I jerk my arm back and massage my fingers with my other hand. I blink back the tears of frustration. This won’t last much longer, I promise myself, because today I am going to the address in my pocket, and soon I will have answers.

I push on, mostly because I’ve never found a bruise I won’t poke at. “Briseadh.”

This time, the door unlocks. I sigh in relief.

Maxine’s stepfather’s study is deeply ordinary. A green leather armchair behind a glossy wood desk, bookshelves lining the walls, a globe in the corner. Stripes of early-morning light paint the floor as the sun peeks through the slats of the blinds.

I find what I need easily enough, a map of the city in a neat stack of paperwork on a squat table near the entrance.

I snag it and tuck it into the thick ribbon tied around my waist.

The maids didn’t dress me this morning, so my hair is in a simple braid, and it’s nice to cling to this small piece of normalcy on a day that fills me with such fear.

Maxine and Lena have plans to go shopping with Nina this morning. There’s a new department store Maxine wants to terrorize.

If I’m lucky they won’t notice I’m gone. If they do, I’ve left a note on my bed that simply says, Couldn’t sleep. Off to sightsee. Will be home in time for lunch.

The street outside is quiet this early. Across the street, a baker in a tall white hat lugs bags of flour into his shop. One of the bags has broken, and flour floats through the air, blanketing everything in a hazy coat of white, like the beginnings of a snowstorm.

I pull the map out of my pocket, scanning each of the tiny streets for the name I need.

It takes only a moment before I find it. Rue de Vis.

It isn’t terribly far, probably just over a mile and a half.

I set out walking, swallowing my own nerves, and wrapping myself in the surety that I have no other choice but to do this.

A young dark-haired man passes me on a bicycle and in his face, I see my brother.

What would William think of me now? Would he make this same choice if I were the one who was dead and he were the one who was alive?

I think he would. But he’d walk with balled-up fists ready for a fight.

I wish I felt angrier. Right now, I just feel scared.

I have a mile and a half to arrange my face into something impassive. I can’t afford to show up looking emotional. I refuse to give him the satisfaction.

I turn onto Rue de Vis, my heart hammering in my chest.

The cobblestone street is dreamlike, bathed in the gray light of early morning.