I wasn’t in full‑fledged pajamas, but I’d figured my oversized shirt and flannel pants would be fine for whatever ulterior plan Jill had–because I knew there must be one. “What exactly do you suggest I wear?” I asked carefully.

She shrugged. “Jeans and a T‑shirt should be fine.”

I made a quick change, uttered more courageous procla‑mations to Zoe, and then followed Jill down to the end of my hall, near the stairwell. I lowered my voice once I was certain we had privacy.

“Okay. What’s with the act? I’ve got two prevailing theories. One is that the bond has overridden you and made you act out some crazy impulse of Adrian’s. The other is that you’re helping him get me to sneak off on some romantic escapade–but I’m guessing you would have had me put on a dress for that one.”

Jill made no attempts at a smile. “I wish it were either of those. Sorry if I was over the top back there. I figured me rampaging for blood would be serious enough for Zoe to let you go without too many questions–and that she wouldn’t want to go with you. I feel kind of bad for freaking her out, though.”

“It worked. But seriously . . . what’s going on?” My chest tightened. “Is Adrian okay?”

“I don’t know,” she said morosely. “But probably not, since the bond numbed out when they started doing Jäger shots a half hour ago.”

“When they–wait. What?”

“Adrian’s at some bar by Carlton. He went out after you canceled tonight–but don’t feel bad about that,” she added quickly. “I know you didn’t have a choice.”

“I don’t feel bad. I feel . . .” How did you pick only one emotion for this sort of situation? My mind reeled. Adrian. Out at a bar, so drunk he’d shorted out the spirit in the bond. I wanted to crumple to the floor and bury my face in my hands as a million sensations ran through me. Sadness. Anger. Disappointment. They were just the beginning of the feelings threatening to burst from my heart. I put on a stoic face. “Well. It doesn’t matter what I feel. That’s his choice, and I don’t need to do anything about it. He can deal with the consequences tomorrow.”

I started to turn around, but Jill caught my arm. “Sydney, please. Things are usually pretty bad if I lose him like this. And he had a rough time in Dallas yesterday. Really rough. You wouldn’t believe how much power he used.” She shuddered at the memory.

“Don’t say ‘it’s not his fault,’” I warned.

“I won’t . . . but I’m not surprised this happened after all that spirit. Look, you have every right to be upset. I know he broke your deal, but please go to him. Just to help. I’m so worried about him.”

It was hard. The reason I was having so much trouble identifying an emotion was that I was just starting to freeze up all over, refusing to feel anything. Because if I did, I was going to have to accept that Adrian had betrayed me. Well, maybe “betrayal” wasn’t the right word. But he’d definitely let me down. If anyone but Jill had told me Adrian had lapsed, I wouldn’t have believed it. He’d seemed so adamant that night I’d dumped out his liquor, and I’d put all my faith in him.

“Okay,” I said. The pleading look in her eyes nearly made me cry then and there. “Where’s he at?”

She gave me the name of the bar and then returned to her room. Downstairs, I found one of the night clerks working the lobby. She was familiar with me and Ms. Terwilliger’s errands and barely listened as I explained how I’d get retroactive permission to leave. Waving me on, she returned to her copy of Vogue  and smothered a yawn with her hand.

The Matchbox wasn’t exactly divey, but it also wasn’t the kind of pretty, trendy place I knew Adrian liked to frequent. Still, it served alcohol and was chock‑full of college kids, which were probably his only criteria. A bouncer let me in at the door, stamping my hand in red to show I was under twenty‑one, and then nodded me inside. Music from some local band blasted through the air, and for a moment, there were just too many people and too much movement for me to focus on anything.

When I was finally able to get my bearings, I didn’t see any sign of Adrian. What I did see, however, was a table of laughing people that had “art students” written all over them. Taking a chance, I walked over and waited for someone to notice me. Empty glasses and pitchers filled the table. When someone finally saw me, I asked, “Do you guys by chance know Adrian?”

A guy laughed. “Sure do. He’s the life of the party. Bought us two rounds.”

While surprising, that was the least of my worries right now. “Where’s he at?”

A lavender‑haired girl, much more serious than the rest of them, answered me. “He just left. He said he had to go pick up something.”

“Did he say where he was going?” I asked.

She shook her head, and a blond girl cuddled up to her said, “He said something about ‘un‑pawning.’ Is that even a word?”

“No,” I murmured, feeling baffled. A pawnshop? Why would Adrian go there? And which one? There had to be a dozen in the area.

“He took a cab,” added the first girl. “Then he said he’d walk home.”

Ah. That was something I could go on. I took out my phone and did a search for pawnshops within walking distance of his apartment. There were two. I then texted Adrian, asking, Where are you?  I didn’t know if I could expect an answer, but in the meantime, it wouldn’t be hard to check out both shops.

“Thanks,” I told the girls. I was halfway to the door when the lavender‑haired one caught up with me.

“Hey, wait,” she said. “You’re her, right? Sydney? The girlfriend?”

I hesitated. We weren’t supposed to acknowledge our relationship in public, but clearly, he’d been divulging a little. “Yes.”

“I’m Rowena.” Her face grew grave, and from the clear look in her blue eyes, I realized she wasn’t as drunk as the others. “I’m sorry. I had no idea.”

“No idea what?”

“No idea that he had a problem. He almost always turns down going out, and the few times he has, he hardly has anything. I was kind of blown away when he jumped in tonight, and then . . . the more I watched, the more I got it. He had this look my stepdad used to get whenever he fell off the wagon. Like he’d been living in a desert and suddenly stumbled across an Evian machine. Then the more it went on tonight . . .” She sighed. “I knew. I’m sorry. I should’ve gone with him, but he seemed so confident.”

The earnestness and concern in her words nearly made me choke up. “You have nothing to apologize for. It’s not your job to look after him.” It’s mine.

“Yeah, I know . . . I just . . .” She faltered, and I understood why Adrian spoke so highly of her.

I gave her the best smile I could muster, despite how dead I felt inside. “Thank you.”

“I hope he’s okay,” she added. “He drank a lot.”

“I’m sure he will be,” I said, trying not to wince.

The first pawnshop I drove to was empty, and the guy working said no one had been by in an hour. I hoped my pawnshop deductions would actually prove right. Otherwise, I was out of luck since Adrian hadn’t answered my text. But then, sure enough, when I arrived at the other shop, I found him. He stood just inside their entryway, blocked by a metal grating that they worked behind at night. I could understand it, since night probably brought out sketchy people. And studying Adrian, he certainly seemed like one.

“I need it back!” he exclaimed. “I need it back. She needs it back. It’s a royal heirloom!”

The scruffy‑looking guy behind the grating met him with a level look. “Sure it is. If you can’t buy it out, I can’t give it back.” I had the distinct impression he’d told Adrian this many times.

“Adrian,” I said. He spun around, and I flinched at the wild look in his bloodshot eyes. His normally perfect hair was disheveled, his clothes wrinkled. If I didn’t know him, I’d want a grating between us too.

“What are you doing here?” he asked.