Iris~~

I let the book fall and I drop to the ground next to him. "Jonas?" He doesn't answer, his eyes shut. I shake him. "Jonas?" my voice rises. He doesn't move. Doesn't even flinch. Not seeing his chest move, I hold two fingers under his nose and feel his breath, faint but there. Close the door, he said. His legs are between the door and the frame. I have to get the door shut before whoever it is he wants to avoid sees him. Is it the ones who know Expiration Dates?

I shove his legs, and while I get them to move, his waist is still in the way of the door. I sit back on my heels, blowing my hair out of my face. I'm going to have to move him somehow.

I hook my arms through his and pull. He budges but barely. I tug again. "Damn it, Jonas." Did he have to collapse here? I almost have him out of the doorway, but my dress gets caught around my knees, and I fall, landing on top of him. One of my ribs presses into his chin. I grumble out a curse.

I right myself and hook our arms again. One . . . two . . . three . . . and four for good measure— I heave, and he slides past the door. I fall forward again, my forehead on his shoulder, exhausted. "Jonas?"

No response.

I close and lock the door and return to his side. "Come on." I shake him. "Please." Should I call for help? No. If he wanted me to, he wouldn't have told me to close the door. I brush my hand over his face, his hair. "What happened to you?"

His eyes flutter, and I quickly sit back.

"Iris?" His eyes move around.

"I'm right here."

He struggles to sit up, and I end up helping him.

"What happened to you?"

Taking weighty breaths, his eyes close again. "The pain hit me all at once. Did you feel any of it?"

I focus on the feeling in my Mark. I didn't notice it, but the burning has faded. It's still there, but not like it was. I shake my head.

"Can you help me up?"

"Yeah," I say and shift my arm underneath him. With Jonas helping this time, moving him is much easier.

"There's a side staircase down the hall." He holds onto me, and I hold onto him. Despite the circumstances—him grasping me like I'm a lifeline— I'm surprised by how well we seem to fit against each other. As cliché as it sounds and despite my reluctance to admit it, our bones, our curves, all of it seems to be like the pieces to a puzzle.

Forget cliché. That's way too corny, and I might die just knowing I thought it.

But that doesn't make it any less true.

"We're more likely to avoid people if we use it."

"Why couldn't I have taken it earlier?"

His head and eyes roll toward me. "First of all, you wouldn't be here to rescue to me—"

"Rescue you?"

"Rescue me. Secondly, I said it's 'more likely' that we'll avoid people. Not certain."

I open the door. "You better not be deadweight."

"Get me up the stairs and I promise I'll bring you brownies."

"Oh, so actual brownie points?"

His head tilts in the direction we need to go. "Thanks to you, I couldn't stop thinking about blondies during a ceremony where I was supposed to be focused on Erik."

I steer us down the hallway past unmarked doors. "I'm a red head, if you still haven't noticed. Should I be insulted?"

He stares at me with a deadpan expression.

I roll my eyes. "I know what they are."

"Have you ever had one?" Even conscious, he's heavy.

"Whenever I've had the opportunity brownies were present. The brownies stole all the attention for me."

He points to a narrower door than the others around us. "Then I'll have to remedy that."

"It's not nice to try to change someone." I push open the door. On the other side, stairs are tightly packed in a zigzag formation. This is going to be rough.

"This change is a necessity."

Jonas and I have to squeeze our sides together to fit on the stairs. At the slow pace we're going, I'm inclined to be dramatic and think we're not going to make it to dinner despite having hours and only five floors to go up. Plus, Jonas really has me wanting brownies.

"Really now?" I ask him.

"It's of the highest importance."

I find myself holding onto him tighter. "I'm glad blondies are of more importance than running this country."

"Try one and you'll see I'm right."

I think we're on the third floor—but I'm really not sure because I feel like we're constantly going up a new set of stairs—when he says, "Thank you for not leaving me down there." His voice is sincere. Gentle.

A lump forms in my throat. I don't think I had it in me to leave him. "Stop trying to change me"—I grip him tighter, taking the next step—"or I'll leave your sorry butt down here."

