The light flickers in his eyes. “Are you sure about that?”

I cross my arms, scowling. “I agreed to be a spy, not a pawn.”

“Then I suppose it’s a good thing my opinion doesn’t matter.” Gil shakes his head irritably. “Because despite all my warnings—and believe me when I say there were many—Annika thinks you’re ready for a test run.” He pauses just long enough for my confusion to settle in, before adding, “The Procession of Crowns starts tomorrow. And it’s Victory’s turn to host.”

My chest goes hollow.

Resident parties are common in Victory. They’re indulgent and serve very little purpose, but they’re an excuse to dress in extravagant formalwear, drink, and socialize—everything Residents seem to love. But the Procession of Crowns is different. It’s an enormous part of their culture, comparable to the way humans once celebrated holidays and religious ceremonies.

A series of festivals that lead up to the reunion of the queen and her four princes, the Procession of Crowns is held once a cycle—or what feels to humans like one hundred years. The celebration spreads across all Four Courts and the Capital, but each cycle, a different prince takes a turn hosting the final ball.

It’s the biggest event in Resident culture. A celebration of the birth of their kind.

It’s also the only day when all five royal members are in the same place at the same time.

“Queen Ophelia is going to be in Victory,” I say stoically, realizing what this means.

It’s time. My role as spymaster begins now.

Gil nods. “During the Night of the Falling Star.”

It’s hard to keep still, but I try anyway. “Does Annika have something planned?”

“I’m sure she does.” His voice is clipped, like he’s unwilling to divulge any more information than necessary.

I’m not surprised by his shortness. Gil doesn’t trust me; he never has, even from the beginning.

And I’m pretty sure my earlier admission has only made it worse.

I don’t know why I keep opening up to Gil, or why being around him makes me overshare my thoughts like projectile word vomit. He’s the last person in Infinity who would understand my reservations about hurting another living thing, artificial or otherwise.

He’s nothing like Finn. He isn’t kind, or patient, or goofy in the best ways. And he isn’t my friend, no matter how badly I might need one.

But I miss having a confidant. And despite our many differences, I’ve spent more time with Gil than anyone else in the Colony.

He’s become familiar. And maybe that makes me too familiar.

I open my mouth, hoping to ease some of the tension between us, but Gil turns away abruptly. I flinch, feeling his rejection like a rush of air over an open wound.