“Counteroffer,” Keefe said, throwing back his covers. “I go home and—”

“Nope!” Ro shoved him back onto the cot and reached into her breastplate, pulling out a tiny glass vial that looked like it was filled with curdled snot. “If you insist on being difficult, we can try this another way: I was planning to use this for your first punishment—and you should note my use of the word ‘first’ there, Funkyhair, because believe me, I have big plans for you. But I’ll happily change things up and force a few of these amoebas down your throat right now if—”

“No amoebas!” Elwin interrupted, snatching the vial out of Ro’s hand with some fairly impressive reflexes.

“You’re cute if you think I’m not going to steal that back in about three seconds,” Ro warned. “And I’m sure I’ll break a loooooooot of things in the process.”

“And you’re cute if you think I don’t have an elixir that’ll knock you out with a tiny whiff,” Elwin countered, patting the satchel slung across his shoulder.

Ro cocked her head to study him. “Not sure I believe you.”

“You should, since it’ll also make you lose control of your bladder,” he warned.

“Yeah, I’m going to need a vial of whatever that is,” Keefe chimed in when Ro backed away from Elwin.

“Not going to happen.” Elwin stuffed the vial he’d confiscated from Ro into his satchel and latched it closed. “I’ll give this back to you later—well, depending on what it is. But in the meantime, I need you to promise me that you’ll lay off the microbial punishments. I can’t have you giving Keefe anything that could mess with my readings until he’s back to normal.”

Keefe knew that was his cue to insist that he already was back to normal. But…

A few weeks free from Ro’s nasty microbes was kinda worth staying silent.

Ro heaved a giant sigh. “Fiiiiiiiiiiiiiine. I suppose I can see the logic behind that. How about a good old-fashioned death threat, then?”

Elwin blocked her from unsheathing one of the knives strapped to her waist. “I’m sure that won’t be necessary. Keefe’s ready to start cooperating now, isn’t he?”

Keefe tapped his chin. “That doesn’t sound like me.…”

“It doesn’t,” Ro agreed, wrenching out of Elwin’s grip—but Elwin caught her wrist and twisted her arm away from her weapons with a move that made Keefe wonder if Foxfire’s physician had gotten some battle training.

“Sooner or later Keefe’s going to realize that fighting my help only makes everything worse,” Elwin assured Ro as he let her go, “including these symptoms he’s trying to pretend aren’t there.” He turned to Keefe. “Your nausea and headache won’t go away on their own, no matter how hard you try to ignore them. In fact, they’re going to get progressively worse. So why don’t you tell me what I need to know so I can get you some medicine before you pass out or throw up all over my nice, clean Healing Center?”

“See, but a vomit-fest sounds kind of awesome, doesn’t it? Oooh! You guys could join in! Who’s with me?” He held up his hand for a high five, but everyone left him hanging. “Boo, you’re no fun. Seriously, I’m fi—”

“If you say ‘fine’ one more time,” Ro interrupted, “I’ll grusom-daj your scrawny butt into submission!”

Keefe smirked. “Bring it on, Princess. I’m—”

“Enough!” Elwin dragged his palms down his face. “Once again, Ro, I can’t let you do anything that might affect Keefe’s recovery—but don’t look so smug there, Keefe. I have plenty of ways to make your life very unpleasant if you insist on being so stubborn.”

Ro jumped up and down, clapping. “Please tell me they involve ooze!”

“Ooze sounds good to me,” Keefe assured her. “But I’ll take mine to go. That way I can ruin my dad’s fancy rugs. Or maybe—”

“Ugh, just stop!” Fitz snapped, and Keefe assumed he was talking to Ro, since the ogre princess was blocking Keefe from getting up again. But apparently Fitz had zero BFF loyalty, because he turned to Elwin and said, “Keefe’s freaking out right now because he can read all of our emotions without trying to—and without needing any kind of enhancing or contact. And I guess he’s translating them way easier than he usually does too. He also ranked his headache and nausea at a ten or an eleven.”

Keefe blinked. “You—”

“Yeah,” Fitz cut him off. “I read your thoughts without your permission. I’m sorry. But we both know you were never going to tell us what’s really going on—and Elwin needs to know, so…”

He shrugged like it wasn’t that big of a deal—but Keefe could feel Fitz’s sour guilt swirling through the air.

Good.

Fitz sighed. “Come on, don’t look at me like that. You think I wanted to hear what you’re thinking?”

“Are you still listening?” Keefe asked, trying not to wonder how long Fitz had been eavesdropping—or what else he might have heard—as he let his mind flood with an abundance of particularly creative insults.

Fitz tore a hand through his boringly perfect hair. “I get why you’re mad. But I’m only trying to help. I know what you’re going through—”

“Right—you totally know what it’s like to have your mom do deadly experiments on you,” Keefe muttered. “I must’ve forgotten that part of the Vacker history.”

“Maybe not,” Fitz conceded, “but I do know what it’s like to have a traitor in the family. And I also remember how scary it is to wake up in one of these cots after being brutally attacked—just like I know how hard it is to talk about what’s wrong, because it feels like you’re admitting that the Neverseen beat you. But they only win if you keep pretending everything’s normal, because you end up making the damage permanent.”

“I’m not damaged—”

“You’re right. That’s the wrong word.” Fitz blew out a breath. “Look, all I’m trying to say is that I wouldn’t be walking right now if I hadn’t let Elwin help me. I probably wouldn’t even be alive. So I want to make sure you get the help you need—and you do need it, Keefe. No matter what you want to believe. But accepting help doesn’t make you weak. It just means you’re taking care of yourself.”

Ro whistled. “What do you know? For a moment, I actually like Captain Perfectpants.”

“Good, you can be his bodyguard,” Keefe grumbled, well aware of how sulky he sounded.

But it was super annoying when people made valid points when he’d rather be mad at them.

Plus, he was now getting slammed with sour waves of his least favorite emotion.

“I really don’t want your pity,” he warned, squeezing his blankets so hard he could feel the fibers in the fabric stretching.

Elwin plopped down on the cot next to him. “Good. Because you’re not going to get it.”

Keefe snorted. “Uh, hate to break it to you, Dr. Pity-Party, but—like Fitz just told you—I know you’re lying.”