“THIS IS NOT happening.”

Jo wasn’t entirely sure if she said the words very softly, or thought them very loudly. Either way, in the commotion of the room, they were lost.

“Get back here you rainbow haired bi—”

“Wayne, stop.” Eslar all but shouted, lunging for the man. “There’s an explanation here, I’m sure.”

“What possible explanation can there be?” Wayne roared in reply. “She didn’t seem to me like she was just having a good ol’ joshin’ at our expense.” His voice had gone thick with his usual accent, but different. . . rougher. The airs he usually put on had vanished into something more serious, and now it had come full circle into an accent that was far more authentic, a tonal quality that was more a reversion back to his roots than an homage to them.

“Kill one of our own?” Takako’s face alternated between composed, confused, and about to tear someone apart. “What is the meaning of this, leader?” The way she spat out the moniker might as well have been an insult or a challenge. Probably both.

“It’s my fault,” Nico sobbed, but Jo was the only one who heard.

“What do we do?” Samson’s small voice asked from opposite the table.

Eventually, in the whirlwind of everyone else’s slow and steady breakdowns, Jo found her feet again, still clutching Nico’s hand. “Snow!” She waited until his head jerked in her direction at the sudden shout of his name. “Say something.”

It was the verbal slap he needed. The man blinked, stunned, and then swallowed. His mouth hardened into a line and his eyes gained clarity. As Snow stood, assuming control of the now-quiet room, Jo sat.

“Pan—” He paused, clearing his throat before continuing. “Is not lying to you.”

“You’re going to let her kill one of us?” Takako asked, void of emotion.

“All this time. Were we just sheep awaiting slaughter?” Wayne snapped.

“You know that’s not the case,” Eslar replied, still clearly giving Snow the benefit of the doubt.

“Do I? What do we really know?” Wayne pushed his chair from the table, folding his arms as if to keep him from lunging at the elf. “What do you know? You seem awfully cool. Have you been keeping this from us to?”

“Eslar didn’t know anything,” Samson interjected.

“Of course you’d say that, you always take his side,” Wayne sneered; Samson sunk in on himself.

“Wayne, stop,” Jo chided. Wayne was about to object, but one look at Jo’s face had him closing his mouth and looking away.

“She’s right, there is no other option at this point. The Severity of Exchange is too wide.” Snow struggled to keep some semblance of control over the situation.

“Surely, there’s another way to convert the magic?” Eslar asked, pleaded. “Why not a ritual, like Springtide, or—”

“All relics were lost with the Age of Magic, you know that as well as I,” Snow said sadly.

“Or, I have an idea.” Jo could feel the venom of her own words dripping in sickly tendrils down her throat “How about we just say ‘Screw it we tried’?” She looked around the room, registering the surprise that appeared on every face, and felt only overwhelming frustration. Really, how had they not thought about this before? “We put forward a good effort, we did all we could. What’s our wish success rate until now? One hundred percent? Who’s going to come after us for failure, anyway? We exist outside of time and space.”

“But—” Takako began to say.

“I’m sorry.” Jo knew exactly where the Japanese woman’s mind was. “Really, I am. And we can try to just get your family to safety. That should be do-able. We don’t have enough time to meet the parameters of the wish—to save everyone. But saving at least them shouldn’t be a problem.”

“You’d really condemn all those people to die?” Eslar asked. Jo wasn’t sure if he sounded surprised or impressed.

Either way, she answered him levelly and honestly. “Yes.” Jo shook her head, cursing under her breath. “Look, I’m not pleased about this. I’m not suggesting this lightly. But isn’t this what you taught me from the first wish, that we can’t save everyone? Haven’t you all watched thousands of people die horrible deaths? Why is this any different? Good, evil, failure, or triumph, the world keeps on turning.”

“We can’t,” Snow stopped her before a seed of hope could even be planted.

“Why?” Jo challenged.

“Because if we fail to grant a wish, we all die.”

Stillness across the table. A collective inhale. Than an almost unanimous, “What?”

