At the kitchen table, Dior jumps to her feet. With a bark of delight, Gingerbread bounds over.

    “Gingy bear!” Dior drops to her knees and opens her arms. She chants, “Thank you. Thank you so much” as she sobs into the dog’s fur.

    The sight is balm to the scars on my soul. This is why I’m here. This is why I picked Troika. To help people. To make their lives better.

    “Next up, your court date,” I say, blocking Killian’s other warning from my head. “How do we bypass the obstacles Myriad created and set a date?”

    “There are twelve judges, and each presides over a specific territory in the Land of the Harvest,” Victor says. “In two weeks, we’ll present the facts to Dior’s judge, and he’ll decide if the case can go to trial.”

    Time is measured in units of twelve—twelve hours equals half a day. Humans have twelve pairs of cranial nerves. There are twelve months in a year.

    “Are the judges Troikan or Myriadian?” In other words, is there bias?

    “They are neither. Like humans, spirits and realms, they were created by the Firstking for a specific purpose.”

    Oookay. “If they aren’t human or spirit, what are they? What do they do when they aren’t being judgy?”

    Stymied, he looks to Elizabeth. “How do we explain? They’re a mix of both human and spirit, I guess. And no one knows what they do after court. We only ever interact with them during a case.”

    “Also, I believe I mentioned the injunctions Myriad has filed against us,” Elizabeth says. “We have to deal with those as soon as a Barrister is found.”

    There’s so much I don’t know. So much I need to learn. “Barrister?”

    Clay motions to Dior, who is now watching us avidly, her eyes filled with concern. “That’s a conversation for another day.”

    Right.

    The house shakes. Furniture scoots across the floor and knickknacks clink together.

    Will the battle never end? “I’m ready to move Dior and Gingerbread to another safe house.”

    “You?” Elizabeth scowls at me.

    “Yes, me. I know where I want to take her.” To a secret place. To borrow Killian’s words: the fewer people who know, the better.

    I send Meredith a message, asking if my chosen location is sound. Her response is instantaneous.

    Yes. I’ve had it cleaned.

    I ask her to hide the coordinates from everyone else, even those tracking me through the Eye.

    Done.

    Love her! “Clay will come with me as my personal Messenger,” I tell the group. I trust him more than I trust the others.

    “Levi isn’t going to like this,” Elizabeth mutters.

    “Ten....buddy. Pal,” Clay says. “Are you sure this is wise? We’re both so green.”

    “Why don’t I act as your Messenger,” Victor says.

    “No. I’m sorry. Not this time.” Instinct demands I take Clay.

    I don’t wait for another chorus but move to Dior’s side. She hasn’t stopped hugging her dog. A treasured friend, given new life.

    I smile at her. “The change of scenery might be jarring.”

    She wipes away the happy tears and stands, Gingerbread dancing at her feet. “I’ll adjust.”

    Elizabeth comes up behind me. “Let’s hope you arrive in one piece. Ten,” she says, patting my shoulders, “has never traveled at the speed of Light with a human in tow.”

    Dang her! Free will matters, even in times of danger. She’s hoping Dior will protest and force me to abandon my plan. “Like it’s hard,” I snap.

    Chalk white, Dior says, “You loved Archer, and he loved you. What you tell me to do, I’ll do. If you think this is best, I’ll do it. If you think you can do this, I’ll believe you.”

    Her confidence empowers me. “I’m not even the one who will be doing the work. Someone in Troika will. All I have to do? Hold your hand. So easy even Elizabeth can do it.” Zing!

    Elizabeth flips me off.

    “Such a fine representative of your realm,” I tell her, earning another scowl.

    I offer my hand to Dior, remember our reaction to the Penumbra, and drop my arm to my side. “Does anyone have a glove?”

    Of course, the answer is no. I stride into the kitchen and select a pink oven mitt. Good enough. Before I put it on, I send another message to Meredith, asking her to send us to my location of choice in sixty seconds. She agrees.

    One. I take Clay’s hand, counting the seconds in my head. Ten...

    I offer Dior the hand with the oven mitt. Fifteen... “Don’t let go of me, okay? Also, maintain a tight hold on Gingerbread’s leash.” Twenty...

    “The leash is enough?” Straight white teeth worry on her bottom lip. “Are you sure?” Thirty...

    “I’m positive.” Right? Right! “Anything connected to you in any way goes with us.” Forty...

    “Where are we going?” Clay asks, only to press his mouth shut. “Never mind. I’ll know soon enough.”

    Fifty... “Ready?” I ask Dior.

    A tremor rocks her, but she nods.

    Sixty!

    Meredith can’t track Dior, specifically; she can only base her measurements on the girl’s proximity to me and Clay, and she nails it. In unison, a beam of Light hits the three of us and the dog, surrounding us with a Buckler to stabilize Dior’s fragile human body while sucking us up and carrying us away.