In the study, my father was standing near a bookshelf. Physically, he appeared much the same as the last time I’d seen him. He wore a charcoal business suit, and his curly brown hair was still unmarked by gray. When he turned to face us, I could see the gold of his eyes, and the bend where he’d once broken his nose. But his face was no longer expressionless, his gaze no longer blank. He looked nervous. He was frowning a little, and he kept moving his hands. He stuck them in his pockets and then withdrew them. The smile he gave us wavered slightly. He didn’t speak.

My mother entered the room first. She didn’t hesitate. She just strode right up to him.

“Lucy,” he said.

She pulled him into her arms, and then stood on her tiptoes and kissed his cheek. She was crying, but she was smiling through her tears. “I’ve missed you, kid,” she told him.

I hung back, suddenly shy, now that it was real, now that it was really him.

But it was too late. If I were going to flee, I should’ve done it earlier—before Mom and I had gotten into the car that morning, before we’d arrived at the house and walked up those long flights of stairs. He’d already seen me.

I stepped into the room slowly, concentrating on the sound of my footsteps, keeping my gaze on the room around me. I drew in a deep breath and then lifted my gaze to my father. He was looking back down at me.

Knowing came to me then. Vibrant and shining, not the static I’d been sensing—everything open and clear. I could see through those long years he’d spent sleeping, to the laughing boy he’d been. That boy was still there, though he’d long since grown into this somber, sad-eyed man. He lingered at the edge of my father’s memories, in stray impressions I caught now—lying in the grass as a thunderstorm rolled overhead, watching the sky spark and crash; grinning beneath the sunlight, waving to someone beyond my view. And there was the flicker of something else. Something quiet, understated. The sense that while I was Knowing him, he was Knowing me, too. That was his gift, as well, I recalled. The Nav cards Esther had given me had once belonged to him. Inverted Crescent. The card we shared.

He didn’t seem to know what to say. But that was all right; I did.

I smiled. I was crying, I realized. For the first time since Gideon had died. Not hard, but I could feel tears sliding down my cheeks. “It’s really nice to meet you,” I said. “I’ve been waiting a long time.”

I found Iris in her bedroom, sitting near the window, her fingers pressed up against the screen. The window was open, letting in the breeze. The wind stirred against her silver hair, making wisps of it graze the hollow of her throat, where the triple knot still hung. Her face was tilted, her eyes closed. She didn’t move when I stepped into the room.

I remembered the first time I’d been here. Iris and I had come with my Nav cards to search for the Remnant. We’d sat on the floor, and for the space of a second I’d had a glimpse of that image she’d tried so hard to hide: the night Patrick Tigue had found her sitting in the rain and given her his hand.

I felt a flicker of pity. Iris and I had never been friends, exactly. But we’d been family, for a time.

“Iris,” I said, taking another step forward.

She turned from the window. “What do you want?”

I wasn’t certain. I watched her, the way she toyed idly with the ring on her thumb, noting the thin, fading line of the wound on her neck. Her fingernails were bitten short and ragged. I thought of the girl she’d once been—the inky shine of her hair, the grief that had weighted her. I thought of her standing before me on Harlow Tower, clutching a knife.

“I didn’t kill Gideon,” I said finally, struggling with the words. “I wanted you to know that.”

“Good for you. And you came here just to tell me I was wrong? He’s still dead.”

That flicker of pity vanished instantly. “No. I came to find out what you’re doing.”

She cocked her head toward the window. “What does it look like? Enjoying my imprisonment, while it lasts. I’ve got a view of the yard and Grandmother’s disapproval. What more could I want?”

“Elspeth says you turned yourself in.”

“I didn’t run away, she meant.”

“And you’re really just going to sit here and await judgment? I don’t believe that.”

She ran her fingers through her hair. Silver caught the light from outside. “You really think I care what happens to me?”

“I don’t think you care about anything,” I replied. “I definitely don’t think you care about the people you killed. You’d have to know the meaning of the word remorse, and that’s not in your vocabulary, is it?”

“I told you once—you don’t know anything.” For a second she sneered at me, and then her face relaxed. She looked calm now, and just a little sad, almost like she had before she’d disappeared Beneath. “You want the truth? I’m here for Patrick, what I did to him. He only wanted to help me. And I ruined him. I’ll face judgment for that. At least if they seal my powers, I’ll stop hearing it.”

“The Beneath?” I guessed.

“It’s asleep again. But it’s still alive. Whispering. Taunting.”

“What does it say?”

A strange smile curved her lips. “It says that I’m going to die.”

I repressed a shudder, hearing the echo of its voice in my own ears. “So, the usual.”

She shrugged. “Maybe it’s right, this time. Who can say?” She turned once more, her eyes burning gold. St. Croix eyes, not the milk-white of Harrowers her eyes sometimes had. “Audrey—everything that happened. I would change it, if I could.”

Changing things. That’s what she’d wanted all along. To rewrite the past. To bring back what she’d lost.

Well, now at least, I knew what that felt like.

It was as close as she came to an apology, I supposed.

“Good-bye, Iris,” I said—as close as I could come to forgiveness.

In the pearly light that swelled just before dawn, I went walking the way Gram and I always used to. I was careful not to take the road toward Gideon’s house. I headed the other direction, down blocks where long stretches of grass still gleamed wetly with dew, and morning glories twisted their way up garden trellises, showing in violet and indigo. The morning air was cool, and beyond me the skyline was etched with light, glinting where the sunrise touched it, so it seemed the space between the buildings was bright with fire. I could see the Circle, I thought, if I looked closely. Instead I kept my gaze on the street around me, watching the cars that rolled out of the driveways to begin the morning commute.

A shadow stepped out in front of me.

I came to a halt.

Shane stood before me, his hands in his pockets, a wry smile on his lips. His blond hair caught the light, once again carefully rumpled instead of unkempt. His clothing was clean—no trace of blood on the gray jeans he wore, no rips in his pale blue T-shirt. I knew it was him by the lazy grace in his posture and the rueful look in his eyes, but it was more what I didn’t sense that revealed him. That cloying scent of decay didn’t linger in the air, and the cold malevolence of the Beneath was gone.

But I hesitated. I retreated a step, watching him warily, wondering what he was doing there. I had no idea what he was now—if the Beneath, awake inside him, had altered him somehow. If the beast was still there, lurking, ready to bare its teeth.

He saw me inch backward and lifted one hand in front of him. “No need to fret, angel. My ill-tempered tenant is evicted once more, all safely slumbering in its hellish bed. I’ve you to thank for that, I hear.”