Maybe it’s because I don’t fit in with everyone else. Or maybe I just can’t see myself clearly. Maybe none of us can.

Gran used to make a dessert she called caramel-core cake. The first time I ate it, I thought it was a misnomer. The cake was white and fluffy, and there was no caramel in sight. Keep going, Gran said when I told her I thought she’d given me the wrong dessert. One taste doesn’t make a meal. And then my fork hit a pocket of caramel, and sweet gooey sauce spilled over my plate, soaking the cake and transforming it from ordinary to divine. It made me wonder if people are like that too—if we have to dig a little to find whatever is at their core.

But my core is full of secrets, and I can’t let anyone get close enough to see who I really am.

My thoughts are interrupted by the librarian, who makes a small sound at the back of her throat. Once she has our attention, she gives us a thin smile. “I need to step out for a bit, and my assistant stayed home ill today, so it’s just me. Is there anything you need before I go?”

My pulse spikes, but I force my expression into a calm mask and avoid meeting her gaze.

Luckily, Tessa is quick with both an answer and appropriate eye contact. “I think we’re fine for now, thank you.”

“Excellent,” the librarian says. “I’ll return shortly.”

Her boots click on the bone floors as she walks away, and I feel the sound in my chest, like a beating heart. I wait for her footsteps to recede down the corridor and out of earshot before I stand.

“Is something wrong?” Bram asks.

“No. I’ll be right back.”

I rush up the steps as fast as my legs will carry me. I’ve been waiting for a chance like this for weeks. The librarian’s words echo in my head: Old student records are on the sixth floor. My legs burn as I climb. This was probably a terrible idea. Who knows how much time I have? She could return at any moment.

When I reach the top of the staircase, my stomach sinks like a stone. This level is massive, with shelves fanning out in every direction. I’ll never find Avalina’s records in time. But I have to try. I hurry along the shelves, skimming labels and book titles for anything that might give me a hint where to start. I pass stacks of kenning results going back decades, financial records, books of maps, histories of prominent Kastelian families.