The people near him shriek, scattering in all directions. Another arrow comes flying, and then another. The Inquisitors turn their attention to their invisible attackers—and as they do, the people finally break past the blocked paths and free themselves from the square. My heart hammers in my chest at the sight of blood.

The Daggers.

I stumble out of the square, then retrace my steps as I rush along with others. Behind me, I hear Inquisitors shouting for order—the sounds of scuffles tell me that they’re making arrests as they go. I rush on. Energy courses through me in relentless waves, feeding me even as I try to ignore the flood of power in my veins. In spite of everything, I feel a strange sense of glee.

All this chaos is of my own creation.

By the time I reach the court, I’m soaked in sweat. My breaths come hard. I round a corner to the side wall of the court facing a narrow street, then climb on the ivy and hoist myself over the low ledge. I collapse inside the courtyard. Then I pick myself up, dust off my hands, and pull open a side gate that leads to the inner chambers. Finally, I reach the secret wall. I push on it, step through, and rush toward my room. There. I’ve made it back before the others. I’ll head to my room and—

But someone’s already waiting for me in the hall. It’s Enzo.

The sudden sight of him catches me by surprise. Any hope of being spared his wrath is dashed when I see the expression on his face. His eyes are alight, the scarlet in them brighter than usual.

“You were to stay here,” he says. His voice is deadly quiet. “Why did you leave?”

Panic rises in my throat. He knows.

Something stirs behind him. I glance over his shoulder to see Windwalker, her mask off. Spider lurks farther down the hall, his arms crossed as he leans against the wall. He looks smug, eager to see me punished. “Huh,” he says. “Little lamb’s in trouble.”

I keep my focus on Enzo and try to think of some clever comeback. Anything to protect myself.

“I—” I start to say. “I wanted to help—”

“You caused a riot out there,” Spider interrupts me. “Ever stop to think of what might happen if you lost control of your powers?”

“I stepped in for Gemma,” I reply, suddenly angry. “I wasn’t about to wait around and see her killed.”

Spider’s lips curl up. “Maybe it’s time you keep your words locked inside that pretty little mouth, where they belong.”

My voice flattens. “Careful. Lest I hurt you.” I don’t even know where the words come from until they’ve already left me.

Enzo hushes us both with a shake of his head. “Dante,” he says, without bothering to glance over his shoulder. It takes me a second to realize that Enzo has revealed the Spider’s real name to me. “You’re dismissed.”

The boy’s rage changes to disbelief—at the use of his name in front of me, or at his dismissal, maybe both. “You’ll let this girl have her way?” he spits out. “She could have gotten one of us killed. She could have ruined the entire mission—”

“The Inquisition ruined the mission,” Enzo interrupts. His eyes stay on me, and I feel the familiar shudder pulse through my heart. “You’re dismissed. Do not make me say it again.”

Dante hesitates for a moment. Then he pushes away from the wall. “Watch your back, little lamb,” he snaps at me before stalking off down the hall. Windwalker watches him go, shrugs, and regards me with a suspicious look.

“Now what, Reaper?” she says. “A whole new plan for the Tournament of Storms?”

“No need.”

She snorts. “But they’ve disqualified Gemma,” she says. “She can’t get close to the royals if she won’t be able to race.”

Enzo studies me with a gaze so intense that it leaves my cheeks red. “Not if someone disguises her,” he replies.

I blink, my mind spinning with the new information they’re feeding me. First, Spider’s real name. Now, this. Is he . . . pleased with me? Permitting me to participate in the Daggers’ plans? I could learn to disguise Gemma. I could disguise any one of them to ride in the race.

Enzo steps closer until he’s now barely a foot away from me. The heat emanating from him burns my skin through the fabric of my clothes. He reaches out one hand and touches the clasp that pins my cloak at my neck. The metal turns white hot. When I look down, I see threads fraying on the cloak’s cloth, their ends blackened and singed. My fear rises up into my throat.

“You want to train faster,” he says.

I keep my chin up, refusing to let him see my anxiety. “Yes.”

He’s silent. A second later, he removes his hand from my cloak’s clasp, and the heat is sucked out of the melting metal as if it were never there. I’m shocked it didn’t burn straight through to my skin. When I look back up at Enzo, I notice a tiny spark of something else behind his rage. Something in his eyes that sends a different kind of warmth tingling through me.

“So be it,” he replies.

My heart jumps.

“But I warn you, Adelina. Dante is right. There is one line you do not cross with me.” His eyes narrow as he folds his hands behind his back. “You do not recklessly endanger my Elites.”

His words sting, labeling me as someone separate from them. I am separate from them. I am a spy and a traitor. Besides, what if things had gone horribly wrong when I used my powers? If I hadn’t been there, the other Daggers would surely have made a move to protect her, and they are certainly more skilled than I am. What if Gemma had instead been harmed during my antics, because I didn’t know what I was doing? What if the Inquisition had chosen to blame her for the false Elites on the roofs?