The little things didn't add up. Dante had claimed to be a student, yet his hands had been empty—no backpack, no class schedule. And it was awfully difficult to "wander" from the main campus to the abandoned cabins, as one would have needed to take several unmarked and unpaved paths. His clothes hadn't been suitable for a soon-to-be keeper. He'd been flirtatious and daring during the conversation, when most people would have avoided speaking to the Halfblood Bastard altogether.

Now, it seemed obvious that something about Dante had been dubious. But Nika never would have suspected this.

Jade had opened a keeper profile in the Vigil's database. Dante's keeper profile, complete with credentials, past field assignments, and all the background information that the Vigil evaluated before recruiting new members, including a diploma from Konstantin Academy. It was a thorough review, authenticated by the signature of the High Keeper.

Miles shook his head, saying, "This can't be right. Why would Dante steal Konstantin's journal if he's a keeper?"

"Simple," said Elliot, though he seemed more interested in that platter of cookies in the faculty lounge than what was displayed on the headmaster's computer. "The Vigil wants to hide it from the Ministry."

"Or maybe Ministers hired him to steal it for them," Miles countered, "so they can tear away every last bit of freedom the Vigil owns."

Lu leaned her temple onto a fist and muttered, "Here we go again."

Nika echoed the sentiment with a sharp breath, preparing for the argument through which Elliot and Miles danced at least once a week. The political question that countless Daemonstri across the continent debated.

Elliot tore his eyes from that cookie tray and turned on Miles, his lush, coffee-colored curls bouncing with the movement. "Ministers don't want to steal the Vigil's freedom. They just think it needs more organization and better management."

Being a member of the Mirza family, it was no surprise that Elliot romanticized the Ministry's pursuits. His father was a Minister and a member of the purist political faction, which advocated the Ministry's complete rule over Daemonstri society in North America.

The party's interests didn't end there. In general, purists also favored a system of strict social rank, in which members of the Serafi race—like Elliot and Lu—maintained the highest position. The only reasons being, a) Serafi were the most esteemed of all Daemonstri, and b) their blood was untainted by the traits of lesser races.

Miles scoffed. "They want to turn Nefili into foot soldiers so they can wage war against Inferni. And when the demons are gone, they'll take over human civilization, too."

"As much as I love hearing you idiots debate," Jade drawled, "we're getting off-topic." She tapped the monitor, bringing everyone's attention back to Dante's keeper profile.

"Is it possible that this isn't real?" Lu asked.

Jade shook her head. "The system can't be hacked." She spoke with such nonchalance that Nika wondered if she realized the implication—that she'd tried to hack the database and failed.

Lu said, "Dante can't be a student if he already graduated and entered the Vigil. Why'd he lie?"

"So no one would get suspicious," Miles replied.

Nika shook her head. "But why would he ask for directions to the library if he'd once attended this school? He should've already known where to look."

Their only response was puzzled expressions and silence. And the more Nika thought about it, the more uneasy she grew.

It's criminal, how people treat you.

Had those words been genuine? Or were they a ploy Dante had used to bait Nika?

Was he working for the Ministry, as Miles had suggested? Or had he stolen Konstantin's journal for the Vigil?

I hope to see you again, halfblood.

Though he'd spoken the phrase with innocent playfulness, a promise lingered within it.

I will see you again.

A shiver skittered along Nika's bones.

"What in the name of—"

Nika stiffened, whipping around to find Headmaster Kovachev standing in the doorway to his office, a scowl plastered across his face.

"This isn't what it looks like," Jade said from behind his desk. Nika cringed.

Kovachev stalked toward her roommate, growling, "Get out of my chair."

Jade scurried back to her former place next to Miles, and while the headmaster righted his computer, he frowned at the monitor.

"What is this," he demanded.

"I looked up Dante's name in the Vigil's database," Jade explained. "Apparently, he's a keeper."

Kovachev glanced at Nika, likely condemning her for revealing the cause of the school's lockdown to her friends. But he remained quiet as he surveyed the screen, loosening his tie. The rapid tapping of his foot on the carpet was like a pealing bell.

"The four of you may return to the gymnasiums without an escort," he said finally. "Nika—" Three swift knocks on the door interrupted him. "Yes?"

In walked the keepers with whom Kovachev had spoken earlier, words forming on the lips of one, but his mouth snapped shut when he regarded Nika.

"They already know everything," Kovachev said with the wave of a hand. "Just tell me."

"Miss Dimitrovich's dorm is clear, sir. No sign of the journal or anything suspicious."

Something tight uncoiled in Nika's chest. Not that she'd feared they would find anything, for she knew they wouldn't. But Kovachev hadn't taken her word for truth, which was beyond bothersome.

"Aside from their hangout," the keeper continued, "we believe one of the cabins has been in use. We found a man's clothes and a sleeping bag inside."

Nika frowned. Just how long had Dante spent at the school? Had he been spying?

Kovachev blinked for a moment, as if to digest the information. Then he said, "Everyone out. Nika, wait in the hall. I have to make a phone call."

They obeyed, and after bidding a farewell to her friends, Nika sat on a wooden bench outside the headmaster's office, raising an ear to the crack in the door. Kovachev punched in a number on the phone, and by the time someone picked up, Nika was itching in a thousand places, anticipation eating her alive.

"I need to speak with High Keeper Kovac."

Nika stiffened. Why was he calling the High Keeper?

From the broken bits of speech Nika heard through the thin walls, Emil Kovac had no time to waste. He immediately demanded an update on the situation.

"We have a few leads," said the headmaster, and then he explained the goings-on of the past hour in detail.

When the High Keeper replied, his voice was broken and muffled, but Nika was positive she'd heard Dante's name.

"That's what I figured," said Kovachev, "but just in case, I searched the Vigil's database in my computer."

Annoyance flared inside her. Of course, he would take credit for Jade's sleuthing. He was probably too embarrassed to admit that he didn't think of her idea first. Or that he'd left the students alone in his office, all but inviting them to sweep through his computer.

He lowered his voice, saying, "Dante Azzara has a keeper profile. The photo matches Miss Dimitrovich's description, and he has official credentials with your signature. But he's not on a criminal watch list. He hasn't been flagged as a deserter. He wasn't even discharged. There must be some mistake."

Emil Kovac was silent.

"Sir?" said Kovachev. "Are you there?"

This time, Nika didn't miss his words: "Thank you for the hard work, Kovachev, but don't worry about it anymore. I will handle the situation from here."

"But—"

"I'm counting on you to stay quiet. About all of this." Nika heard the underlying threat—either hold your tongue or lose it.

Dread, thick and heavy, sank into her stomach. Was Emil Kovac trying to cover up something? Was Elliot right about the Vigil sending Dante to steal the journal?

The rest of the phone call became muted as Nika's heart pounded in her ears, echoing each dangerous question.

The journal of Konstantin the Keeper had been stolen. Daemonstri-kind's trusted defense institution might have been responsible. And Nika was the only person who'd interacted with the perpetrator.

Running a hand through her hair, she glanced toward the door situated at the end of the hallway. Night devoured the world beyond the window until twin golden orbs appeared, glowing like distant suns in space.

Fireflies.

The lights gleamed, showing no indication that they would wink out. And the longer Nika studied them, the clearer they became. Gold and bright, but at the very center of each—a depthless black spot. Like . . . a pupil.

Hair standing high on her neck, Nika averted her gaze. And she couldn't ignore the stifling presence that bled through the air, or the ghost of company that skulked in the shadows. As if someone—or something—was watching.