She scooted her feet closer to the fire, feeling the heat soak into her toes. “So I’m supposed to stay away from the one person I’m trying to get close to?”

“Scires,” Roar said, like it explained everything.

In a way, it did.

After a few hours of restless sleep, she woke at dawn and slipped her Smarteye out of her satchel. She’d seen Hess twice during the week, but he’d kept their meetings short. He wanted news, and apparently walking day and night with freezing hands and feet didn’t qualify. He’d refused to let her see Talon again. Refused to tell her anything about Reverie’s condition. Whenever she asked, he fractioned, leaving her abruptly. Now she decided she’d had enough of being kept in the dark.

With Roar sleeping nearby, she applied the Smarteye and called the Phantom.

Seconds after she selected the white mask, Aria fractioned. Her heart leaped as she recognized the Realm. It was one of her favorites, based on an ancient painting of a gathering along the Seine River. Everywhere, people in nineteenth-century dress strolled or lounged, enjoying the sunshine as boats glided through the calm water. Birds twittered cheerfully, and a gentle breeze rustled the trees.

“I knew you wouldn’t be able to stay away from me.”

“Soren?” Aria asked, scanning the men around her. They wore top hats and suits with coattails, while the women wore bustled skirts and held colorful parasols. She looked for thickset shoulders. The aggressive tip of a chin.

“I’m here,” he said. “You just can’t see me. We’re invisible. People think you’re dead. If anyone saw you, there’s no way I could keep that from my father. Even I have limits.”

Aria looked down at her hands. She didn’t see them—or any part of herself. Panic washed over her. She felt like she was nothing more than a floating pair of eyes. In the real, she wiggled her fingers to shake off the feeling.

Then she heard a voice she’d known all her life.

“Pixie, you’re blocking my light.”

She followed the sound to the source, her heart thudding in her chest. Caleb sat on a red blanket just a few paces away, sketching in a notebook. His tongue poked out of the corner of his mouth—a habit he had when swept away by his creations. Aria took in his gangly limbs and ruddy hair as he moved a pencil across the page. He looked so much like Paisley. She’d never realized how alike they were until now.

“Can he hear me?” she whispered, her voice high and thin.

“No,” Soren said. “He has no idea we’re here. You’ve been saying you wanted to see him.”