We turn to see a figure in black stealthily crossing the street. His large sunglasses and wide-brimmed hat obscure most of his face.

“I can’t believe you guys are making me do this,” Emmett hisses as he approaches, pulling his hat down farther. “My dad is going to kill me if he finds out I’m helping you guys break in. You know it’s a crime.”

“You volunteered, remember? Also, we brought Mong to sweeten the deal,” I say, passing the leash to Emmett. Baking and cute animals—that’s basically my BFF in a nutshell. Oh, and Battle Galactic, an online game he’s obsessed with.

He pretends to sulk but breaks into a full-watt smile as soon as Mong jumps up to lick his face. “Nice play.”

Hattie checks her list for the billionth time. “All right, team, ready to do this?”

We nod and put our hands together for a huddle.

“For service and sacrifice,” I say.

“For freedom of choice,” Hattie says.

“For making sure you don’t do anything stupid,” Emmett says with a snort.

Hattie unlocks the door, and we’re lucky there’s no door-sin at the clinic. It would totally rat us out to our parents. With a final nervous glance at one another, we step inside.

The scent of a tonic is thick in the air—something warm and sweet and cinnamon-y that reminds me of the hotteok rice pancakes Appa makes on Saturday mornings (hands down my favorite meal). I take a good sniff, and I’m pretty sure it’s the nectar Eomma gets from her Tokki supplier in New York. The infuser supposedly sources it from some old Greek dudes who work out of the Empire State Building, and the stuff really works. Took a sip once after I fell off my bike, and my cuts and bruises healed like they were never there.

“Mong and I will keep the coast clear,” Emmett says, taking a seat at the reception desk in front of the shelves of dried herbs and roots in apothecary jars. Mong, thinking he’s the size of a Chihuahua, promptly jumps up onto Emmett’s lap, causing my friend to disappear behind an explosion of white fur. “But keep your phones on. I’ll text you if I see anything suspicious out here.”

Hattie and I enter Eomma’s consultation room. A sigh of relief escapes my lips when we crouch down and pull back the black drapery to reveal a discreet wooden box in the corner.

The ancient wood is covered with a tawny lacquer that makes it almost look wet, and shiny brass cutouts of suns and moons decorate its front. The box gives off a slightly mildewed, nutty smell, and as I run my hand along it, coldness seeps into the pads of my fingers.

“Wow,” Hattie breathes. “It’s beautiful up close, isn’t it?”