“It’s not everybody this time,” Sophie corrected, trying to keep the conversation on track. “I mean… I’m sure that’s still their plan for the long run. But at the moment…”

Her voice trailed off as she locked eyes with Keefe.

How in the world was she supposed to tell him this?

She couldn’t just blurt out, Your mom ordered Tam to murder you—could she?

But… was there a delicate way of putting that?

“Aaaaaaaaaand the worry reaches the so-queasy-I-might-vomit level,” Keefe said, clutching his stomach and dropping back onto his bed. “Gotta say, it’s not my favorite emotion to share with you, Foster. Seriously—how do you ever eat?”

“Sometimes it’s not easy,” she admitted, swallowing the sour taste in her mouth. “And sorry.”

She took a step back, trying to put some distance between them. Most Empaths had to make physical contact in order to pick up what someone was feeling. But Keefe was different—with her, at least. At first she’d thought it meant something about the strength of her emotions, but Keefe’s father was able to do the same thing—and other Empaths couldn’t. So the Sencens also seemed to have extra-powerful empathy.

Keefe patted the empty side of the bed. “I’m fine, Foster. And clearly you’re going to need to sit down for this.” When she didn’t move toward him, he raised one eyebrow. “Uh, it’s not like we’ve never done the News of Doom thing before.”

They had.

Way too many times.

But one of these days, they were going to hit his breaking point—and this could easily be the moment.

“Need me to calm you down?” he offered, holding out his hand.

They’d discovered that if she enhanced him, he could use his ability to fill her mind with softly colored breezes and soothe her emotions. But the last thing he should be doing right then was comforting her. So she kept her gloves on as she made her way closer and sank onto the edge of the bed, keeping as much space between them as possible.

“Okay,” she said, fussing with the frilly sleeves on her tunic. “I… talked to Tam today.”

“Ugh, I should’ve known Bangs Boy was going to be a part of this,” Keefe grumbled. “And I’m assuming by ‘talked,’ you mean one of your Look-at-my-fancy-Telepath-tricks! kind of chats, right? Mommy Dearest didn’t send him to deliver a special message, did she?” He sat up straighter. “Wait. He didn’t blow up anything, did he?”

“No, so far only you’ve destroyed anything for the Neverseen,” Sandor growled.

He was, of course, referring to the time that Keefe exploded the glass pyramid at Foxfire—while Sophie was in it—in order to prove his loyalty to the Neverseen’s cause. It… hadn’t been one of his better life choices, even if he had given Sophie his cloak to make sure she’d be safe.

Keefe bent down and snatched Mrs. Stinkbottom off the floor, tossing the stuffed gulon from hand to hand like a furry basketball. “So what did good old Tammy have to say? Let me guess—he has no idea where they’re keeping him, and everyone’s wearing cloaks and using code names and ignoring his questions, so he’s pretty much useless to us.”

“Sorta,” Sophie admitted. “He managed to learn one thing.”

“And I’m assuming it has to do with me—and it’s the reason for all the vomit vibes floating around in here?” Keefe guessed.

She nodded.

He set Mrs. Stinkbottom on the bed between them. “Then let’s get this over with, shall we? I’m not sure my stomach can hold on much longer. Just blurt it all out when I count to three—it’ll be fun!”

It wouldn’t. But he was trying so hard to make this easier for her that she made herself agree. And when Keefe got to her cue, she held his stare and told him everything, starting with the map in Mr. Forkle’s office and his theories about the dwarves, straight on to Tam’s horrible warning.

Her throat felt raw by the time she’d finished. And Keefe…

Keefe was silent.

So was Sandor—though he was scanning the room like he expected Tam to jump out of the shadows any second.

Ro was doing the same, but she was muttering a whole lot of creative words under her breath.

And Keefe just kept sitting there.

Not talking.

Or moving.

Or blinking.

Sophie grabbed Mrs. Stinkbottom and scooted closer, placing the gulon in Keefe’s lap in a pose where the shiny eyes seemed to look right at him. She’d had Elwin buy Keefe the so-ugly-it’s-cute stuffed animal back when he was struggling with the possibility that his mom might’ve been killed in an ogre prison, hoping it would help Keefe feel a little less alone. And at the time, she’d thought there couldn’t be anything harder than having to figure out how to mourn a mother who’d proven to be so terrible.

But this was awful on a whole other level.

“I’m sorry,” she murmured, reaching for his hand.

Keefe watched her gloved fingers cover his palm, and for a second, he turned his hand and held on as tight as he could. Then he sighed and let go, scooting away from her. “I’m fine, Foster. We all knew this was coming.”

“We did?” Ro asked, beating Sophie to the question.

“Uh, yeah.” Keefe stood so fast that Mrs. Stinkbottom made a nosedive to the floor. “I keep failing my mom’s creepy tests, so it was only a matter of time before she realized I was never going to ‘fulfill my legacy’ or whatever. And once she figured that out, she’d have to get rid of me.”

“Why?” Sophie wondered.

That was the part that kept tripping her up.

Why was Keefe’s mom being so extreme—and why now, all of a sudden?

It wasn’t like Lady Gisela hadn’t had chances to take Keefe out during their last few confrontations. She’d had weapons aimed right at his head and never came close to pulling the trigger.

So what changed?

And why make Tam do it when she could give the job to someone reliably evil, like Vespera or Gethen?

Keefe tapped one of his temples. “Because if I’m not on her side—and never will be—then I’m a liability. I could piece together the memories she took from me, find what she’s hiding, and use that to beat her.”

“I guess,” Sophie mumbled, trying to figure out how to word the next part gently, since it had proven to be a sensitive subject. “But… she had those memories shattered instead of washed, so nothing can trigger them.”

And no matter what telepathy tricks Sophie and Fitz had tried, they hadn’t been able to recover enough shards to learn anything useful—and neither had Tiergan.

“That just proves the memories are important,” Keefe insisted, turning to pace and sending clothes and papers flying as he kicked them out of the way. “I think something happened in London—something big, otherwise she wouldn’t have gone to so much trouble to erase it. And I bet she told Bangs Boy to off me because I’m finally getting close to figuring out what it was.”

“You are?” Sophie asked, frowning when Keefe nodded. “Since when?”

He chewed his lip for a second, then stalked over to a dresser that was shoved haphazardly into a corner and yanked the bottom drawer open, pulling out wrinkled tunics and tossing them onto the floor.