He let go of her shoulders and reached into his cape pocket, retrieving something as wide as a book but much thinner, covered in shiny teal paper.

And when Sophie unwrapped it…

“Oh wow,” she breathed, needing a few seconds to even process what she was seeing.

It was a picture of her and Fitz, sitting under Calla’s Panakes tree, just like they were right then. Only the scene was darker. And he was sitting even closer, with his hand cradling her cheek and…

“This is a memory,” she realized.

His memory.

Of the night he’d just been talking about—when he’d promised he’d wait for her to be ready for all the relationship stuff.

He’d even captured the tears that had slipped down her cheeks while they’d been talking—and Sophie could feel new ones burning her eyes.

“How did you…?” she asked, still trying to understand what she was seeing.

The gift looked more like a painting—but Fitz didn’t paint, did he?

And the style looked familiar.…

“Keefe helped me,” Fitz admitted, before Sophie’s brain could get there. “I started out projecting the memory—but… it didn’t look quite right, because I don’t have a photographic memory like some people. So there were details missing, and parts that were a little blurry. So I paid Keefe to paint over it and add in all the stuff my mind didn’t get right.”

“Wait—you paid Keefe?” Sophie asked, not sure why that was the part her mind had fixated on.

Fitz nodded. “Otherwise it’s his gift—and it’s not. This is from me. Just like I’m the one who wrote the words on the back.”

Sophie hadn’t thought to flip it over. But she did, and there, in Fitz’s neat handwriting, was his simple plea:

Trust me.

“I do,” she promised, feeling her tears spill over onto her cheeks. “I just—”

“I know,” he interrupted, taking her hand and tangling her gloved fingers with his. “I get it. The unmatchable thing—it threw us both off. And I really wish I’d handled it better. I should’ve done everything I could to make it clear that it doesn’t change anything for me. I’m still here, still waiting on you to set the pace. And I know it’s all going to work out, Sophie. We’re going to work out. Just trust me, okay? Talk to me. Lean on me. Don’t hide or run away, or give up or… whoa.”

“Whoa?” Sophie repeated, not sure what to make of the way Fitz was staring at their hands.

“You have gloves on,” he said.

“I do…,” Sophie agreed. “Is that a problem?”

“What about your fingernail gadgets?” he asked, ignoring the question. “Are those on?”

Sophie nodded. “I always keep them turned on. It just makes more sense that way. Why?”

Fitz finally looked up at her, and his eyes were wide—and a little glazed—as he murmured, “It looks like your inflicting wasn’t the only ability affected by the reset. Right now, even with all of that to block it, I can feel you enhancing me.”

THIRTY-ONE

FITZ WAS RIGHT.

Sophie’s enhancing was definitely stronger.

In fact, it took four layers of gloves and her fingernail gadgets to block the ability’s effect on him.

And when she tried holding his hand without any barriers between them, it felt like lightning striking each of their palms. Fitz had to let go after a few seconds, so they weren’t able to see exactly what the added boost allowed him to do with his telepathy. But Fitz did say it gave his mind a level of clarity he’d never experienced before.

The strangest part, though, was what they discovered throughout the course of the day, after testing the ability on anyone else they could gather: Everyone had a different threshold—and there didn’t seem to be any logic to it.

Edaline, Elwin, Livvy, Biana, Dex, and Wylie all felt her enhancing fade as soon as Sophie added a second pair of gloves.

But Stina needed a third pair—and could feel a noticeable boost even without any physical contact.

Keefe needed six layers of gloves—and even then, he could still feel a tiny hum across his senses. But Sophie couldn’t squeeze a seventh glove on over the others to see if it would help.

She expected Keefe to be very smug about how strong that meant his empathy was—or at least make an abundance of jokes about the thrill of holding his hand. But Keefe actually seemed… a little shaken.

Not as shaken as Grady—though that wasn’t totally a surprise to Sophie.

The one and only time that she’d ever enhanced Grady, he’d told her afterward, “Never let me do that again.”

But Sophie hated the distance it suddenly put between them.

Grady didn’t want to risk exposure to the power, so he held back from hugging Sophie or reaching for her hand—or even standing too close. And the thought of that being her “new normal” made Sophie ill enough to reach out to Mr. Forkle and demand that he come to Havenfield immediately.

“I don’t understand,” she said, after they’d discovered that Mr. Forkle needed her to wear four layers of gloves to fully block her enhancing, and experienced the same jolt that Fitz had when he made direct contact with her fingertips. “Why wasn’t it like this yesterday?”

“Because your abilities, like your body, are still recovering from the reset,” Mr. Forkle explained. “As you grow stronger, so will they.”

Sophie stared at her fingers, which looked like big marshmallows under all the layers of fabric. “So… this is how it’s going to be now? I’m stuck with puffy fingers and people afraid to touch me?”

“No,” he assured her. “You’ve simply entered another period of adjustment. Try not to panic, Miss Foster. There’s always a solution. And while it may be hard to see it at the moment, this is good news. You’ve now become far, far more powerful than your enemies.”

“No, anyone who touches me is more powerful,” Sophie corrected, “so really, I’m actually way more vulnerable.”

Her imagination happily painted her a new nightmare.

A moonlark in a cage.

Forced to empower anyone who shoved their hand through the bars.

And the truly terrifying part was how easily her captors shifted in her mind, from the Neverseen to the Council—even to the Black Swan.

After all: Who wouldn’t want to exploit a resource like that?

“We wouldn’t,” Mr. Forkle assured her, and she wasn’t sure if he’d read her mind or if he’d simply noticed the way her eyes had narrowed with suspicion. “We would never use you against your will, Miss Foster. You always have a choice.”

“How?” She held up her marshmallow hands. “This ability is automatic.”

“I actually wonder if that’s true anymore,” he murmured, scratching his chin. “With a power this strong—and a brilliant mind like yours—I wouldn’t be surprised if there’s some sort of internal trigger you’ve yet to discover, one that allows you to rein in the ability through concentration or sheer willpower.”

Sophie blinked. “If that did exist… how would I find it?”