“The threat to Archer is noted,” I say drily. Now, time to get to the main reason I’m here. I place my hands on my hips and glare at him. “Thank you for staying with me in the plane.”

He gives a casual shrug. “I’m as brave as I am strong.”

“But no thank you for staying in the plane,” I add with bite. “And did you really just compliment yourself?”

“I did. Because you never do.”

The accusation makes me blink. And laugh. I shouldn’t laugh in the midst of such a grave discussion. “Did you get in trouble for staying with me?”

He turns away, blocking my read of his emotions. What he can’t hide? The rigidity of his posture. “I don’t want to talk about this.”

“Too bad. Did you. Get in. Trouble?” He should know me well enough to know I never give up.

“Yes,” he hisses. “Yes.”

Guilt winds around my neck like a boa. “What was done to you?”

“That, I won’t tell you.”

I jump in front of him, but he darts out of range—only to return in a hurry.

“You have fresh bruises,” he says, voice hardening. “Why do you have fresh bruises?”

He won’t answer my questions, but expects me to answer his? Sorry, but that’s not the way I play. “Why don’t we discuss the crash...and your realm’s involvement?”

His lips purse, letting me know he isn’t happy with my sidestep. “If Myriad is responsible, no one has taken official credit. What makes you so sure Troika isn’t at fault?”

I just...know. “How can one girl be the tipping factor in the war? How can one girl decide the winner?”

A tense pause. “How about we pretend there’s only here and now?” He motions to a tray perched in front of a pillow. “I bought you a chocolate cake.”

Cake? “Gimme!” Yeah, I’m that easy.

I rush over, only to skid to a stop when he adds, “Elena ate it while I was out. So you get fruit.”

Bitch gonna get cut! “She’s in a Shell. She doesn’t need or even like human food.”

“Shells can taste, just as they can feel.”

Stupid Shells. I sit by the tray and dip a strawberry in the bowl of cream. As I chew, I’m pretty sure I have a mouth-gasm. Archer has been feeding me well—steaks, shrimp, bacon—but he’s neglected my sweet tooth.

Killian sits across from me, leans forward and gently wipes a bit of cream from the corner of my lip. A bit he licks away, making something low in my gut clench. My heart—the treacherous organ—drums out of control. My blood heats and the tingles only he can elicit return.

I’m trembling as I select another piece of fruit. Between one second and another, I tweak my plan: tell Killian here and now. “I came to thank you for saving me, yell at you for saving me...and to say goodbye.”

Killian goes still.

“I’m asking for three hundred and forty-three days. Alone.”

343 = 7 x 7 x 7

Seven days in a week. Seven dwarfs. Seven is often considered a holy number.

“I’ll use the time to figure out my future,” I say.

“No.” He gives a clipped shake of his head. “Absolutely not. Even a day is too long. You need to make a decision, Ten, and you need to make it now. No more waiting. That’s why I’m here before my spirit—”

Before his spirit...what? Had time to heal from a punishment?

“Killian,” I say, the invisible boa squeezing again.

“Someone wants you dead. Letting you figure out your future when there’s only a fifty-fifty chance you’ll make the right choice is no longer on the agenda.”

“That’s a chance I’m willing to take.”

“Well, I’m not.” He shouts the words, his temper now fully engaged.

I blink in surprise. He’s usually calm sophistication and wicked seduction.

He takes a deep breath, slowly releases it. “Let me give you another tour. Your gift to me for risking my life to save yours. You’ll relax and enjoy and I’ll do something.”

This is a manipulation. One of his greatest abilities. But unlike before, when we first met, this isn’t about signing me simply to win. He cares about me, a fact we both know.

“All right.”

“Thank you.” He’s smiling as he stands, walks over and stretches out beside me. He urges me to my back.

My heart races as I rest my head on his shoulder. He drapes his arm around me, his fingers at the hem of my tank, and my breath snags in my throat. I’ve only ever lain like this with James, and the difference between the two boys astounds me. Body-wise, James was slim. Killian is all muscle. I feel surrounded...protected.

Light suddenly shoots from the device in his wrist and a picture forms on the roof of the tent. A skyscraper knifes toward a night-darkened sky. Stone, chrome and glass with multicolored lights glowing from each floor.

“This is where I live,” he says. “The Tower of Many Labors. An Abrogate must train for every position, so for the time you train as a Laborer, you’ll live here, too.”

The video zooms toward a specific window, and I see a group of girls sitting around a table, eating golden wafers, animated as they talk. In another window, a father rubs his knuckles into the crown of a little girl’s head. She snickers and bats him away.

A pang of homesickness surprises me. I used to have parents who teased me, and I miss them so badly.

“We work hard,” Killian says. “We play harder. Everyone you see in the tower is off duty. They’ve either finished a case or they’re on vacation.” The video pans to the area outside the building, where candlelit lamps illuminate a gorgeous marble sidewalk. The outfits the people wear range from prim-and-proper to mega punk rock. Some of those people are walking while others are...floating?

No, they aren’t floating but riding atop sleek, shiny hovercrafts. Nearby, someone is riding on the back of a lion that’s as big as a horse.

“That’s pretty cool,” I say.

“Better than cool, and you know it.”

Inside another building, a party rages. Music blares, and people bump and grind together. A Victorian maiden hangs from a cage. A Goth boy scales the chain dangling from the bottom, picks the lock on the door and slips inside. She rewards him with a kiss, as if he’s just won a prize.

“We could have a lot of fun at a party like this,” Killian says softly.

“We certainly could.” The kind of party I dreamed of attending every time my parents demanded I stay home so I wouldn’t endanger my life in the big, bad world. “If I’m being honest with you, though, nothing I’ve seen has changed my mind. I still want time.”

“Don’t give up on me. The tour isn’t over yet.”

The camera races down, down the street, finally swooping inside another tower. There are multiple columns, each made from a different jewel. Emerald. Ruby. Sapphire. Diamond. The waterfall—an inside waterfall, as if the tower presses up against a mountainside—has an ivory mermaid perched at the top, a shell tipped over and spilling...not water. Liquid gold? The walls are painted with different murals: cherubs on clouds, warriors in battle, a majestic dragon in flight. The couches have floral prints. Every chair frame is carved to resemble a different animal. The floor gleams like a sea of polished pearls.