Darkness roars inside me. What illusion can I perform that could get us out before they can hurt her? I gauge the distance between us, the number of steps that separate the Inquisitors and me, me and Teren. All of Raffaele’s and Enzo’s lessons run through my mind.

Teren waits for me to step inside the room, and then closes the door behind him. He strolls closer to Violetta. As he does, I feel her fear spike—and with that, mine does too. Teren looks her over with a critical gaze, then turns back to me with a sweep of his cloak.

He studies me. “Tell me, Adelina—what are their names?”

I open my mouth.

Tell him about the horrible Spider, the little whispers say gleefully in my head. Go on. He deserves it. Give him Enzo, and Michel, and Lucent. Give him Gemma. You’re doing so well. In my head, I imagine confessing everything I know to Teren.

“Where are the Young Elites?” he’ll say.

“The Fortunata Court,” I’ll reply.

“Where?”

“It has many secret passages. They use the catacombs underneath the court. You can find the entrance in the smallest garden.”

“Tell me their names.”

I do.

The vision in my head vanishes, and I once again see Teren standing before me. Somehow, the confessions don’t come out.

Despite my silence, Teren seems calm. “Adelina, I’m impressed. Something did happen to you.”

A faint warning buzzes in my head. “You want their names,” I say, prolonging the game.

Teren observes me with an interested stare. His lips twitch. “Still hesitant, aren’t you?” He walks in a slow circle around me, close enough that I can feel the brush of his cloak against my skin. With a chill, I realize that it reminds me of when Raffaele circled me during my test with the gemstones, sizing me up, studying my potential.

Finally, Teren stops before me. He draws his sword and points it at Violetta. My heart twists. “Why do you protect them so loyally, Adelina? What did they promise you, once you were part of their circle? Did they make you believe that they’re a band of noble heroes? That they recruited you for some honorable cause, instead of the murder they actually commit? Do you think their Spring Moons stunt didn’t claim any innocent lives?” He fixes his pale, pulsing eyes on me. “I’ve seen what you can do. I know of the darkness in your soul. You were willing to run from them—I’d wager that you don’t trust them. There’s something . . . different about you. They don’t like you, do they?”

How could he possibly know that? “What are you trying to say?” I ask through clenched teeth.

“You’re here because you know you don’t belong,” he replies coolly. “Let me tell you something, Adelina. There’s no shame in turning your back on a group of criminals who want nothing more than to burn this entire nation to the ground. Do you think they’d protect you if you were in danger?” He turns, his gaze sidelong.

I think back to how malfettos have burned at the stake, and how the Daggers chose not to save them. Because they weren’t Elites.

“They came for you that day because you had something they wanted,” Teren says, as if he knows what I’m thinking. “No one throws away something useful to them—that is, until it’s no longer useful.”

He’s right.

“I’ve grown fond of you, in the time we’ve spent together,” he continues. “Do you ever think on the myth of the angel of Joy and his brother, the angel of Greed? Do you remember the story of Denarius casting Laetes from the heavens, condemning him to walk the world as a man until his death sent him back among the gods? Curing the angel of Joy of his arrogance in thinking that he was the gods’ most beloved child?” He leans closer. “There is an imbalance in the world, just as there was when Joy left the heavens—warning signs of demons walking with us, defying the natural order. Sometimes, the only way to set things right is to do what is difficult. It is the only way to love them back.” All pretense of amusement is now gone from his face. “That’s why I was sent by the gods. And I feel, too, that perhaps you were sent for the same reason. There is a yearning in you to set things right, little malfetto—you are smarter than the others, because you know there is something wrong with you. It tears at your conscience, doesn’t it? You have hatred for yourself, and I admire that. It’s why you keep coming back to me. The only way to cure yourself of this guilt is to atone for it by saving your fellow abominations. Help them return to the Underworld, where they belong. Do this with me. You and I can set the world right again, and when we do, the gods will deem us forgiven.” His voice has taken on a strange, gentle tone. “It doesn’t seem right or kind, I know—it seems cruel. But it must be done. Do you understand?”

Something about his words makes sense. They twist around my head and my heart until they seem logical. I am an abomination—even to the other Daggers. Perhaps it really is my duty to set the world right again. I do this because I love you, my father’s ghost whispers. You may not understand it right now, but it is for your own good. You are a monster. I still love you. I will set you right.

Teren’s serious look shifts to a sympathetic one, an expression I recognize from my execution day. “If you pledge yourself to the Inquisition, to me, and swear to use your powers and your knowledge to send malfettos back to the Underworld, I will give you everything you’ve ever wanted. I can grant your every desire. Money? Power? Respect? Done.” He smiles. “You can redeem yourself, change from an abomination in the gods’ eyes to a savior. You can help me fix this world. Wouldn’t it be nice, not having to run anymore?” He pauses, and for a moment, a note of real, painful tragedy enters his voice. “We are not supposed to exist, Adelina. We were never meant to be.”