Zofia didn’t wait for him to finish before she snapped off another pendant, shoving it behind the framing.

“Is that going to destroy the map?” asked Enrique, alarmed.

She reached for a small, square of metal in her sleeves. Laila recognized it as a Forged muffler, designed to soak up sound. Zofia pulled out seven of them, lining them along the wall. They were surprisingly effective objects, considering their size—powerful enough to disguise both the clanging kitchens of L’Eden and an orchestral performance in the grand ballroom so that the guests who retired early for the night on the same floor heard nothing at all.

“Stand back,” said Zofia.

Everyone stepped aside except Enrique.

“Could we try not to destroy—”

Hypnos yanked him backward at the last moment. A flash of heat and a loud banging sound rattled the wall. Seconds later, the now-smoking framed map hung off two hinges, revealing a candlelit passageway.

“—things,” finished Enrique weakly.

Laila waved away the smoke.

“Check for Mnemo devices,” said Séverin.

Zofia reached for a spherical contraption hidden in the folds of her blue skirt, then rolled it down the hallway.

“Clear,” she said.

Séverin nodded, then clicked his heels together. Two slim blades jutted out. He extracted them, holding out one to Hypnos and keeping the other for himself. He hit his arm against the wall, and the interlocked garnets and rubies on his suit lit up. He grinned at them before walking into the passageway.

For the second time in the past hour, Laila swayed a little on the spot.

All of it—Séverin’s calm, Zofia’s fire, Enrique’s lecture—felt too familiar. Part of her wanted to lean into the easy rhythm of it, but beneath that temptation lay the truth. She could not afford to be lured by easy smiles. She turned the ring on her hand toward her palm, the number three flashing on the jewel and inside her heart.

She didn’t have the time.

THE PASSAGEWAY STRETCHED out at least ninety meters before them. The black stone walls gleamed wetly. In the recessed niches lit with candles, Laila saw exquisite Murano glasswork Forged to the likeness of delicate ciocche—bouquets of glass flowers that gave off the scent of neroli—or ovi odoriferi, broken ostrich eggs brimming with rose water. Fragrances teemed through the hallway. Perfumes of peppercorn and ambergris, violets and woodsmoke stung the inside of her nose.

“Too many smells,” choked out Zofia.

“Who perfumes their treasury?” groaned Enrique.

Séverin stopped walking. “Cover your noses. Now.”

“We’ll be fine—” started Hypnos.

“It’s a trap,” said Séverin. “If they’re confusing your sense of smell, it’s because that sense must be a key.”

Zofia reached for the hem of her robes, hoisting them up. Enrique looked about the room, alarmed and turning red. “Um, is undressing truly necessary—”

“Yes,” said Zofia curtly.

Within seconds, Zofia had ripped strips off the petticoat beneath her robes. She tossed a shorn piece to Laila who caught it one-handed. The material was perforated silk, and the dull thrum of its material told Laila it was Forged.