“And they’re wrong,” Keefe interrupted. “You and I both know that. So will everyone who matters.”

Dex sniffled again. “Yeah, but we also know that doesn’t make it any easier to deal with.”

Keefe sighed. “Very true.”

Several agonizing seconds passed before Dex murmured, “And I do realize that if you’re right and Rex is… you know… then all of that is going to happen eventually, anyway. I can’t change that. But… if we don’t tell him, at least he’ll get a few more good years before he has to deal with it, right? It’s not like I’m keeping the secret for me—it’s actually going to be brutal hiding it. I honestly don’t know how I’m going to pretend to be excited when he talks about the abilities he wants—or how I’m not going to strangle Lex and Bex when they tease him about not manifesting yet. And if he ever finds out that I hid this… I don’t know. I can’t decide if I’d be grateful or furious if someone kept something like this from me. Probably a little of both. But I’d also feel super betrayed and foolish, like… You listened to me cry about how bad ability detecting was going, and you never said anything! He may even hate me for it. But… I can’t tell him. I can’t do that to him—not yet.”

Keefe stared at his hands, wishing he had something to squeeze or throw or punch. “I’m sorry I dumped this on you,” he whispered, wondering if he should smack himself. “I shouldn’t have said anything.”

He’d kept his mouth shut for days, trying to make sure he didn’t say anything to hurt someone.

And the first time he lets himself talk, what does he do?

Dex would never look at his brother the same now.

There’d always be a little bit of weirdness between them.

All because he had to tell Dex—

“It’s not your fault,” Dex said, like he knew what Keefe was thinking. “You didn’t do this to him. It’s just… genetics.”

“I still didn’t have to tell you about it,” Keefe argued.

“Well… I asked,” Dex reminded him.

And it looked like he wished he hadn’t.

Which made Keefe wonder what he was supposed to do the next time this happened—the next time he felt that strange emptiness and knew exactly what it meant.

Should he tell the person?

Hide it?

Would he even be able to pull that off?

Or would they know right away that something was wrong?

Wrong with HIM—not THEM, he clarified.

He shouldn’t be able to know these things. And if people found out, it would turn into a serious nightmare.

Every kid who hadn’t manifested would swarm him, wanting to find out what they were going to be.

The parents would be even pushier.

And what if it turned out that he actually could trigger their abilities?

He hadn’t ruled out that possibility yet.

In fact, it seemed pretty likely.

Was that what his mom wanted?

But… why?

Why give him that ability? Since there was no way it manifested by accident.

She definitely planned this.

So… what was in it for her?

Power, he realized.

That’s always what it went back to with his mom.

And in a world where abilities were the single most defining thing in someone’s life, having any kind of knowledge about what was going to happen to them—or making it happen for them—was the ultimate advantage.

She could demand anything she wanted for a meeting with her talented little son, and people would pay it—swear it. And she’d get to pick and choose who got the chance.

Or…

Was it bigger than that?

He hadn’t forgotten what his mom called her plan.

The Archetype.

An original model, that all other things were copied from or compared against.

He’d thought that was just her obnoxious way of saying, I’m smarter than everyone else, and this is why they all need to listen to me!

But what if the title was about him?

What if he was her Archetype—and she was going to use him to measure everybody?

Judge them.

Sort them.

Gather up the best of the best.

Form her own superior elite class and use them to dominate everyone else.

Was that his legacy?

But if it was… wasn’t his power limited?

It wasn’t like he could stop people from manifesting.

Or… could he?

Was there some word—some command—he could give that would strip someone’s ability away?

He didn’t know—and he didn’t want to know.

Keefe pulled himself into a tight little ball and buried his head.

“I can’t do this,” he whispered.

“Do what?” Dex asked.

“All these freaky, unnatural things my mom did to me. I can’t control these abilities—”

“Yes, you can,” Dex argued. “I’ve seen you do it. I mean, sure, you’re still getting the hang of it, but I’ve watched you choke back commands. And this is the first time you’ve let yourself talk in days—and only because you know it’s safe.”

“Yeah, but what happens when my mom shows up again? She knows everyone I care about, and how to use them to manipulate me and—”

“And you’re stronger than her,” Dex assured him. “Trust me, I know you—you’ll never give in. She could have ogres pry your jaw open, and you still wouldn’t give a command.”

Well, there was a lovely mommy-son image.

But Keefe wouldn’t put it past her.

And Dex was right—he’d fight that for sure.

But what if she did that to one of his friends?

Or to Sophie?

And… did it even matter?

This new ability wouldn’t need anything drastic like that.

All his mom would have to do is strap him to a chair and keep a Telepath around while people touched his hands. Then she’d know everything Keefe felt and what it meant—even trigger their abilities or maybe take them away—and there was nothing he’d be able to do to stop that.

Even wearing an ability restrictor wouldn’t be enough, because his mom would just have her Technopath remove it—and probably put it on Sophie instead.

“I can’t do this,” Keefe repeated, glancing around his room like he was hoping some magic solution would appear in the glittering walls.

Or maybe a hole to disappear into.

“You can,” Dex promised. “Because you won’t have to do it alone.”

Keefe shook his head, hating that he was making this all about him after what he’d just put Dex through.

But he had to be very clear. “You can’t tell anyone about this, Dex. No one. Not Elwin. Not the Black Swan. Not even Sophie! Especially not her.”

“Okay,” Dex told him. “I wasn’t planning on it.”

“I need you to promise,” Keefe pressed.

Dex held his stare. “I promise, I won’t tell anyone about this new ability.”

“About any of my new abilities,” Keefe clarified. “I know a few people already know a little bit—and I can’t change that. But just… downplay that part as much as you can—and don’t tell them anything else.”