“Quiet, the both of you!” I roll my eyes and rise to my feet, suppressing the smile on my face. A blush rises in my chest. “I’ll go see what he wants.”

I walk through the quiet halls of the DuPre family flat to the elevator, which digs just slightly off-key.

The ride down is jerky and slow. The doors squeak open.

The vestibule is empty, echoing with the sound of falling rain. The doors to the outside are tall, covered in molding and cast in white plaster. They stick a bit as I push them open. I have to really put my shoulder into it.

Finally, they open with a groan.

“Oliv—” I go to shout his name, a smile on my lips, but it dies in my throat.

Because the man standing at the door with a fistful of pebbles isn’t Oliver.

It’s Finn, soaked to the bone, his hair plastered to his forehead and an innocent smile on his face.

“Surprise?” He shows a dimple and I resist the urge to slam the door in his face.

“What are you doing here?” I do not give him the satisfaction of a reaction.

“You said you needed my help. I reconsidered.”

The sight of him, on today of all days, makes me viscerally sick. “I told you to write me a letter.”

I turn and attempt to slam the gate behind me. He stops it with his foot.

“You don’t historically have a great track record of responding to my letters.”

I open the gate a little wider just to slam it against his foot again. He winces.

“Leave me alone,” I say.

He follows me, limping on the foot I just slammed in the gate. “Do you intend to let me stand out here and freeze to death?”

“I’m considering it,” I reply. A ripple of discomfort moves through me. “How did you know where to find me?” There’s no reason he should have known where we were staying.

He shrugs, as casual as ever. “I make it my business to know where you are. Maxine’s parents’ address is public record. I figured you were here or at Callahan’s dormitory. How is he enjoying the Sorbonne?”

I look at him, disgusted. “You’re stalking me?”

“ ‘Stalking’ is such an ugly word. I’m being practical. I can’t very well help you if I don’t know where you are.”

If I had my powers, I’d do something like swipe his knees out from under him, leaving him sputtering on the pavement.

In response to my glare, he says, “I’ll be of less use to you dead.”

“Don’t press your luck, you don’t know that for certain.”

He reaches into his coat pocket and pulls out a square of parchment. The rain leaves splatters on the thick, cream-colored paper as he passes it to me.