I raise my shoulders. “I’m not asking for your permission. I’m here because I need you to veil me, so I can get inside the servants’ quarters without being seen.” He opens his mouth like he’s ready to argue, but I don’t let him. “Believe me, I wouldn’t ask if it weren’t important. But last time I was worried my Resident face might slip when I saw all their faces.” The memory jumps to the forefront of my mind, and I clench my fists to refrain from shuddering.

Gil tilts his chin. “Whose faces?”

“They keep the humans in a basement when they aren’t being used, in some kind of weird hibernation,” I explain. “I think I need to look for her there first.”

“I told you before I wouldn’t jeopardize the mission.”

“I know. That’s why I’m asking you to veil me.” When he doesn’t reply, I add, “To be clear, I’m going no matter what. You’ve all told me enough times I’m not a prisoner, and my mask will at least get me through the front door without suspicion.”

His eyes flicker with heat. “I don’t like being backed into a corner, Nami.”

“Neither do I, but here we are.”

Gil doesn’t answer for a long time. And then, finally, “I’ll come with you. But if there’s any sign of trouble, we turn right back around. I won’t hurt our chances of getting the Orb, no matter how badly you want to save the girl.”

I try my best not to look elated.

Gil isn’t finished. “But if you can’t find her, or if this theory of yours doesn’t pan out?” His hazel eyes burn into mine. “Then you have to let this go.”

My stomach drops. “I—I can’t do that.”

“You’re going to have to,” he says carefully. “Because I won’t do this for you again, and you can’t keep walking into the palace whenever you feel like it to look for servants. You’re not just someone who can blend in with the Residents. You’re favored by the Prince of Victory, which means you’ll be recognized wherever you go.”

I cast my eyes down, hating that he’s right. Hating that he’s giving me the same amount of options as I’m giving him.

“Do we have a deal?” he asks.

I nod once.

“I’m going to need a little better than that,” he points out. “I want you to promise you’ll stop looking for her.”

Frustration rushes out of me in a groan. “Fine. I promise, okay?”

“Okay,” he replies, looking too satisfied for his own good.

Gil arms himself with several knives—one tucked into his boot and the other two in his belt—and we set off through the North Tunnel, carefully avoiding the veilers as we make our exit.