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As much as I want to protest, irritation sitting heavily in my heart, I am curious about this theory that I will feel more grounded tomorrow. If that’s true, then that means that I can feel things without worrying about purgatory, and I will need that to survive.

“Okay,” I say, looking at her cautiously. “Is there anything to help me sleep?”

“I can make you some tea. Why don’t you go take a bath? There will be warm water already in there. Once you’re done, get dressed and come down here.”

For a moment, I just stay in there, feeling rather silly. The idea that taking a bath in the underworld will help clear my head doesn’t fit with… With what, exactly? I can’t even remember my husband’s name, so why does it matter what makes sense on Earth…

I close my eyes and shake my head at the idea of an Earthly husband. That now feels entirely wrong.

Okay, that’s good, right?

I need to forget.

Something in me is almost begging to forget, and out of everything, I trust whatever instinct that is.

When my back is to Judica, she says, “The closed door is my room. The open one has your bath and accommodations.”

There it is again—that sense of calm. It’s deep within my chest, like a truth, greeting me. All I can do is close my eyes and trust it as I move toward the stairs.

Except halfway up, that same instinct makes me look at my pinky finger.

Oh, how wrong it feels to block him away from me…

I climb the narrow stairs, the wood worn smooth with time, rubbing the ring on my finger the entire way up.

I enter the open door to the right, shutting it behind me. Warm, golden light from candles illuminates the space. Inside is a large tub of steaming water in the middle of the room, two stools next to it with soap, a plate of fruit, and a goblet of what appears to be water.

Refraining a smile is impossible, and I take in the rather sparse room that has only a mirror, a sink, a bench with towels, and a bed. The windows are shuttered up here as well, streaks of purple illumination bleeding through with each crack of thunder, rain pattering against the glass.

Tempted by a glance of the forbidden castle, I rest my fingers on the wood as I lift the metal fastening so I can peer through the window, looking out at the streets below.

The changing leaves catch in the wind, spiraling upward before settling on sleek slate rooftops. People walk with umbrellas overhead, cloaks pulled tight. A gargoyle lands on a roof across the way, its stone wings folding against its back as it settles into surveillance.

It’s scanning the place.

Another lands near it.

Don't look at them…

With a still breath, I glance up at the castle through the rain. The pull is worse up here, as if the solitude only deepens everything—the hum in my chest becomes a low throb. I chew on my nail, but then stop. That habit feels wrong, like it belongs to someone else.

Then a sensation consumes me, rooted deeply from somewhere in my chest, and yet completely indescribable. I know the temptation is forbidden, laced with a yearning I can't understand.

I want to say his name.

The longer I withhold, the more it antagonizes my mind, like I have to speak it or else my throat will burn. I rotate the ring on my finger, my transfixed heart racing. I slide the ring up, an uncertain thrill tempting me.

For whatever reason, I slip off the ring, holding it with the other hand. I pant, expecting something. Anything. But the people below continue to move about like nothing has happened; the castle is still the same, indomitable fortress.

Licking my dry lips, I finally whisper, "Kallúm."

Nothing.

My disappointment catches me by surprise, the anticlimactic result has me questioning everything. Does Judica have it wrong? Why do I want her to be right? Is this truly a trap from her? Should I escape through this window? Are those gargoyles really looking for me?

I turn around, placing the ring on the stool. If it doesn't serve a purpose, I see no need in wearing it. There's always a chance Judica is not an ally and using me for something, with the ring as her agent of control. Why not see what I'm actually working with?

If taking off this brown dress and bathing helps ground me, then I should do it, centipede be damned.