And for a single forbidden moment, Avery felt herself kiss him back.

Then her nerves came violently to life again, and she stumbled away, her breathing ragged. “Atlas! What the hell?” She wanted to scream, but their parents were home, so somehow—using every last shred of her willpower—she kept her voice at a low hiss. “You can’t do that, okay? I’m with Max now!”

It felt to Avery like the very air was charged, like the old Tower air before they adjusted the oxygen levels; as if a single spark might burst into flames, and destroy everything.

“I’m sorry. I guess I was . . . Never mind. Just pretend it didn’t happen.”

“Pretend it didn’t happen? How do you expect me to do that?”

“I don’t know,” Atlas said bitingly, “but you’ve been doing a fantastic job of it so far.”

“That’s not fair.” Avery noted with a wild sort of hysteria that she was still holding the rug in one hand. She brandished it before her like a weapon. “You’re the one who ended things with me, remember?”

“I’m just saying, you’ve done a great job pretending that you and I never happened. You have everyone convinced, even me.” He kept his gaze on her, steady and unblinking. “When I saw you with Max, I almost thought that I’d made the whole thing up. That it was something I’d dreamed.”

“That isn’t fair,” Avery said again. Tears pricked at the corners of her eyes. “You can’t do this, Atlas. You literally destroyed me. I was so broken, I thought it would be a lifetime before I could put myself back together. And then I met Max . . .” She trailed off, taking a shaky breath. “You can’t resent me for being happy with him.”

He winced. “Aves, I’m sorry. Of course I want you to be happy. I didn’t come here to break up you and Max.”

“Then why the hell did you just kiss me?”

Atlas’s grip tightened over the edge of the counter. “Like I said, forget it. Chalk it up to a stupid mistake, okay? I promise it won’t happen again. What more do you want from me?”

“I want you to forget that anything ever happened between us, okay? Because I have!”

He took a step back, retreating across the distance her words had created. “Consider it done.”

Back in her bedroom, Avery couldn’t resist unfurling the carpet near her windows. She had to admit, her room needed this—it was all neutrals, ivory and gray and the occasional soft blue. The carpet was a glorious oasis of color in a sea of boringness.

Trust Atlas to bring her the most thoughtful present in the world, then ruin it by turning her emotions upside down.

She sat down on the magic carpet and closed her eyes, wishing it would take her anywhere but here.

WATT

LEDA KEPT GLANCING nervously over her shoulder as they turned onto Mariel’s street. “I can’t believe we’re doing this. Actually, I can’t believe you’re doing this. I don’t really have a choice, but you . . .” She glanced over at Watt, seeming disconcerted. “There’s no reason you should be doing this for me.”

Watt thought it was pretty obvious why he was here: He would take any opportunity to spend time with Leda, in any context. Even if it meant asking questions about a girl’s murder.

He hadn’t seen Leda since he dropped by her apartment with the Bakehouse order. They had been flickering back and forth all week, discussing what to do about Mariel’s diary—studiously avoiding any mention of their almost-kiss on Leda’s couch. Watt was so glad that Leda was still talking to him, he had even agreed to her initial idea: that they should just show up at the Valconsuelos’ apartment and ask to be let inside.

“We’re here,” he realized, pausing at the door marked 2704.

The Valconsuelos’ apartment was on the 103rd floor, on a street called Baneberry Lane. It was only a hundred and forty floors below where Watt lived with his family, but the difference was palpable. Down here the streets felt less like streets, and more like wide hallways that happened to be floored in carbon-composite, lined with metal studs. The overhead lights were fluorescent and distinctly unforgiving. Even Watt, who hadn’t known Eris very long, had trouble picturing her here. It made him cringe to think of what it must be like for Rylin, down on the 32nd floor.

“Okay,” Leda said in an oddly small voice. She poised her finger on the doorbell—and held it there, uncertain. Watt understood her reluctance. This felt much more serious than sneaking into a party.

Wordlessly, he put his hand over Leda’s to help press the bell. They heard the sound of it on the other side of the front door, echoing through the apartment. Leda pulled her hand out from beneath Watt’s, though he couldn’t help noticing that it wasn’t all that quickly. The thought made him smile, in spite of everything.

The door swung open to reveal a woman in a cozy purple dress. Her hair rose to a widow’s peak at her brow, and her brown eyes crinkled with lines, the pleasant sort of lines that came from a lifetime of smiling. But she wasn’t smiling right now.

“Can I help you?”

“Hi, Mrs. Valconsuelo. We’re friends of Mariel,” Watt said quickly.

For a moment Mrs. Valconsuelo simply stared at them both, as if trying to place them.

She doesn’t believe you, Nadia told Watt. Her nostrils are flaring, her hands tensing, the classic signs of mistrust.