Leo had never been invited. Last year, he’d waited in his dorm like a ghost, watching the lucky ones slip out after midnight in costumes that weren’t quite costumes. Feathers. Glitter that moved on its own. A boy with antlers growing from his temples that he claimed were “just for show.”

“Memories. Talents. A year of your life.” She gestured to a booth where a hooded figure was carving sigils into a table. “The festival takes all kinds of payment.”

“You’re thinking about it again,” said Mira Park, appearing at his elbow with a thermos of questionable tea. Mira was the only person at Ariel who knew Leo’s real secret: that he wasn’t supposed to be here at all. His acceptance letter had been a clerical error, one he’d never corrected.