Beside her, Enrique blushed. “Séverin, I—”

“It’s the truth,” said Séverin. “It hurts, but, c’est la vie.”

Everyone stared at him in silence.

“You realize I purchased this entire cabin for us, and yet the three of you are cramped into one booth that hardly has room for two people,” said Séverin.

“Even so … we could squeeze a fourth?” said Hypnos, scooting against the wall with the window. “If you wish to join?”

Séverin regarded the small seat. At first, Zofia thought he would turn and go, but he didn’t. Slowly, he took a seat beside Hypnos.

“This was what she would have wanted, wasn’t it?” asked Séverin.

They fell quiet for a moment before Enrique said: “You think Laila would wish to be squished in a train compartment with Hypnos’s odious cologne? I doubt it.”

Hypnos gasped. “How dare you? Eau du Diable Doux is a rare, coveted fragrance sold to a select few—”

“Perhaps because in large quantities it would singe the nose hairs off the general population.”

Zofia laughed. A smile tugged even at Séverin’s mouth. It was brief, but it was still there. The four of them watched the rain outside the window. Zofia could not say she was happy. Laila was gone, and Hela’s fate still weighed heavily on her thoughts … but Zofia was hopeful for the future. That future was unclear, but it was, as Enrique had said, something to be figured out day by day.

THE DAY AFTER Zofia had settled once more into her suites at L’Eden, she found a note waiting for her in her laboratory.

URGENT ATTENTION REQUIRED

TELEGRAM WAITING FOR MME. ZOFIA BOGUSKA

FROM MR. AND MRS. IZAAK KOWALSKI

Kowalski?

Zofia did not recognize the name. She swayed a little on the spot, feeling that dark panic of the unknown fluttering at the edge of her thoughts.

No, she told herself.

She took a deep breath, opening her eyes and counting the familiar alembics and bottles all around her. Then, with her shoulders thrown back, Zofia left her laboratory for the main lobby.

In the past few days, L’Eden had transformed. Ever since the news about Forged objects failing around the world—some of which had exploded and even injured people—L’Eden had removed nearly all of its Forged decoration. Now, the grand lobby was austere, lit with dozens of candles. Black marble had replaced the polished wooden floors so that it almost seemed as though the guests stepped onto the night sky itself. Above, Séverin had removed the chandeliers, and an expanse of lush greenery carpeted the ceiling. Pale flowers grew upside down, and thick vines clambered around the pillars that supported the ornate staircase.

As Zofia crossed the lobby and moved past the finely dressed guests, her heart began to race. What was the telegram about? And who was it from?

Séverin’s factotum greeted her with a small bow. “Mademoiselle Boguska, how may I assist?”

“There is a telegram for me,” said Zofia.

“Ah yes,” he said, reaching into his jacket. “Is that all I may assist you with?”