He doesn’t move. “You need to learn how to use your consciousness to your advantage. If it’s dark, make it less dark.”

“I can’t very well raise the sun,” I retort, voice thin. “And not all of us can turn our hands into flashlights.”

Gil’s eyes are watchful and unwavering. After a moment, he reaches out his hand. “Let me teach you.”

I hesitate before slipping my fingers over his. He pulls me into the clearing and closes his other hand over mine.

“If you’re about to tell me to think of something calm…” I flatten my mouth.

“Actually, I was going to tell you to think of something happy,” he says. “You know that sudden feeling in your chest when you think of something that brings you joy, like a light turning on? Think of that—the feeling bursting out of you. And hold it in your palm.”

“Aren’t you forgetting the pixie dust?” I whisper quietly, voice dripping with sarcasm.

“A terrible spy, and an even worse comedian,” he whispers back.

I press my lips together and focus on our clasped hands. I wonder if he knows how fast my heart is pounding.

The more seconds pass, the more my forehead begins to crumple.

“I… I can’t think of anything,” I admit.

Gil keeps his eyes on mine. “There must be something that makes you happy.”

“I mean, yes, of course. But all my good memories feel—” I stop myself. They feel tainted. Distorted. Because whatever I used to find joy in doesn’t exist anymore.

Record players. Milkshakes and french fries. Watching back-to-back episodes of supernatural TV shows. Tokyo Circus. My family.

They were a part of my life before death, but this is after death.

I’m still not sure joy exists after death.

“What about the prince?” he asks suddenly.

I make a face. “What about him?”

“That should at least bring you some joy—knowing you could be the person to finally burn this court to the ground,” he points out simply.

I drop my eyes. “That doesn’t make me happy.”

His hand tenses over mine.

I avoid looking directly at him when I speak. “It doesn’t actually feel good, you know. To trick someone. Even if they are a Resident.” And before he can lecture me on my commitment to the Resistance, I add, “I know it needs to be done. But it doesn’t mean I have to find enjoyment in it.”

“Just remember who the enemy is,” Gil warns, the flicker of fire returning in his eyes.

Caelan’s face flashes in my mind. The silver-eyed prince who seems to want a friend.

Who seems to want…

“I think he might like me.” My voice wavers. “As in, like me like me.”

Gil makes a face that’s a perfect blend of amusement and condescension.