A tiny voice in the back of his mind said, No. But the rest of him told her, Bring it on, Foster.

When she still hesitated, he added, It’s not like I can hide from this.

He couldn’t.

No matter how much she wished she could protect him.

Okay, here goes, she warned, filling his head with the memories one by one, sharing them in the same order she’d seen them with Lord Cassius.

She offered no commentary, letting Keefe process everything himself. And he replayed each of the memories three times before his brain could form any coherent words—most of which were things he’d probably get in trouble for saying.

Please tell me it wasn’t a mistake to show you that, Sophie begged when his brain started its fourth memory replay.

It wasn’t, he assured her. I’m fine.

No, you’re not. Sophie dropped one of her hands from his temples and reached for him, tangling their fingers together.

He didn’t argue. Just clung to her as tightly as he could as they watched a fifth replay together.

Three things, Sophie told him as Keefe’s Dr. Jekyll theories reared back with a vengeance. First: Your mom talks about this being THEIR legacy—not yours. So it might not have anything to do with you—and I know you’re going to argue with me on that, but you have to admit it’s at least possible. Second: Whatever this was… your parents are fine. I mean, they’re pretty awful people—but they were that way before any of this. So it’s not like this changed them in any way that’s noticeable. And third—and most important: This isn’t triggering any new memories for you, right?

She checked his nearby thoughts for any flashes of pain or glimpses of glowing vials.

No, he admitted, but that might just mean my mom did a better job of burying it.

I don’t know, Sophie argued. I don’t think you can bury something THIS traumatic—especially when you’re being given such a clear, direct trigger. You should’ve felt how fast it worked on your dad—and all it took for him was me sharing the memory from London of your mom telling you to “embrace the change.” As soon as he heard those words, it set off this, like, mental earthquake, and his consciousness actually cracked as these memories came crashing through. So… if there was something in your past like this, I feel like you’d have gotten back at least the damaged pieces of it by now. And you haven’t.

The more she thought about it, the easier it was to breathe.

But Keefe didn’t seem nearly as convinced.

His palm felt shaky in hers, and his thoughts were darting in so many directions, she couldn’t keep up with them—except one.

One part of his mind stayed fixated on those eerie black bottles in the final memory.

There were only two of them, she pointed out, adding that to her list of reassurances.

Yeah, but—

“Are you ever going to bring me back into this conversation?” Lord Cassius interrupted. “Given that these are my memories, it seems like I should be a part of the discussion.”

“I dunno—do you have anything useful to add?” Keefe asked as Sophie severed their mental connection and blinked her eyes back into focus on the present. “I mean, if you have any idea what that ‘treatment’ was—or what was in any of those vials—feel free to share,” Keefe told his dad. “Otherwise, not sure what we need you for.”

“Uh… that doesn’t sound good,” Ro noted. “Can someone maybe clue the bodyguards in?”

“Oh sure,” Keefe told her. “Basically, it looks like Mommy Dearest definitely did experiment on me.”

“No—she experimented on me!” Lord Cassius shouted, jumping to his feet and stalking toward his son. “You don’t get to make this all about you.”

“Yeah, well, you don’t get to make this all about you, either!” Keefe snapped back. “Because I have a pretty strong hunch this all happened around the time Mom got pregnant with me, right?”

Lord Cassius reluctantly nodded.

“You’re sure?” Sophie had to ask. Both of Keefe’s parents looked exactly the same in the memories as they did now—and it wasn’t like there’d been a calendar in the background.

“I’m sure,” Lord Cassius agreed quietly. “The room in the first two memories is a room we only shared for a brief time. Once Gisela discovered she was pregnant, we separated ourselves.”

The set of his jaw made it clear there’d be no further discussion on that topic—and Sophie was definitely good with that.

Keefe ran a hand down his face. “I’m guessing you don’t know where the room in the third memory was?”

Lord Cassius shook his head. “Only that it was somewhere in Candleshade.”

“Great,” Keefe muttered.

“If you need me to go back there and smash more things, I’m happy to,” Ro generously offered.

“Smashing would be bad,” Keefe said. “We don’t want to break those vials.”

“You think they’re still there?” Sophie asked.

“I don’t know. It’s possible. My mom said, ‘When the timing is right’—and I haven’t fulfilled my legacy or whatever yet.”

“But it wasn’t about your legacy,” Lord Cassius reminded him. “She said ‘our’—hers and mine.”

Ro groaned. “Now you have a separate legacy? Is anyone else getting really sick of that word? Because I swear, every time I hear it, I wanna stab something.”

“Right there with you,” Sandor agreed quietly.

“Oh, I’m there too,” Keefe agreed as well, tearing his hands through his hair. “The good news is—I’m pretty sure all the legacies are the same. Think about it—she talked about their legacy right around the time they made me, so…”

“Wait,” Sophie said, leaning forward in her armchair. “You’re saying you think those treatments were, like…” She wasn’t even sure how to word it—and she really hoped she was wrong when she finished with, “An elvin fertility thing?”

“No, I think they were a mess-with-our-future-baby kind of thing,” Keefe corrected.

But Lord Cassius shook his head. “Actually, I think Sophie might be onto something. Your mother was very concerned about getting pregnant. She went to a number of physicians beforehand, and I never understood why, because it seemed to happen quite quickly and easily—but maybe this is why. Maybe it seemed fast to me because she erased these memories.”

“FYI, I really don’t want to hear about Lord Hunkyhair’s creation,” Ro whined.

“That makes two of us,” Sandor added.

And Sophie waited for Keefe to agree.

But he just leaned his head back against his armchair, staring at the ceiling.

“Sounds like I need to talk to some physicians,” Lord Cassius decided. “See if any of them have heard of this kind of treatment.”

“You should start with Elwin,” Sophie told him. “Those vials almost seemed like they were filled with light—which doesn’t really make sense since you can’t drink light, but…”

Her voice trailed off as a sickening new thought occurred to her.