“How can you say that?”

“Well…” He dragged his free hand down his face. “For one thing… Bronte’s not a murderer. Or part of the Neverseen—and I’m not saying that to compare your life to mine—”

“I know,” Sophie assured him, squeezing his hand as tightly as she clung to the reminder.

Some of Bronte’s behavior over the last few years had strayed pretty close to “villain territory.”

But he wasn’t a villain.

In fact, if he really had been part of Project Moonlark, that technically made him even more solidly one of the good guys.

Plus, she’d already known that she was going to hate the people who’d donated their DNA to the Black Swan and then abandoned her—especially if they’d been lying to her ever since she’d gotten to the Lost Cities.

But… maybe that was why this revelation stung like lemon juice in an open wound.

She’d actually been starting to like Bronte as a person—starting to trust him as an ally. She’d even been glad that he was one of her points of contact on the Council.

And now?

“How am I supposed to work with him?” she whispered, trying to focus on the most important question—because this was so much bigger than her personal drama.

She’d become a Regent to be able to tackle the problems with Tam, the dwarves, and the Neverseen—and if this got in the way…

“Bronte can’t know that I know,” she realized.

“Why?” Keefe wondered. “Isn’t that why we were doing this?”

She pulled her hand free and scooted back as far as she could, trying to save Keefe from the nausea clawing up her throat. “It was, but… I didn’t really have a plan for what I’d do if we actually found either of my genetic parents—and I never thought we’d learn something like this. It’s like you said: If anyone finds out Bronte’s my biological father, it would turn our world upside down. He’d have to resign as a Councillor. And there’d have to be another election—right when the Neverseen are trying so hard to destroy the Council’s authority. And all of that will take up time we should be using to figure out how to protect Loamnore or how to get Tam away from your mom. That’s why Mr. Forkle wanted me to let this go—and why Bronte did too. If I don’t, it’s going to make an enormous mess of everything.”

“Okaaaaaaay,” Keefe said, dragging out the word. “But if you never tell anyone…”

He stopped before the part she was trying so hard not to think about. But they both knew what he wasn’t saying.

If she never told anyone who her biological father was… she’d be unmatchable forever.

“I know,” she whispered. “But… what can I do?”

Keefe had no answer.

And she hated the Black Swan so much in that moment—more than she’d ever hated them before. There was no way they didn’t know what would happen if they used a Councillor for Project Moonlark. And clearly they didn’t care. Giving her a chance at a normal, happy life didn’t matter, as long as she was able to inflict pain on people—an ability that didn’t even work very well.

The Neverseen had special headpieces to block her, and her lack of control always took out more good guys than bad guys.

A tiny, rational part of her knew that her inflicting was also the only reason Alden was awake and functioning—and Prentice, too. But her anger at the moment was so much stronger.

“Hey,” Keefe said, reaching out like he was going to hug her—then stopping at the last second and patting her awkwardly on the shoulder. “It doesn’t matter, okay? Like I said yesterday, no one’s going to care about your matchmaking status—or no one who matters, anyway. And now you even have the Council promising to back you up if there’s any drama.”

“Yeah, because Bronte wants to keep his job,” she grumbled. “And he’s clearly hoping I’ll make it easy on everyone and just stay single forever—like him. Ugh, that’s probably why he thinks it’s no big deal to expect that!”

Same with Mr. Forkle, actually.

She punched one of her pillows, but it wasn’t nearly satisfying enough. She needed something more destructive, so she twisted and tugged and clawed at the silky fabric, hoping for a dramatic rip and a spray of feathers.

But pillows were a whole lot tougher than she realized they could be.

Keefe gave her another reassuring shoulder pat—but when she flung the pillow aside and buried her face in her hands, she heard him growl something that sounded like “screw it.” Then his arms wrapped around her and she sank into the hug, not realizing she was crying until she felt her tears soak into his tunic.

“All right, Foster,” he murmured into her hair. “I think we’re getting way ahead of ourselves here. So let’s back it up and try to focus on the facts for a second, okay?” He waited for her to nod against his shoulder before he said, “Okay, fact number one: We have absolutely no idea if Bronte is actually your biological father. I mean, yeah, it’s a solid theory. But it definitely could be wrong—just like you were wrong about Forkle, Kenric, and Jolie. So try to let go of all those nightmare scenarios I’m sure you’re imagining right now—at least until we have actual proof. Which brings me to fact number two: We need to prove whether or not this is true. And thankfully, it shouldn’t be hard to do. We just need to get you, me, and Bronte in a room. Then I’ll grab his hands while you ask if he’s your father—and boom. My mad Empath skills will get you your answer.”

“But… then he’ll know I know,” Sophie reminded him. “And if he is my father—”

“Then at least you guys will understand each other,” he supplied for her. “And let’s face it—it’s not like you’re going to be able to hide this. Every time you look at him, you’ll be a puddle of panic and rage. It’s better to get it out there, find out the truth, and then figure out where you go from there.”

Sophie sighed. “I guess you’re right.”

“Of course I am—how many times do I have to tell you I’m a genius before you start believing me?” He laughed, and Sophie could feel the soft vibration where her cheek was pressed against his chest. “Anyway, back to my brilliant facts—and moving on to number three! Once you confront Bronte—”

“Hopefully in a super-dramatic way,” Ro cut in, making Sophie and Keefe both jump so hard that Sophie’s forehead crashed into Keefe’s chin.

“Forgot you weren’t alone?” Ro asked, raising her eyebrows as Keefe pulled away from the hug.

Sophie totally had.

And Ro wasn’t the only eavesdropper she should’ve been thinking about.

“Whatever you’ve heard,” she called to Sandor and Bo, and maybe Flori, if she was back from her patrols, “it’s—”

“Not to be repeated,” Sandor finished for her, leaning his head through the doorway. “Yes, I know. Have I ever given you any reason to doubt my respect for your privacy?”

“No. But this is way bigger than anything I’ve asked you to keep secret before,” she felt the need to point out.