“The Society exists because of the wishes we grant.” Snow placed his hands on the table as if inspecting it for the first time. “I destroy worlds of possibility to fulfill wishes and, in doing so, some of that energy goes to continuing to keep this pocket of existence outside of time. Without the energy and magic of the wishes we grant, we cannot exist. It is part of what binds us to this place—our duty. And part of what, in return, binds us. . . to this life itself.” The sound of Snow’s voice cracking on the last words had Jo’s heart stuttering, tipping to the floor, shattering. Even when Snow lifted his head, a mask of faux composure back on his face, she couldn’t unhear it as he tried to explain further.

“Every time we grant a wish, every time the world is redesigned, I am able to siphon a little from the world of possibility that I destroy and we are gifted enough magic in return to sustain ourselves. But my capabilities on channeling that destructive power aren’t perfect, and we can sustain only for a little while longer. This magic, the magic that keeps us alive, it needs constant replenishment. So if we stop granting wishes, or if we fail to grant an accepted wish within the allotted time frame, that magic runs out. I don’t have the power to break the cycle, even if I wanted to.”

Snow’s mask crumbled then, not enough to catch everyone else’s attention, but enough that Jo could feel the weight of his pain like a dagger through her own heart.

“The magic runs out, we all die.”

Jo sank into her chair, his words circling around her head like so many taunting birds. It was truly a rock and a hard place. No way out. She couldn’t breathe.

So instead, she distracted herself by looking around the room; surely, the rest of them had known this. But everyone’s faces displayed matching looks of shock and horror, even Eslar’s. How had no one known this before? What other fundamental secrets to their existence had been kept from them?

“So that’s it, then,” Wayne murmured bitterly. “One of us dies to grant the wish, or we all die.”

Silence was his only reply. Jo’s eyes had fallen to her lap, so she could only assume that Snow had nodded. It didn’t matter. There was no simple solution or crafty work-around to get them out of this. It was exactly as Wayne said.

“Now what?” she whispered.

“I’ll do it.” Takako’s voice was clear and strong. Level. Takako knew what she was offering, sacrificing. Probably more than any of them. “It’s my country. My family. Let it be me.”

“No,” Jo’s voice quivered and she wished she could be as strong as the other woman in what she was about to do. An icy fear ran through her veins, but still her mouth formed words. “If anyone should—” Her throat tightened and she swallowed twice to clear it. “Go. . . it should be me. I was the one who was arrogant from the start. My hack job was shoddy and I was overconfident. I wasted our time and set us on the path that put us in this spot. Plus, I’m the newest here, so—”

“Just stop.” Wayne slapped his hand on the table, startling Jo into a silence. “We all know that I’m the king of screw-ups. You said it, doll. You’re the new kid, so I’m not letting you take the title.”

Nico opened his mouth, no doubt about to offer to martyr himself with the rest of them when Eslar interrupted.

“Snow should decide.”

All eyes drifted back toward their leader. To his credit, Snow did not shake or waver. He met their attention with rigid posture and the same careful regard that he always had at the head of the table. It was as if every ounce of tension he had ever carried himself with was in preparation for this moment.

“So be it, then,” Snow said softly. “I will decide within the day.”

Jo pressed her eyes closed. It was an impossible decision for him to make. They were clearly all willing to make the ultimate sacrifice for the sake of their team. How would he choose?

The sensation of Nico’s hand finally uncurling from hers barely registered, and despite Jo’s underlying guilt, evoked no response in her. She couldn’t muster the strength to comfort him when she was beginning to unravel herself; hopefully, one day, he’d be able to forgive her for it.

“I’m going to the recreation room. . . Maybe I can still do something,” he said hopelessly.

No one stopped him. Not even Jo. Her mind was too far from that room to think of anything other than the phantom fingers that ghosted over her cheeks, as if wiping away rogue tears that had yet to fall.

It would not be her.

It was a horrifying truth, and one Jo knew deep in her bones. She could feel Snow’s mouth on hers, their hungry kisses, his promises to protect her. If it was left to him, right or wrong, deserved or not, Snow would not choose her to die.