She shook her head. Hadn’t she gone to the Heroes Portal by herself last night? But she hadn’t had that sense of trespass . . .

She climbed past the yawning doorway of the second floor where Cade had done his weapons practice, honing his skills to become a Black Shield, and where the professor had lovingly preserved his library of damaged books. She did not stop for her destination lay on the third floor.

Once there, with the aid of her taper, she found the lever that illuminated the phosphorene lights. She set the taper aside and quickly oriented herself, striking off to find that one particular aisle that contained her personal belongings. She would not leave them behind—not her brooch, the moonstone, or the feather of the winter owl. Nor would she leave behind her uniform, tattered as it was. These things were hers. They allowed her to touch something real from her home.

She found the proper aisle, her steps quickening until they brought her to the table that held her belongings. She immediately pinned the brooch on. She’d forgotten how it felt, that slight weight against her chest. She slipped the moonstone into her trouser pocket. Next she traded the professor’s bonewood for her own. She had not appreciated the differences between the two before, for they were subtle. The professor’s lacked the black shield emblem on it, of course, and it had the patina and feel of age on it. Hers did not.

She then hesitated, wondering whether or not to take all the mirror shards with her. No, she would keep the one. The rest would remain, an enigma for the professor to ponder. Maybe they’d be forgotten with time, just like much of the rubbish in this room; rubbish the professor considered artifacts.

She carefully rolled the feather of the winter owl in the sleeve of her greatcoat, then stuffed her uniform into her satchel. She decided to leave her infantry boots behind. The muddy soaking they’d received in Blackveil had turned them stiff and hard as they dried in storage. They were cracking and smelled of mildew. She had no oil or time with which to recondition them, so in the future they would stay, one more enigma for the professor.

She turned to leave, and there he was standing in the aisle watching her—the professor. She was so startled she squawked and dropped her satchel. How had he crept up on her like that? She detected his smile beneath his ostentatious mustache and remembered that, like her, he’d had plenty of practice sneaking around at odd hours of the night.

“You—you followed me here?” she asked.

“Yes, of course. I wanted to see what you were up to.”

Karigan gestured at her satchel. “As you can see, I am collecting my things.”

“I do see, but you know it is safer for all of us if they remain here.”

“They can’t remain here,” Karigan replied.

“Why ever not?”

She strongly suspected he knew the answer. “Because I am not remaining here. I am leaving. I have to.”

The professor stepped closer. “You worry about your Eletian friend.”

Karigan nodded. “Yes. He, I believe, is my link to finding my way home.”

“Oh, my dear, I had so hoped you would settle here, become part of my family.” He shook his head sadly. “It has been a joy to have you. You reawakened my passion for learning about the old days, motivated me ever more to bring down the empire.”

“I appreciate all you’ve done for me,” Karigan said. She could not allow herself to feel guilty for leaving him. “You took me in, a stranger out of time, and allowed me to heal from my injuries. You’ve protected me from the empire and made for me a safe haven. But now it is time for me to go.”

“You are resolved to do this?”

Karigan nodded. “Yes. I want to put things right in my time so yours never has an emperor the likes of Xandis Pierce Amberhill.”

“You believe you can do this?”

“My king—King Zachary—he’s a good man, a good ruler, and he will hear what I have to say. If there is a way to prevent the empire from rising, he will find it.”

“Well then. I daresay you are resolved.”

“I am.”

His expression sagged. He looked suddenly older. “Do you think you could spare your uncle a hug before you strike off onto these new adventures?”

Karigan was relieved he had not fought her on this. Not much, at least. He must have seen that he could not contain her forever. He held his arms wide open for that hug. He still smiled, but his eyes looked sad. She had to admit her own eyes were feeling a little moist, too. She walked into his embrace, and he hugged her fiercely.

“I will think of you often,” she reassured him.

“I am sorry, my dear, so sorry.”

She started to pull away from him, but he shifted and the next thing she knew was a sharp pain stabbing into her upper arm.

“Ow! What?” She shoved him away and staggered. A syringe impaled her arm. She yanked it out and dropped it to the floor, the glass tube cracking. Droplets of clear fluid stained the wooden floor.

What? She’d meant to say it aloud, but her mouth wasn’t working right, like in the dream she’d had of mirror eyes.

She wanted the professor to explain. She meant to grab him by the lapels of his tweed coat, but she staggered again, and when she tried to catch herself on a nearby shelf, her hands knocked over a stack of pottery and sent it smashing to the floor.

“Easy,” the professor said, reaching out to her. He’d become distorted in her vision, blurry and elongated. “It’s just morphia.”