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"You see what I—what?" He jerks toward me, banging his head against the cupboard above the kitchenette.

"To Black Chapel," I clarify.

"For fuck's sake." He rubs the spot he just hit and fixes me with a disbelieving look. "No, you're not."

"I already decided."

"Which is exactly why you're not going," he snaps. "You literally just read the article, Ro. Doesn't any of this bother you? Like—" He cuts himself off, running a hand through his hair. "Downstairs is even worse. That's not somewhere you just walk into alone."

He stirs harder than necessary, the pan scraping lightly as he does.

"I didn't show you that so you'd walk straight into it, Ro. Something about this whole thing is off, and we don't even know who's really involved yet."

"Well, I'm going anyway," I murmur. "Ciaran asked me to meet him at Black Chapel."

Just saying it out loud makes it sound like a terrible idea.

That finally gets his attention.

Damaris turns so fast he nearly drops the spoon back into the pan. "He... what?"

"He asked me to come."

"Oh no, absolutely not." He points the spoon at me now like it's a weapon. "Ro, did you not just read that article? Underground fights, gambling, old-city families, people getting hospitalized—hell no. You're not walking into that place alone because some rich asshole asked you to."

"He's not⁠—"

"He's a Virel, Ro. And you're a scholarship student with a big dream and a broken home. Wait. You mean like... a date?" Damaris drags a hand down his face before pointing the spoon at me again. "I can't believe this. Not even two weeks at Caervast and trouble is already knocking on our door. We should never have gone to that stupid party."

"You're worrying too much." I look back down at the article. "It's not a date."

It's not. Even if he used that word himself.

The guy's just toying with me. He might think I'm stupid, but I'm not. I've done my research, and Damaris is right. We can't trust anyone here. Düren might be a poor dust planet, but Sero is filled with insects fighting each other.

But if it isn't a date, then I'm not sure what it is.

Damaris exhales sharply. "Ro, that's worse."

"It's not just that."

"Then what is it?"

I tap the paper. "This."

"Well, this is exactly why you shouldn't go." He waves the clipping in the air. "This is trouble, and you know it. I get it, boo. He's hot. He's rich. But he's trouble."

The pan hisses as he turns the heat up.

He shakes his head, pacing now. "No. We find Sola our way. We don't start walking into places tied to whatever this is. If she's here, we'll find her without you getting dragged into something like that."

I push off the kitchen island. "Or we don't. Come on, Dama. If this is connected, I'm not waiting around hoping something falls into place." I hesitate. "Come with me as far as the Chapel, at least? Please?"

"Come with you." He bristles, shaking his head. "On your date?"

A stupid little giggle escapes before I can stop it. Ever since that message from Ciaran, I've felt giddy. Excited. And I know I shouldn't. I know he's playing with me. I know this is not a date. But whenever I think of the way he kicked my legs aside, the way he held my throat and controlled my breath, the way he made me feel small and safe and desired, my stomach flutters.

I want it again. And again and again and again.