“Don’t pretend it’s not happening.” Her eyes narrow in suspicion. “I’ve been watching you guys for a while now, and it’s really starting to creep me out.”

“What’s creeping you out?” Miles gazes up from his phone, but only for a moment before he’s back to texting again.

“Those two.” She points a short, black painted nail with a chunk of pink frosting stuck to its tip. “I swear, they get stranger every day.”

Miles nods, setting down his phone as he takes a moment to look us over. “Yeah, I’ve been meaning to mention that. You guys are weird.” He laughs. “Oh, and the whole Michael Jackson, one glove thing?” He shakes his head and purses his lips. “So not working for you. That look is so played even you can’t bring it back.”

Haven frowns, annoyed by Miles’s joke when she’s trying to be serious. “Laugh all you want,” she says, gaze steady, unwavering. “But something’s up with those two. I may not know what, but I’ll figure it out. I’ll get to the bottom of it. You’ll see.”

And I’m just about to speak when Damen shakes his head and swirls his red drink, leaning toward Haven as he says, “Don’t waste your time. It’s not as sinister as you think.” He smiles, gaze fixed on hers. “We’re practicing telepathy, that’s all. Attempting to read each other’s minds in place of talking all the time. So we stop getting in trouble in class.” He laughs, causing me to squeeze my sandwich so hard the mayonnaise squirts out the sides. Gaping at my boyfriend who’s just arbitrarily decided to break our number one rule—Don’t tell anyone who we are or what we can do!

Calming only slightly when Haven rolls her eyes and says, “Please. I’m not an idiot.”

“Wasn’t implying you were.” Damen smiles. “It’s quite real, I assure you. Would you like to try?”

I freeze, body solid, unmoving, as though witnessing a disaster on the side of the road—only this particular disaster is me.

“Close your eyes and think of a number between one and ten.” He nods, solemn gaze meeting hers. “Focus on that number with all of your might. See it in your mind as clearly as you can, and silently repeat the sound of it over and over again. Got it?”

She shrugs, brows merging as though in deep concentration. Though all it takes is a quick glance at her aura, morphing into a dark deceitful green, and a brief peek at her thoughts to see she’s only pretending. Choosing to concentrate on the color blue instead of a random number like Damen said.

I glance between them, knowing she’s baiting him, sure that his one in ten chance of hitting the right number works too much in his favor. Holding her ground as he rubs his chin and shakes his head, saying, “I don’t seem to be getting anything. Are you sure you’re thinking of a number between one and ten?”

She nods, deepening her focus on a beautiful shade of pulsating blue.

“Then we must have our wires crossed.” He shrugs. “I’m not getting a number at all.”

“Try me!” Miles abandons his phone and leans toward Damen.

Eyes barely closed, thoughts hardly focused before Damen gasps, “You’re going to Florence?”

Miles shakes his head. “Three. For your information, the number was three.” He rolls his eyes and smirks. “And by the way, everyone knows I’m going to Florence. So—nice try.”

“Everyone but me,” Damen says, jaws clenched, face gone suddenly pale.

“Well, I’m sure Ever told you. You know, telepathically.” He laughs, returning to his phone again.

I peer at Damen, wondering why he’s so upset over Miles’s trip. I mean, yeah, so he used to live there, but that was hundreds of years ago! I squeeze his hand, urging him to look at me, but he just stares at Miles with that same stricken look on his face.

“Nice try with the whole telepathy angle,” Haven says, swiping her finger across the top of her cupcake until it’s coated with strawberry frosting. “But I’m afraid you’re gonna have to try a little harder than that. All you’ve managed to prove is that you guys are even weirder than I thought. But no worries, I’ll get to the bottom of it. I’ll expose your dirty little secret before long.”

I hold back a nervous laugh, hoping she’s just messing around, then peering into her mind only to see that she’s serious.

“When are you leaving?” Damen asks, but only to appear conversational, having already uncovered the answer in Miles’s head.

“Soon, but not soon enough,” Miles says, eyes lighting up. “Let the countdown begin!”

Damen nods, gaze softening as he says, “You’ll love it. Everyone loves it. Firenze is a beautiful, charming place.”

“You’ve been?” Miles and Haven both ask at the same time.

Damen nods, gaze far away. “I lived there once—a long time ago.”

Haven glances between us, eyes narrowed again when she says, “Drina and Roman lived there too.”

Damen shrugs, expression noncommittal, as though the connection means nothing to him.

“Well, don’t you think that’s a little strange? All of you living in Italy, in the same place, then all of you ending up here—within months of each other?” She leans toward him, abandoning her cupcake in search of some answers.

But Damen’s solid, refusing to cave or do anything that might give it away. He just sips his red drink and lifts his shoulders again, as though it’s hardly worth going into.