“Eh?” Sophie asked.

“I mean—don’t get me wrong. It’s way better than those biscuit things you brought me last time. But it’s still kinda dry and boring.”

Sophie had to agree. And yet she still helped herself to a cookie, each bite tasting like childhood.

“Thank you, by the way,” he said, tucking the extra cookies he’d pulled out carefully back into the container. “This was really amazing, Foster. No, I mean it—don’t try to shrug it off. This… is the nicest thing anyone’s ever done for me—by a lot.”

“Well… I think that’s mostly because your parents have set the bar really low.”

“They have,” Keefe agreed, and as his smile faded, Sophie wished she could take the words back.

But she’d gotten the E.L. Fudges for him because she knew he was going to need them.

“I’m done freaking out,” he told her, clearly picking up on her worries. “I mean… the next time I see Bangs Boy, I’m going to kick him somewhere extra sensitive. But until then… there’s nothing I can do, right? My mom’s still out there, still planning my great ‘legacy’—which apparently includes murdering a guy and his ten-year-old daughter—”

“You don’t know that,” Sophie interrupted. “That easily could’ve been another one of your mom’s lies. And I thought of something we can do that might help us get a little closer to the truth—or find some other clues about what she’s planning.”

“Hmm. That sounds like good news—until your emotions hit me and it’s a whole lot of DOOM and WORRY, so I’m guessing I’m not going to like this new tactic?”

“I’m sure it won’t be your favorite, but… I also think it’ll be worth it.” She finished the last of her cookie, trying to get rid of the sour taste on her tongue. But nothing could block the fresh surge of bile that came with having to tell Keefe, “Fitz hasn’t gotten anywhere with his search of your dad’s memories. And I’m starting to think you’re right. That kind of search might be a little more than his telepathy can handle. So…”

“You want to make it a job for Fitzphie?” Keefe guessed—which she probably should’ve expected, since the whole Cognate thing usually made them stronger together.

But…

“Actually, I think your dad has gotten too good at pushing Fitz around,” she told him. “And the best way to find what we need is for me to take him on, one-on-one.”

Keefe closed his eyes, looking about as green as the tree on the E.L. Fudge package.

“I can handle him,” she promised.

“I know,” he mumbled. “And I’m sure you’re probably right. I just… ugh, I have a feeling this is exactly what he wanted.”

“I thought of that,” Sophie agreed.

She hadn’t forgotten Lord Cassius saying, “The ideal candidate would’ve been young Miss Foster,” the day he’d first told them he was having Fitz help with the project.

But it made her lips curl with a smile.

And Keefe’s lips cracked with the tiniest hint of a smirk when she told him, “So maybe it’s time your dad learns that he should watch what he wishes for.”

THIRTY-EIGHT

LORD CASSIUS’S OFFICE WAS EVERY bit as immaculate and elegant as Sophie had come to expect from the rooms in the Shores of Solace, with its wide ocean-view windows and beach-toned decor. The massive silver desk didn’t have a single fingerprint dulling its shine. And the mother-of-pearl bookshelves were filled with books of the exact same height and width, with the same seafoam blue spines, as if he’d had them all rebound to match—or bought hundreds of the same volume purely for the aesthetic. The stiff white armchairs filling the center of the room looked as if they’d never once been sat in, and the marble floor was so heavily polished, it felt slippery under Sophie’s shoes.

But one corner was different. Nestled near a small, flickering fireplace was a dark blue recliner that was so worn and well loved, it almost looked lumpy. And that was where Lord Cassius sat waiting, next to a small table strewn with scrolls and notebooks and a window with a perfect view of a hidden cove filled with dark rocks and beach grass and a stretch of smooth white sand.

“You seem surprised,” he noted as Sophie and Keefe made their way over.

Sandor had chosen to stand guard outside of the office, mostly because they were fully expecting Ro to exact some sort of epic revenge and he wanted to ensure that Sophie wasn’t caught in the cross fire.

Sophie shrugged. “I guess I assumed your office would be more of a personal shrine.”

She’d heard plenty of stories about the life-size statue he had of himself, along with entire rooms displaying his accomplishments.

“At Candleshade, it is,” Lord Cassius told her, his gaze turning somewhat distant as he added, “but not this office. This place is not meant to be seen by anyone other than me.”

“Well then, lucky us,” Keefe said, dragging one of the never-used armchairs closer to his father with a cringeworthy SCREEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAACH. “Have a seat, Foster—you’ll probably be here awhile.”

Lord Cassius sighed. “Fitz has had no problem remaining standing.”

“Yeah, well, Fitzy’s been coming here hoping you’ll feed him some tiny crumb of information about his brother—which I’m assuming you haven’t done yet, because it keeps him from doing all the things you don’t want him doing, like getting himself a stupid chair.” He made a point of moving a second armchair over with an even louder SCREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAACH and plopped down onto it, propping his feet on his dad’s cluttered table. “But we don’t need anything, sooooooooo… we’ll do what we want.”

“If that’s true,” Lord Cassius said quietly, “I wonder why you’re bothering with this at all.”

Keefe shrugged. “Just trying to settle a bet. Lotsa people wagering on how fast Foster’ll put poor Fitzy’s skills to shame.”

“We both know that isn’t true.” Lord Cassius’s eyes focused on his hands, and he studied his fingernails as he asked, “What did your mother say to you yesterday—specifically? I heard the summary, but not her actual words.”

“Why do you care?” Keefe countered.

“Because your mother is a master of saying one thing and meaning another, and you were always too afraid of her to properly learn how to speak her language.”

Keefe snorted. “I wasn’t afraid of her. I mean, I probably should’ve been, since she was sneaking around murdering people, but—”

“You were terrified,” Lord Cassius insisted. “Because she gave you just enough love to show you how wonderful it could be if she truly cared for you—and then casually withheld the rest, leaving you wondering where you went wrong, and trying to figure out how to fix it, and being constantly afraid that you’d lose what little you had.”

A beat of painful silence passed as Keefe shifted uncomfortably in his chair. “You sound like you know that feeling well.”

It was Lord Cassius’s turn to shrug. “Like father, like son.”