The doorman asked, "Are you sure you're well enough to—

"Yes." Her mouth was dry. Her hands were fisted tightly enough that it hurt. "Please, Gabriel, carry me to the taxi. Going by the river …" Then she toppled, hoping that he'd listen.

When Leslie woke in a patch of grass by the river, she was relieved. She could feel relief. Irial didn't drink her good feelings away. That should make her happy, knowing she wasn't numb. If not for the other thing—that maddening craving for Irial's touch, the awful sickening longing when darker emotions filled her to choking but didn't touch her emotions—she might be okay.

A bit away from her, several of Gabriel's Hounds waited and watched. They didn't frighten her. They seemed pleased that she liked them. A few times, she'd seen Ani and Tish— and in that shock-free way she lived now, she'd accepted their mixed heritage without pause. She'd come to terms with the realization that Ani—and Tish and Rabbit—had known that the ink exchange would change her.

"But you're strong enough, Les, really," Ani had insisted.

"And if I'm not?"

"You will be. It's for Iri. We need him to be strong." Ani had hugged her. "You're his savior. The court's so much stronger. He's so much stronger."

Ignoring the Hounds, Leslie walked along the river until she came to a warehouse where she and Rianne used to go to smoke. She slid open the window they'd climbed in together so often and made her way to the second floor— just high enough to see the river. Out here, away from everyone, she felt the closest to normal she had since the morning she'd left her house with Irial.

She sat watching the river race away. Her feet dangled out the window. There were no mortals, no faeries, no Irial. Away from all of them, she felt less consumed. The world was back in order, more stable somehow now that she was on her own. Is it the distance?

It didn't matter, though: she felt his approach. Then Irial was in the street, looking up at her. "Are you going to come down from there?"

"Maybe."

"Leslie—"

She stood up, balancing on the balls of her feet, hands above her head like she was preparing to dive into a pool. "I should be afraid, Irial. I'm not, though."

"I am." His voice sounded jagged, not tender this time, not reassuring. "I'm terrified."

She swayed back and forth as the wind batted against her.

In that implacable way he always seemed to have, Irial began, "We'll get better at this and—"

"Will it hurt you if I step forward?" Her voice was dispassionate, but she felt excitement at the idea. Not fear, though. There still wasn't any fear, and that's what she wanted—not to hurt, but to feel normal. She hadn't been sure before, but in that moment she knew that's what she needed: the whole of herself, all the parts, all the feelings. And they're as far gone as normal is.

"Would you feel it? Would I feel it if I fell? Would it hurt?" She looked down at him: he was beautiful, and despite the fact that he'd stolen her choices, she looked at him with a strange tenderness. He kept her safe. The mess she was in might be his fault, but he didn't abandon her to the madness it caused. He took her into his arms no matter how often she sought him, no matter that he'd had to move his court, that he looked positively exhausted. Tender feelings surged as she thought about it, about him.

When he spoke, it wasn't to say anything gentle. He pointed at the ground. "So jump."

Anger, fear, doubt, rolled over her—not pleasant, but real. For a brief moment, they were hers and real this time. "I could."

"You could," he repeated. "I won't stop you. I don't want to steal your will, Leslie."

"You have, though." She watched Gabriel walk up and whisper to Irial. "You did this. I'm not happy. I want to be."

"So jump." He didn't take his gaze away from her as he told Gabriel, "Keep everyone back. No mortals. No fey in this street."

Leslie sat down again. "You'd catch me."

"I would, but if the fall would please you" — he shrugged—"I'd rather you were happy."

"Me too." She rubbed her eyes, as if tears would come. They won't. Crying wasn't something she did anymore— neither was worrying, raging, or any other of the unpleasant emotions. Parts of her were gone, taken away as surely as the rest of her life. There were no classes, no melodramatic Rianne; there'd be no laughing in the kitchen at Verlaine's, no dancing at the Crow's Nest. And there was no way to undo any of the things that had changed. Going backward is never an option. But staying where she was wasn't true happiness either. She was living in a hazy dream—or nightmare. She didn't know if she could tell the difference just now.

"I'm not happy," she whispered. "I don't know what I am, but this isn't happiness."

Irial began climbing the building, grabbing hold of crumbling brick and broken metal, piercing his hands on the sharp edges, leaving a trail of bloody handprints as he made his way up the wall to her.

"Grab hold," he said as he paused in the window frame.

And she did. She clung to him, holding on to him like he was the only solid thing left in the world as he finished scaling the building. When he reached the barren rooftop, he stopped and lowered her feet to the ground.

"I don't want you to be unhappy."