The real Lord Cassius.

Not the rigid construct he liked to present.

This won’t help you, he insisted as she focused on the vibrant memories piled haphazardly all around her, like someone had tossed them away. I may not like this part of myself. But I’m still aware of its presence.

Why don’t you like this part of yourself? Sophie asked, trying to process what she was seeing.

Most of the memories were brief flashes—snippets and scraps trimmed away from longer moments.

And many of them featured Keefe.

His smiles and laughter.

His pranks and jokes and art.

The same things Lord Cassius was always trying to force Keefe to change about himself.

And for a second Sophie was furious.

How dare he mentally edit his son?

Who was he to deny reality?

But then… she noticed the warmth.

It wasn’t strong.

And it wasn’t comforting.

But it was there—wrapped around each edited moment.

And she knew: You love your son.

Of course I do.

The words were a weary sigh, and Sophie’s anger surged back.

WHY WOULD YOU BURY THAT?

Far, far away she felt Keefe give her shoulder a gentle, reassuring squeeze—which only added to her rage.

He deserved so much better.

You have no idea what he deserves, Lord Cassius argued, and Sophie wasn’t sure if she’d transmitted the thought or if he’d read the emotions coursing through her. Everything I withhold is for his own good. Love… convolutes things. If your creators had made you an Empath, perhaps you would understand that—though it’s strange. Your mind focuses on feelings far more than any Telepath I’ve ever encountered. The way you homed in on that emotion just now—it was almost a fusion of our abilities. I can’t tell if that was taught to you or if it’s somehow inherent or…

His thoughts cycled through possibilities, and for a second Sophie was right there with him, wondering if Mr. Forkle had trained her mind to work differently than others’, or if it was because she manifested so young—and grew up around humans—or if it was the result of some small tweak to her genetics.

And then she realized…

You’re not going to distract me, she told him. What do you mean by “love convolutes things”?

A dark rumble shook everything around her. I mean exactly that. And if you don’t believe me—ask the question everyone’s been whispering since Gisela was outed.

It took Sophie several seconds to puzzle out what question he meant.

You mean, “How did you not know she was part of the Neverseen?”

Exactly. How could an Empath—two Empaths, counting my son—not realize they had a traitor among them? We should’ve sensed every lie—every trick. But we missed them all. And while I want to believe you’ll find some stockpile of damaged memories that I can point to and blame for the way she misled me, I fear the reality is simply that while it may be nearly impossible for someone to lie to an Empath, it’s far, far too easy for us to lie to ourselves. Our emotions are stronger. Purer. So much more overwhelming. And we cannot feel our own tells.

Your tells? Sophie repeated.

Another dark rumble. I’m surprised my son’s never mentioned it. Actually, no, I’m not surprised at all. I’m sure this is the last piece of knowledge he wants you to have.

What does that mean?

It means my son has plenty to hide. And all Empaths have a tell when we try to lie. It’s instinctive. Unavoidable. Part of who we are. In fact, I strongly suspect it’s why your creators didn’t choose empathy as one of your abilities. What’s the point of giving their moonlark an impenetrable mind if her heart will give her away every time?

I still have no idea what you’re talking about, Sophie told him.

Yes, I’m sure you don’t. And for a second he hesitated—debating whether he should share.

You realize I could pluck the secret from your mind with a single thought, right? Sophie reminded him.

I suppose that’s a valid point. And it’s not like this is a secret. It’s just not particularly well known, either. Empaths have a physical reaction when we lie. You have to be reading our pulse to feel it, but it’s always there. Our hearts skip three beats. One from guilt. One from fear. And one like a held breath, waiting to see if someone will catch us. It’s completely involuntary—we can’t even feel it in ourselves. Which makes it so very easy for our hearts to lead us astray. How else do you think I ended up married to a murderer?

The last word was a jolt, dragging Sophie’s focus away from all of that strange new information.

And she found herself asking, You REALLY loved her?

She honestly couldn’t imagine Lord Cassius loving anyone except himself.

You know almost nothing about me, he told her. Or what I’m capable of feeling.

True, Sophie conceded. But you know what I’m realizing? I’ve been in your head for all of this time, and I haven’t seen a single memory with her in it. Even down here, in the stuff you’re trying to hide.

Surely you’ve heard of coping mechanisms. Surely you can understand why I’ve spent the last several months painstakingly carving her out of my consciousness. I had to sort through my memories anyway, trying to find any gaps or inconsistencies on my own. And after I finished examining a moment, I’d sever any pieces with her and cast them away—the closest I can come to erasing her from my life.

Okay, but where are those pieces now?

It doesn’t matter. I’ve already checked them.

That doesn’t mean they won’t trigger what you’re looking for.

Once again, he hesitated.

And she had to remind him again that she would find everything on her own—and who knew what else she’d discover along the way?

It’s a waste of time, he insisted.

But his mind still shifted and rattled, as if he were pulling open some sort of inner mental barrier, revealing a new light up ahead—a dim, icy glow that definitely wasn’t inviting.

Sophie followed it anyway, into a chilly nook tucked into the darkest part of his consciousness where thousands of memories flickered in the shadows.

Thousands of glimpses of Lady Gisela.

Smiles.

Scowls.

Glares.

Laughter.

Though something about her always looked a little… calculating. Especially when she gazed at her son.

You see that too, Lord Cassius noted, and Sophie realized she’d transmitted that observation.

It just seemed so… obvious.

Hindsight brings a strange sort of clarity, doesn’t it? Lord Cassius asked her. It’s so easy to hate yourself for missing something so glaring. But every moment has shades of meaning, and how we interpret it comes down to the knowledge we have in that instance. Like now, for example—you sit there stewing in your disgust for me, convinced I’m cruel and callous because that is the information you have. Just as I saw a wife and mother who was as determined as I was to help her son find success and reach his maximum potential—which, I suppose, IS still who she was. She just had a very different vision for his future, apparently.

Sour dread mixed with Sophie’s other emotions, and she couldn’t tell if it came from her or Lord Cassius.

And I’m assuming you have no idea what she means when she talks about Keefe’s legacy? she asked.