

“So is that a yes?” Talon asks. “Can I join you?”

Jacey quickly looks around the group for confirmation. We all nod. “That’s a yes,” she says.

Talon bounces lightly on his toes. “So what next?”

“Ideally, we need a Mason,” Tessa says. “But if we have to double up … maybe another Mixer?” She chews her lip as she glances around the room. “Most of the teams look full.”

“I have an idea,” Talon says. “Wait here.” He jogs over to an apprentice with straight jet-black hair and tawny skin. The two boys chat for a moment, and then return to the group together.

“This is Niklas,” Talon says. “He’s agreed to join our team.”

Niklas acknowledges all of us with a small nod. He has a slim silver ring on his left hand that he keeps unconsciously spinning as Tessa peppers him with questions.

Jacey and Talon strike up a conversation about what format the bone games might take, and how lucky we are to get all six specialties. Which leaves me and Bram standing awkwardly beside each other.

“Saskia,” he says, his fingertips brushing against my scapula. Even through my cloak, the touch is unbearable. A reminder of everything I want. Everything I can’t have. Everything I don’t know if I can trust. I turn slightly so that his hand falls away. His brow furrows. “Is something wrong?”

How to answer such a question? With the truth? That I’m mourning memories of the two of us that aren’t real? That my feelings for him are as strong as they are mysterious, and I’m not even sure if either of us are the same people in this reality? But I can’t say any of that.

“Everything is fine,” I tell him. “I’m just tired.”

“I wanted to talk to you about something,” he says. His voice is low, meant just for me, and his breath dances across my earlobe, sending shivers down my spine.

My closed-up heart cracks open just enough to let in a small, shimmering sliver of hope. “What is it?”

“In Midwood—after your mother died—I promised I would help you.” He glances around to make sure no one is listening. “And after seeing that spell book … we need a plan.”

Oh. The fissure in my heart clots over, seals tight. More duty and responsibility and keeping promises.