“Her and every Resident in Infinity,” Annika clarifies, and my blood goes cold. “This world relies on human consciousness to keep it in existence. The Residents? They rely on their queen.”

I blink. “So if you destroy the Orb…”

“We destroy them all,” Annika finishes.

“But how would that even work? How do we destroy something like that? And where do they keep it?” The questions pour out of me rapid-fire because I want to know more.

“That’s why we need you,” Annika says seriously. “You can get close to the palace, close to their secrets. With you on the inside, we can finally get the information we’ve been searching for.”

Gil hasn’t taken his eyes off me, and now they burn with vengeance. “With your help, we can end the war.”

My hands quiver at my sides, but I can’t look away.

They’ve waited so long for this chance. I’d be a terrible person if I took it away from them.

And you’d be an even worse person if you took this away from Mei, I tell myself grudgingly.

Annika waves a hand. “I’ll get Ahmet to prepare a brief for the Dawn Festival. In the meantime, Nami and Gil can find somewhere to work on that waltz.”

I nod and start to turn for the door.

“And, Gil?” she adds, her voice like a warning. “Please be nice.”

Gil presses his lips into a thin line and makes his way out of the room, with me trailing closely behind.

18

GIL’S ROOM IS NOT AT all what I expected.

Dark wooden panels line the walls, and there’s an open stone fireplace on one end. The air is laced faintly with smoke and vanilla, and there’s a row of candles and tin cups on the mantel, blossoming with well-loved paintbrushes. Unlike Annika’s home, there’s no kitchen here. Instead, it’s filled with sculptures.

Some made of metal, others crafted from wood, they sprawl out across tables and cabinets and shelves. A few of the biggest ones are pushed against the wall, like fearsome creatures ready to morph into something otherworldly as soon as they’re alone.

Next to one of the small stools is a workbench with an unfinished piece propped up with wires. I don’t know what it’s supposed to be, but based on the bird wings, I think it’s some kind of animal.

“Did you make all of these?” I ask, too dazzled to hide it.

He moves across the room, pushing some of the tables farther into the corner to create floor space. With so much art, it’s something he has very little of. “They’re not all finished,” he says, covering his work-in-progress with a thin sheet.

“They’re beautiful.” I think it’s the first nice thing I’ve ever said to him.

“Thank you.” I think it’s the first nice thing he’s said to me.