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You nudge open the door to see Delacroix with tears shining in their eyes but not quite spilling. Florin Kraemer from Archambault, who you last saw indulging at the drinks table, is leaning against one of the lockers. He looks smugly entertained by the entire situation.

Max is right in his face, furious. You've never seen Max so angry: there's always been an undercurrent of amusement. Not this time.

Florin meets your eye. "Oh, good, another Gallatin student," he says. "Honorable Florin Kraemer, very much at your service. Please, join the fun."

Delacroix startles and gives you a desperate look.

All Max's good humor from earlier has vanished. "Oh, everything's fun for you, isn't it, Florin," he spits, clenching his fist. "You never think how someone might get hurt—"

Delacroix grabs Max's arm. "Don't, you'll only get in trouble—"

"He told everyone about last winter," Max says between his teeth. "He needs to pay."

You cross the room and put yourself between Florin and Max, quickly enough that Max pulls back. "Pedro, what are you doing?" he mutters.

"This needs to stop. Now," you say.

"Exactly," Delacroix puts in, and Max's shoulders sag.

"Fine," he says, all the fight gone out of his voice.

Florin adjusts his shirt minutely. "Well, nice to see you again, Patrice," he says to Delacroix, and stalks out.

"I could have taken him," Max mutters. "Don't be silly," Delacroix says, not without affection. "He decided it was his job to protect me when he heard Florin talking about me behind my back, and then…well. You saw."

They sigh, their expression brittle.

"Last winter," they say in a rush, "my parents put me in an institution for a month. Because of talking about ghosts, and all that. I told Florin about it at the time, because I thought we were friends, but he spread it around."

Their tone is flat, as though they are determined not to let any emotion slip out, but it's clear that it's a sore subject. They shake back their hair defiantly.

Delacroix blinks. "Don't be nice," they growl, voice shaking, "or I'll cry, and then Max will beat you up, and then I'll have to mop your brow, and it'll be embarrassing for everyone."

They shake themself.

"Come on. This thing is bound to end sooner or later."

You return to the ballroom, where the dancing has grown more lethargic. Lord Haberlin and Lady Renaldt stand in the pulpit, surveying the revelers.

Half an hour later, the gong rings again.

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