“I like red,” Laila had insisted, smiling. “It’s the color of life. In my village, brides never wore white because we consider it the color of death. Instead, we wear bright red.” Laila had winked. “Plus, I think red looks rather well on me.”

Zofia turned the ring on her finger. When she thought of Laila, an ache opened up inside her. She remembered her friend lying lifeless on the stone, the temple crumbling around them. She remembered the burning light and the portal opening. But after that, Zofia’s recollections became muddled. She could no longer recall what she had glimpsed on the other side, but she remembered the feeling of extraordinary calm. When she opened her eyes, the temple was silent and Laila was gone.

Séverin had pressed his hands into the place where she had disappeared, his head bowed. “She said she will come back … when she can.”

There were no answers beyond that, and there was no time to look around the temple as it continued to crumble and break. Despite not knowing or understanding where Laila had gone, Zofia was not worried about her friend.

“Phoenix?”

Zofia looked up to see the door to her compartment pulled back and Enrique standing at the entrance. He wore a dark blue suit, and the hat pulled over his head nearly hid the bandage covering his wounded ear.

“May I join you?” he asked.

Zofia nodded, and Enrique took a seat across from her. In the days since they had returned from Poveglia, there had been so much to do and discuss that bringing up her own feelings was hardly a priority. There was travel to arrange, L’Eden to contact, and the Order of Babel to deal with.

Hypnos had finally contacted them, thus ending the Order’s chase and exonerating the crew from what happened at the Winter Conclave a week ago … but now the Order wished to interview them about the death of Ruslan and the Fallen House. They had agreed to come up with a cover story to avoid mentioning the temple beneath Poveglia and what took place there. But truthfully, Zofia wasn’t even sure what she saw. When she tried to concentrate on those minutes, all she could recall was a feeling of calm.

Alone with Enrique for the first time in days, Zofia’s feelings felt sharpened. More acute. She remembered their kiss … the way he had held her hand when the siren-skeletons tried to lure her into the lake … how they had fought the darkness with matching flames.

Zofia wanted to tell him something, but what? That she enjoyed being next to him? That she wanted to kiss him again? What would that even mean? When she looked up at Enrique, she saw that he was staring at the ring on her finger.

“Do you believe what Séverin said?” he asked quietly. “About Laila? That she’s truly well and safe … wherever she is?”

“Yes,” said Zofia without hesitation.

“Why?” he asked.