He tethered himself to them, each one a reminder. He was Nayan’s apprentice, and this was his domain. “How was the food I had sent?” he asked, slipping into his professional calm like a coat. “Was there enough?”

Tanvi hunched farther into herself. “I never got it.”

Feeling like the ground had stabilized under him, Venkat picked up a tray of snacks he’d requested earlier from the kitchens. “I can fix that.”

He ushered Tanvi to a pair of chairs tucked between the first and second aisles of shelves. A few of the more zealous scholars occasionally dropped in to do some late-night research, and he couldn’t risk her being seen. She looked uncomfortable, squirming against the chair’s ornate carving and silken teal upholstery, but once he offered her the tray, she attacked it like she hadn’t eaten in a month.

Venkat watched her keenly, noting the relish with which she inhaled and chewed. She was actually smelling the salt and spice of the potato and onion pakora, actually tasting the sweet tartness of the tamarind chutney. Actually savoring them. Even if it shouldn’t, that made a contrary part of him glad.

He fisted his hands in his lap, biting back the question until she’d polished off the last crumbs of fried batter. “What do you mean, you’re dreaming? What kind of dreams?”

The hint of pleasure in her expression faded. “Does it matter?”

Maybe it didn’t. Wasn’t it bad enough she was dreaming?

When she’d first arrived in Nagalok, Tanvi’s fiery temper had intimidated him. But it had moved him, too. He’d hated watching that be stripped from her, even if she’d chosen it, chosen to join the stable and leave behind the miseries of mortal life.

That choice, Nayan had always said, meant everybody benefited. Both the nagas of Bhogavati and the children Asha spirited away could find their balm in escape.

Now, though, Venkat wondered if that wasn’t quite right. Not if dream runners could dream again. “What do—”

“Don’t ask me that,” Tanvi blurted, her head whipping up. Her glistening eyes bore deep into his, and his pulse stuttered. A fierce light radiated out of her face, as if all the dreams she’d harvested in the last seven years were concentrated behind her undeniably aware expression.

He couldn’t pretend Tanvi was anything but awake. As he studied her, his incredulity darkened into suspicion. Had Asha noticed anything like this? And if so, why hadn’t she said anything to him?

The two of them were certainly going to have a chat as soon as possible.

“Don’t ask,” Tanvi repeated. “It hurts.”

The anguished plea rent him down the middle. Venkat put his hand on hers, hoping she’d fathom what he was trying to say—that she wasn’t alone.

Something crackled between them, bright and electric, and Tanvi twisted away. “Don’t touch me!”