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“We need to go. Now.” I don’t wait for his response, taking his hand and pulling him up from the table. It jostles as he rises.

“Petra, what’s wrong?”

“I’ll explain in a second. For now, just follow me.”

For a moment, he hesitates, but then his grip tightens over my hand. “Alright.”

I lead him around to the front of the house, hands shaking as I unclasp the front gate. I’m not sure where to go, but then I remember an abandoned home a short way down the road. Tall grass surrounds it and ivy grows over its crumbling stone walls. I curve around its side, stopping at a wooden door with a stone archway built over it, creating a narrow nook.

With a sigh, I lean back against the arch. Though we didn’t go far, I’m exhausted. Luka stands across from me, his expression taut with worry.

“Petra, what’s going on?”

I inhale deeply, fighting to catch my breath. “Sorry, I’m just a little . . . tired.” I’m not sure how else to explain whatever has come over me.

Luka frowns, studying me intently. “Karmela told me you weren’t feeling well. I tried to see you, but she kept telling me to go. And you didn’t respond to my messages.”

“I know.” Guilt knots my insides. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me.” Though deep down, I have suspicions. Away from the house, the air is lighter, fresher. No heady lavender drifting around, clawing at my throat. Already, I can think more clearly. It seems absurd to imagine, but I can’t shake the feeling it’s the house, that it’s somehow influencing me.

“Does this have anything to do with the diary?” Luka asks, cutting through my thoughts. “Or the workshop?”

There’s still so much he doesn’t know. But I can’t explain it all now. My body feels too weak, and I’m not sure how much time we have before Karmela comes looking for me. I need to focus on what matters most—Magdalena’s threat.

I grip the stone behind me for support as I say, “I need you to stay away from Lavender House. You can’t come to the gala.”

Luka’s brows furrow. “Why?”

I clench my teeth, searching for the right words.

“Because of the mora?” Luka asks, his voice low and heavy.

I hesitate, but then I force out a quiet “Yes.” My eyes dart to his neck, searching for the iron chain. But it isn’t there.

“What happened to the necklace I gave you?”

He glances down at his chest. “I don’t know . . . I think maybe I lost it.”

“What do you mean?” Dread trickles down my spine as I remember the dream I had—me straddling him, my own hand ripping the necklace away. Was it me, or the mora, or both? It is all your fault.

“I need to get you a new one,” I say quickly. “Do you have anything made of iron?”

“Petra, it’s fine,” Luka says, putting his hands on my shoulders. “I can handle a few nightmares.”

A surge of frustration shoots through me. It’s so much more than that. “She’s going to kill you,” I blurt.

A tense beat of silence hovers between us. His arms fall as he takes a step back. “What?”

The words spill out of me in a frantic stream. “Magdalena. She’s the mora. She came to me a few nights ago. I know you said you don’t believe she killed my family, but it’s true, and now she says she’ll kill you too, at the gala.”

Luka’s jaw tightens. “But we’re . . .”

Not in love?

I stare up at him, lost. I don’t know how to capture my growing feelings, if saying more will only put him in more danger. I’m not even sure if love is the right name for my emotions, but it’s close.

“It doesn’t matter,” I say firmly. “She has decided you’re her next victim. So I need you to stay away from the house from now on.”

Luka’s eyes are defiant as they lock onto mine. His chest rises and falls slowly as he processes what I said. “I told you before, the curse doesn’t scare me.”