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for how long, trying to think what to do. He’d obviously missed his escape window, and now discovery was inevitable. Already he’d let Waverly down, but now he wondered what he’d thought he’d be able to do for her. Rescue her from the evil witch like some knight in shining armor? Idiot. Idiot. Idiot.
    He didn’t hear the footsteps until they were nearly on top of him. He looked up to see black pants and two white hands holding a gun across a robust chest. The guard crouched over Seth, the muzzle of his gun pointed at the ceiling. It was the stocky guard he’d seen before, a man of fifty-some years, with gray hair at his temples, speckled stubble across his jaw, and light brown eyes that seemed somehow kind. “Can you walk?” the guard whispered.
    Seth stared at him.
    “We have two minutes before my commanding officer figures out I’ve left my post. Can. You. Walk.”
    Seth nodded.
    “Get up. Keep your head down. And be quiet.”

 
    THE DOCTOR
     
    After a couple days alone with her mother, Waverly wanted to run away from the jumpy way Regina’s hands fluttered when she worked at her small loom, or the way she smiled at Waverly with twitching lips when the two made eye contact. Far into the first night, Waverly had questioned her mother about the conditions of her imprisonment, but she gave only half answers that never added up to why she seemed so hollowed out. Today, Waverly avoided her, spending more time in her room hiding under blankets, trying not to think about Seth, the way he’d kissed her so deeply, so sweetly, and the way he’d left her all alone. Where was he? How could he abandon her here after the way she’d risked her life to save him?
    It didn’t matter that it seemed relatively safe here; she couldn’t feel safe. Something had been done to her mother, something horrible. Waverly knew it.
    When someone finally rang the doorbell, Waverly bounded up from her bed. She didn’t know what she hoped for—Seth?—but as she ran into the living room she realized she didn’t want to hide anymore. She had to do something to help her mom.
    “Delivery!” her mother said, excited. A roly-poly woman came in pushing a cart full of more chicken, baskets of freshly picked turnips, parsnips, carrots, kale, salad greens, and two loaves of fresh wheat bread.
    “Hey!” Waverly said to the small woman. “I want to know what’s been done to my mother!” The guard posted outside the apartment scoffed, and she glanced at him through the open doorway. He was shaking his balding head, grinning. She ignored him, knowing better than to try appealing to one of Mather’s men.
    “Please.” Waverly reached for the woman’s plump hand. “Couldn’t you just ask a doctor to come look at her?”
    The woman slapped her hand away. “Doubt it.”
    “Waverly,” Regina cooed. “I feel fine.”
    “You need to see a doctor,” Waverly insisted. To the scowling little woman she said, “Can’t you give the infirmary a message?”
    “No messages,” the woman said over her shoulder as she entered the kitchen. She pulled a browned apple pie from the center rack on the cart and set it on the counter.
    “Wonderful!” Regina exclaimed and went into the kitchen to help put away the food. Waverly watched them puttering, feeling helpless and lost.
    A voice from the doorway made her jump. “Waverly Marshall?”
    She turned to see a strikingly handsome man leaning on the doorframe. He had coffee-colored hair, olive-toned skin, and intriguing eyes. At first his irises looked black until he held her gaze, and then she saw they were a deep navy blue. He smiled, showing two rows of gleaming teeth, though one of his incisors was slightly chipped, a defect that only made him more masculine. He was dressed in a plain blue shirt that complemented his eyes, gray pants, and leather boots. Everything about him was composed, careful, and lovely to look at.
    She tried to stand up taller. “Who are you?”
    “I’m Jared Carver.