“I see.” Caelan’s expression gives away nothing. “Excuse me a moment,” he says to me, taking careful strides across the manicured grass with the green-robed Resident before disappearing into the gardens.

Annika might prefer for me to eavesdrop on their conversation—to learn more about Death and their experiments—but this might be my only opportunity to look for the servant girl.

Last time I tried to find her, everything fell apart. I was nervous and unprepared, and afraid of what I’d seen in the basement. I wasn’t brave enough, and I missed my chance.

I can’t let that happen again.

I head for the balcony doors, slipping back inside the House of Harvest. The crowd is easy to get lost in, with so many couples circling each other in a hypnotic step dance. I keep to the outskirts of the room, and when the moment is right, I turn for the nearest hall and scan the corridors for any sign of humans.

I follow the stairs down to another landing, where a servant turns to me, vacant-eyed. “May I be of any assistance?” he asks, emotionless.

I slip past him, down the next staircase, until I reach a sitting area with a crackling fireplace. Three human drivers stand near the far wall, attention drifting to me when they see me. Their silver armlets have black stones in the centers.

“May I be of any assistance?” they all ask in unison.

My spine courses with ice, shuddering at the sight. I move to the next room, desperation beginning to fill my throat, and pass servant after servant, all asking the same robotic question, with the same lifeless gaze.

Their words pound in my skull, and I realize that they’ve become a chorus. An alarm.

“May I be of any assistance?” The sentence trembles through the room, over and over again until I’m hurrying back up the stairs and down the hallway, my breathing shaky.

Someone latches on to my wrist and yanks me toward one of the recessed walls. The girl from the palace is staring at me with terrified eyes, pleading for something I can only assume is my help.

She takes my hand and squeezes, eyes bulging despite the emotion never reaching the rest of her face.

She’s aware.

“What is it?” I ask hurriedly. “What are you trying to tell me?”

The girl squeezes my hand again, never blinking.

“I don’t understand,” I say, squeezing back. And then, frantic for time I don’t have, I ask, “Do you know anything about the prisoners in the Winter Keep? Is it possible to get a message to someone—a man named Martin?”

The girl’s head snaps to the side, and then she’s scurrying down the hall and it’s just me and the very faint sound of footsteps in another corridor.