“Seelie,” she half laughs. “We were there to take stuff.”

I know I sound like a pouting child, but I can’t help it. She isn’t the one with magic crawling under her skin. I didn’t want this. “I was trying to put it back.”

“You heard what that man—whatever—what they said. The Mortal’s Keep. Treasure. This could be it, Seelie. The chance we’ve been waiting for. You expect me to believe you really wanted to put it back?”

“Yes, but only because I knew you’d get like this about it.”

“Like this?” she repeats, and she could be angry, but she’s not, because she’s Isolde and picking my arguments apart like snarled threads is a hundred times more interesting than getting offended. She lets my hand go, and I lean back against the wagon. A smile pricks at the corner of her mouth below rising eyebrows.

Oh, no.

I know that look in her eyes. I’ve seen it hundreds of times, right before she got an amazing idea that always ended up with both of us in trouble—for instance, right before we crossed the bridge into Gilt Row. Or the night we ran away from home, and instead of just vanishing, we borrowed our wagon and went charging off across the countryside.

I roll my eyes. “You know exactly what I’m talking about. You get all worked up—”

One hand rumples her short hair, tugging like it’s impatient for a task to do. “Does it point north?”

My nails dig sharply into my palm. “West.” I let out a breath. “The Western Range was circled on the map in the vault. Leira must have figured that part out.” The part of my imagination I’ve been trying to hold back surges forward like the needle is pulling me west, filling in the gaps with visions of treasure and wealth, more than we could ever find slinking around and stealing trinkets.

Meeting Isolde’s eyes again, I can tell she’s thinking the exact same thing. I want her to tell me that it might just be a curse, and that it’s safer for us to not find out which of the two options is at the end of this path.

But since it seems like she won’t, I have to.

“N-no,” I say. I’m stammering, backpedaling, fighting what it is I actually want to do. “No way. You heard them, Sol. Everything in that place was locked away for a reason. We have no idea what else—”

“Seelie.” A second’s flicker of concern crosses her face. She reaches for my hand, catching it palm-up. Gentle. Soothing. “Don’t you get it? This Mortal’s Keep thing could be your ticket home. You’d be rich enough to buy Mami and Papa a big fancy house like that somewhere no one knows our face. You’d be rich enough that even if you did get in trouble, you could buy your way out of it. This would all be over.”

The dream shimmers for a moment. It’s tempting. It’s everything I want: paying my way out of this life, being together as a family again without fear that consequences for my actions would fall on the people I love, picking up exactly where we left off.