That night, I wait until Tessa falls asleep, and then I pull out Gran’s healed bone. If I can’t find clues in the library, I’ll need to search for them the only way I know how—on my alternate path.

The last time I attempted to read the bone was shortly after my mother died. I was grieving then. Shaken. And though I’ve thought about exploring it further, I haven’t had the courage. I don’t want to see myself interacting with Latham unaware that he was Gran’s murderer and had plans to kill me and my mother as well. To watch myself fall in love with Bram. To witness my own death.

But now I have no choice. I need to search for clues in my interactions with Latham that might give me some idea of where to find him. And how to stop him once I do. I set the bone on my lap, and stare at it. My throat goes dry. I can’t bring myself to do another reading. I’m not sure I have the stomach to encounter Latham, but that’s not what’s holding me back.

It’s Bram.

If watching our story unfold once tangled my feelings so hopelessly, I can’t imagine the damage repeated readings would cause. If I want my love tattoo to fade, I need to forget my other path, not torture myself with it. How can I find clues to stop Latham without encountering a version of Bram that makes me want to disappear into another reality? I wrestle with the decision until I can’t keep my eyes open anymore. I don’t have to explore the path today. I can wait until I’m stronger. Until the tattoo has started to fade. So I fold my fingers around the bone and give into the temptation to close my eyes and drift off to sleep.

Tessa’s anxiety about the bone games has reached a fever pitch. Over the past few days, most groups have received their instructions, and Ivory Hall has slowly emptied of apprentices as the teams have dispersed all over Kastelia to work on their tasks.

The six of us sit together at an otherwise unoccupied table in the dining hall. Tessa has been talking nonstop since we got here—a frenzied stream-of-consciousness rant that makes me feel as if we’re all perched on a slender branch in a windstorm.

“Do you think the bone games are timed somehow? Are we going to be at a disadvantage because we’re starting so late? What does it mean that we’re one of the last groups to get instructions?” Tessa doesn’t breathe between questions to leave time for an answer. But finally she falls silent.

“Someone has to be last,” Talon says cheerfully. “Why not us?”

Tessa wrings her hands. “I’d rather be in the middle. There’s safety in the middle.”