I STOP BY SOEUR MANON’S, HOPING SHE HAS something—anything—for me to run to the Kitchens. She frowns when she sees me, but when I ask, her eyes light up like she’s figured something. She smiles. Then she rummages around and finds a bundle of herbs. “Ils sont des ‘herbes d’amour.’” Oh, for the grace! I flush to my scalp, take the bundle of love herbs and flee.

When I push into the Kitchens, Sister Lucy is hanging onions to dry. She nods her head toward Storages when she sees my bundle.

He’s near the entrance, sleeves rolled up as always, head bare, eyes like dark pools. Relief washes his face when he sees me. He pushes off the wall, unfolding his arms, his mouth pulling into that funny smile. I can’t smile back. Blood is rushing in my ears. I’m dragging my foot something terrible too, but I don’t care about that right now.

As I approach, his smile falters, his brow crinkles. He looks, for the first time I’ve ever seen, uncertain. And it’s so unguarded, so honest, that the cabbage moths already flitting in my stomach start thrumming so hard I can barely think.

And I know I’m about to do something foolish.

I glance behind me. Sister Lucy is turned toward the ovens, her back to us. I toss the herb bundle at a crate on the floor. Then, before I can change my mind, I step forward and bury my face in Kane’s chest.

He draws me tight to him, his grip iron-strong, chest hard under his shirt. My face is in his neck now: warm skin and woodsmoke. The million cabbage moths soar up and close off the air in my chest.

He pulls me around the corner into the first pantry, closing the door with a free hand. Then he grabs me by the shoulders and draws back. “Em.” His voice is husky and soft: wind whispering through the spruce. “You’re all right.”

I manage a nod.

“I was worried. You . . . well, you were so bleeding sick.” He looks at me so long I have to drop my eyes.

I find my voice. “Did—did anyone ask what you were doing? When you found me, I mean.”

“No.” He lets go of my shoulders and steps back.

I miss his hands straightaway, but my head clears a bit. “I’m sorry. For taking you to that cabin, I should have never—”

“Better than you being there alone.”

I swallow. “Bertrand Pellier, from the north—”

“I heard.” Kane’s face is troubled.

“Do you think us going out there . . . Did . . . I mean, did we make it angry? Is it our fault?”

“It was a Taking, Em. It wasn’t our fault.”

“Was that the malmaci? Out there?”

“I don’t know for certain. But”—he rubs a hand over his shaved head—“well, at first I thought I was imagining it, but the more I think on it, the more I’m sure.”

“Sure of what?”

“Those voices above us, in the cabin. They were speaking words that sounded like ones my kokum used to speak.”

Kokum. The First Peoples part of his blood. “Your grandma’am.”

He nods.

I stare at his face, trying to figure his meaning. The voices sounded like his kokum. Like First Peoples’ speech. The First Peoples who used to live on this land? The rush of sound through the woods . . . The creak of the floorboards above us . . . My stomach drops as the pieces fit together.

You see, Clara found something in these woods.

The hair on my neck stands up. Ghosts of the First Peoples—my Lost People. Is that what my grandma’am found out there?

“But what about Brother Stockham? What about those bones?”

“Don’t know,” he admits. “But I could read some more of that book for the answers.”

“I dropped it in the cellar.” My voice breaks. Tears well up and spill out.

“Hey, it’s all right.” Kane reaches forward, takes my face in his hands and brushes at my cheeks with his thumbs. “We’ll get it back.”

I swallow. I’m going to have to tell him my plan for that.

“Should we tell someone?” Kane asks. “Your pa or—”

“No!” I say. “It’s just . . . we don’t know what’s going on yet. And my pa’s so hopeful over this proposal—no.” I don’t tell Kane about Tom, and I can’t admit that even after our scare at the cabin, even knowing how much we’re risking, I can’t bear to give this up. I want to wash my Stain clean on my own; I want to prove Discovery my own way.

Kane chews on his bottom lip, his eyes searching my face.

Is he having second thoughts? It’s not fair of me to expect him to do something he doesn’t want to do. “You don’t have to . . . to come with me . . .”

“I’m not leaving you on your own.” He frowns. “We do this together.”

I choke back my relief. It takes everything in me not to throw my arms around him again.

“But we’ll need to get back to the woods unseen,” he says.

“Won’t be easy.”

“Not with Watch and the Councilmen watching everyone.” He blows out a breath. “Almighty.”

Tell him. “I’ve figured a way.” I take a breath. “I’m going to tell Brother Stockham yes.”

He pulls back like I’ve burned him.

I speak quick. “Just for now. I—I think I can convince him to let me go back to the river. Just once more before Affirmation. If I can get to the river, I can get back to the cabin. But Kane—” I grab at his shirt to keep him near. “It’s not real. Once I get the journal back . . .” I trail off.

Kane’s eyes are unhappy, uncertain again. “Em—”

“It’s not real,” I repeat. The rough wool of his shirt between my fingers burns my skin. “You said you wished things were different. I wish that too—I mean . . . I want . . .” I can’t finish. I tug at his shirt.

He lets me pull him closer. “What do you want?” His voice is so soft. It’s unbearable.

I can’t say it. My heart is beating so fast it’s going to jump from my chest. But he’s here, he’s so close, and he doesn’t want me to be alone.

“You.”

He sucks in a breath and closes his eyes. When he opens them, they aren’t uncertain: they’re dead sure. He places both hands on the sides of my neck, under my jaw, and pulls my head gentle toward him.

My heart stops.

His mouth is close, closer . . . and then . . . then we are kissing.

Feather-soft, his lips brush mine. Brush them again. I let go of his shirt, place my hands on his bare forearms. At the feel of his skin, something boils up under mine.

I lose my thoughts, push forward, bite down on his lip. He makes a sound that weakens my knees. Then his hand is running into my hair. He grasps my plait in one fist, slides the other hand to the small of my back and pulls me closer, kissing me like I’m air and he’s drowning. Heat simmers and rushes through me, making my head spin. We press together, a bonfire searing through our clothes, everything wrong and impossibly right at once.

He breaks away with a ragged breath. “We can’t.”

“I know.” I lean forward again.

He grabs my arms and holds me back. “You don’t have to tell him yes. I can get back to the cabin—”

Footsteps echo through the Storages hall. We break apart as the door swings open. I lean down and start examining the dry stores, and Kane reaches up to a shelf above him.

“You two find what you need?” Sister Lucy peers into the dim pantry, wiping her hands on her apron. She steps in and heads for a barrel on the far side.

“Got it.” Kane grabs an empty crate from the shelf. “I can finish up, Sister Emmeline.” His eyes are wide, and he jerks his head at the door.

“Good.” I keep my voice low to control the shake and push to my feet. “I’m needed at Soeur Manon’s.” I head for the door but have to brush past him. My shoulder bursts into flame where we touch.

I risk one last glance back at his face. That look in his eyes . . . I put a hand on the doorjamb to steady my legs before I leave.