******

When I head to dinner that evening, I spot Erik hovering outside the crowd moving into the dining room. For a moment my stomach churns. I want to bury myself in the crowd. I've been avoiding him since his ceremony. Not a hard thing to do when in a house is this enormous.

"Iris."

A string of words I'd never say aloud streams through my mind.

I ease my way through the crowd toward him, and he grabs my arm and pulls me away from his family.

"I'm sorry about earlier," he begins. "It just wasn't safe for you there, and when I saw you, I panicked."

I need to tell him that I still watched even if I couldn't see anything. "Erik, I . . ." But I can't. I didn't walk up those stairs on my own because Jonas knew it would be dangerous for me. No one can know Jonas is sparing me. Keeping that secret should seem like a small price to pay, but confronted with lying to the face of the man who saved my life, that price feels a little bit more than small.

"Yes?"

"I just wanted to say that I understand, and it's okay." Now let me go hide under a table.

"Since that's settled"—he holds out his arm— "shall we?"

I force myself to take his arm, feeling my stomach eating itself. I'm lying to Erik for Jonas. For the Preeminence.

We slip into the crowd, and he nudges me with his elbow. I raise my eyebrows at him.

"I was wondering if you wanted to come to my room after dinner and talk about what's next. I may be Tresais now, but I'm still going through with it."

I rub my Mark. "I actually already have plans."

"With?" His voice is stiff.

I look away, my eyes sweeping over the room. "The Preeminence."

"You seem to be spending a lot of time with him."

"He appears out of nowhere most of the time."

"You're making him out to be a genie?"

My nose crinkles as I fight off a laugh. Even a smile teases at his lips. "Enjoy your date." He lets go of my arm.

"It's not—"

He's already moved off down an aisle.

. . . a date.

I take an open seat at what's become my table. No one speaks to me tonight. While the courses come and go the world moves around me. I feel frozen. Outside of it. There are talks of fashion. Politics. Erik.

The guilt gnawing at my stomach refuses to let me eat. I move my fork around, so I feel here. If I move, I'm alive.

Erik still wants to expose my Mark but all I can think of is Jonas telling me everyone will think it was faked. That it will be pointless.

Attendants clear the main course, and from the lapse in eating, the volume of voices rises.

I take slow sips from my water, focused on the rim of my cup. Only a few days ago, the pain in my Mark made me want to drown myself in the Patapsco River. My Mark burned to the point I passed out. How bad was it for Jonas today?

Three taps of a knife against crystal. That's what it takes to silence my table. I catch a distorted reflection in my glass, and I turn sharply. Colton hovers over me, a glass and knife in his hands.

"Good evening, Miss Levine."

Silence begins to spread out over the room as if his presence is a ripple effect to the tables.

I should nod. Say something. Respond in some way. With all these people watching, it's a must.

He sets the glass and knife on the table. He's not going to stab me? I incline my head to him.

"I noticed you before the ceremony started, but I never saw you inside." What's his point?

"I decided not to watch."

"But that's such a shame, isn't it? You were all dressed up and might I say quite ready? You very much looked as if you wanted to attend."

After I spoke with Erik, I most certainly did not look like I wanted to be there.

"I understand that as an outsider, our customs can seem intimidating. Perhaps even frightening? I would hate for nerves to keep you from experiencing something the Society sees as so precious."

My heart drops. No. Please, no. Not in front of everyone.

"That's why, you will be attending my ceremony tomorrow. And in case you're worried your nerves will scare you off again, this entire room is here to keep you accountable. You'll find," he lowers his voice, "that while this house is large, there are not many places to hide that most of us don't know about." He picks up his items. "Sleep well, darling."

And he leaves, murmurs rumbling through the room.

That's it. I have to go now. You will be attending. Everyone is looking at me. If they didn't hear Colton say it, surely someone has already shared what he commanded.

I reach for my glass, but my hand shakes, and I shove it into my lap to stop it. Colton thinks I'm playing a game, but what game is he playing?