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knew the barest touch—like a feather trailed down skin—hurther more. Calm slipped out of reach no matter how many times she counted backward, or begged to be let go, or asked what she had done wrong.
    In the end, it was such a small movement.
    Someone had kicked her to the ground. Another person’s elbow clashed into a vial on a table. The vial splattered into a puddle, which pooled out and touched the tips of her outstretched fingers. She had been holdinga piece of flint in her hand when fury flickered in hermind. Fire . That little thought—that snippet of will, just as the professors had taught her—traveled from her fingertips to the puddle, igniting the broken vial until it bloomed into a towering inferno.
    Seven students were injured in the explosion.
    For her crime, she was arrested on grounds of arson and insanity, and taken to prison. Shewould have died there if not for S é verin. S é verin found her, freed her, and did the unthinkable: He gave her a job. A way to earn back what she’d lost. A way out.
    Zofia rubbed her finger across the oath tattoo on her right knuckle. Luckily, it was only temporary or her mother would have been appalled. She could not be buried in a Jewish cemetery with a tattoo. The tattoo was a contract betweenher and S é verin, the ink Forged so that if one of them broke the agreement, nightmares would plague them. That S é verin had used this tattoo—a sign of equals—instead of some of the cruder contracts was something she would never forget.
    Zofia turned on her heel and left rue Bonaparte behind. Perhaps the marble entrance could not recognize when a student had been expelled, for it did not move, butstayed in its place until she disappeared around a corner.
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    IN L’EDEN, ZOFIA made her way to the stargazing room. S é verin had called for a meeting once he and Enrique got back from their latest acquisition, which she knew was just a fancy word for “theft.”
    Zofia never took the grand lobby’s main staircase. She didn’t want to see all the fancy people dressed up and laughing and dancing. Plus,it was too noisy. Instead, she took the servants’ entryway, which was how she ran into S é verin. He grinned despite appearing thoroughly disheveled. Zofia noticed how tenderly he held his wrist.
    “You’re covered in blood.”
    S é verin glanced down at his clothes. “Surprisingly, it hasn’t escaped my attention.”
    “Are you dying?”
    “No more than usual or expected.”
    Zofia frowned.
    “I’m well enough.Don’t worry.”
    She reached for the door handle. “I’m glad you’re not dead.”
    “Thank you, Zofia,” said S é verin with a small smile. “I will join you soon. There’s something I’d like to show everyone through a mnemo bug.”
    On S é verin’s shoulder, a Forged silver beetle scuttled under his lapel. Mnemo bugs recorded images and sound, allowing projection-like holograms should the wearer choose. Whichmeant she had to be prepared for an unexpected burst of light. S é verin knew she didn’t like those. They jolted her thoughts. Nodding, Zofia left him in the hall and walked into the room.
    The stargazing room calmed Zofia. It was wide and spacious, with a glass-domed vault that let in the starlight. All along the walls were orreries and telescopes, cabinets full of polished crystal, and shelveslined with fading books and manuscripts. In the middle of the room was the low coffee table that bore the scuff marks and dents of a hundred schemes that came to life on its wooden surface. A semicircle of chairs surrounded it. Zofia made her way to her seat. It was a tall metal stool with a ragged pillowcase. Zofia preferred to balance upright because she didn’t like things touching her back. Ina green, velvet chaise across from her sprawled Laila, who absentmindedly traced the rim of her teacup with one finger. In a plushy armchair crowded with pillows sat Enrique, who had a large book on his lap and was reading intently. Of the two chairs