Livvy nodded. “The power for most abilities comes from our brain—but everything I’ve read on inflicting says it works a little differently. Your brain switches the ability on, but the real power comes from here”—she pounded the fist holding the green pill against her chest—“because inflicting’s all about channeling your emotions out into the world. And the emotions here”—she pounded her chest again—“are so much purer. So if we really want to see how strong your power can be, we should reset both places—head and heart. But we also absolutely don’t have to. I want to be super clear about that. Everything we’re trying to fix will be covered by this.” She held up the white pill. “This will make it so your brain reins in your emotions the way we designed it to, and let you channel them in a much more targeted way. This is absolutely a solution.”

“But the green pill’s better,” Sophie pressed.

“ ‘Better’ might not be the right word,” Livvy told her, “because it does up the risks as well—and probably your recovery time too, since it’s going to stop your heart for a few seconds, and that’ll take a toll.”

Now there were a lot more people calling for her to take the white pill.

Including Fitz.

And it did look so much simpler.

Small. Bland. Boring.

The green was so much more vibrant.

The color of life.

But also the color the elves wore to their funerals.

“You think I should take the green pill, don’t you?” Sophie asked Livvy.

“I think it’s your decision,” Livvy corrected.

“But you made the green pill,” Sophie reminded her. “You could’ve stopped at the white, but you knew you could probably do better so you kept going, right?”

Livvy sighed. “I’m a scientist, Sophie. I like pushing limits and solving puzzles. And your genetics are basically a playground for me. The last reset we did on you was completely mental, so part of me wants to know what’ll happen if we stray into uncharted territory and tweak a few other things with your heart. That’s why I made the green pill. And I’ve done everything in my power to make sure it’s still safe for you. But ‘safe’ in this kind of situation leaves room for a lot of pain—and the potential for side effects. So the white pill really might be your better option. It’s up to you and how hard you want to fight through.”

Livvy held out both pills again as Elwin handed Sophie a bottle of Youth.

And it sounded like pretty much everybody wanted her to take the white pill.

She didn’t hear a single call for green.

But there were definitely a few voices missing from the shouting.

Friends who were letting her decide.

But would probably take the bigger risk.

And the songs whispering through the air turned to melodies of boldness and bravery. Of tiny roots finding the strength to crack through solid stone.

“Just take the white pill, Sophie,” Fitz pleaded. “You’ve risked enough.”

She had.

Over and over and over.

And she was tired of it.

But the fight wasn’t finished yet.

And what was the point of fighting if she wasn’t going to put her whole heart into it?

“That’s our girl,” Keefe said quietly as Sophie snatched the green pill and gulped it down before she could change her mind. “Knew she was going to Foster it.”

TWENTY-EIGHT

FIRST THE WORLD TURNED ITCHY.

Every nerve raw and tingling as a million buzzing things sprang to life under Sophie’s skin, and she wanted to thrash and claw and scrape until they could scurry free and skulk away.

But she was pinned.

Trapped.

And then came the pain.

Time stopped as lightning flashed through her veins, and her blood caught fire, and a million needles and nails and spikes drilled into her brain.

And her heart…

Something was squeezing.

Crushing.

Closing off everything.

She couldn’t breathe.

Couldn’t think.

Couldn’t function.

Everything was stopping, stopping, stopping as her insides twisted and writhed.

Resisting.

Rejecting.

Her body wanted to heave—wanted to purge—but something cold coursed through her, numbing and soothing and sweetening the sour enough to quell the urge.

She wished it could ease the other pain, which was swelling with every strangled breath, hammering with every stalled heartbeat, tearing with every prickle and squeeze.

But the agony raged on—harder and harder and harder until something tore open inside her.

A new wound she knew would never heal.

And the darkness she’d been carrying—hiding—crawled inside.

Nestled deep.

Made itself at home.

It wasn’t a monster anymore.

It was part of her.

And with that thought a scream ripped out of her—guttural and primal.

Drowning out the other noises—other voices.

Distant sounds on the edge of everything that were too far away to actually be something.

People calling her name.

Offering promises and pleas.

None of them mattered.

Nothing could reach her.

Even the lulling melodies that slipped under her skin.

Her brain was too busy telling her, Retreat, retreat, retreat.

And her heart…

That still wasn’t working.

And then, something soft and feathery slipped through.

A cool green breeze.

Floating and fluttering through her mind.

Swirling around her heart.

Keeping everything steady, steady, steady.

Despite the pain.

And the panic.

And the punishment her body was enduring.

Even the darkness turned sleepy.

Tucking itself away.

Hiding for later.

And Sophie kept drifting, drifting, drifting—letting the verdant wisps of energy hold her solidly in place, even though everything was fading, fading, fading.

Slipping so very far away.

Too far, maybe?

She—

Brutal, stabbing agony knocked her back to reality, and she felt herself cry out again as the world grew louder and louder.

Colder and crueler.

But there was also warmth.

And strength.

And air.

Blissful, beautiful air.

And with each glorious breath, time ticked slowly back to life.

Steady as a pulse.

Following a powerful new rhythm.

The voices were closer now—some shouts, some whispers. All saying the same thing.

Sleep now, Sophie.

Don’t fight.

Give in. Give in. Give in.

Sweetness coated her tongue as another green breeze drifted in, and she let her consciousness follow it to a sweet, soft, soothing oblivion.

* * *

Awareness returned in stages.

Pain first.

Then nightmares.

And finally, a hazy fragmented reality where Sophie couldn’t fully tell how much her blurry eyes were seeing and how much was still in her head.

“Where am I?” she asked, the words sticky and garbled and so much more exhausting than they should’ve been.

“In your room.”

A smudgy form leaned over her, and it took Sophie’s brain a second to morph the colors into the shape that matched the voice. “Mom?”