“The enhancing is only a theory,” Mr. Forkle reminded her. “And neither ability is broken.”

“Right. They just don’t do what they’re supposed to do,” Sophie argued as a dark laugh bubbled out of her chest. She turned back to her sister. “Remember Dad’s blue car? The one that was in the shop so much, he called it his Lemonmobile? That’s… me. Everyone loves to tease me about how often I end up in the Healing Center—and some of that is the Neverseen’s doing. But I swear the rest comes from the fact that I’m basically defective.”

“No, you’re not!” Mr. Forkle snapped, stalking closer with such intensity that Sophie shrank back, leaning on her sister. “I understand your frustrations, Miss Foster. And I’m not going to tell you how to feel. But I hope you also remember at least some of the incredible things that you—and only you—are able to do, as well as the tremendous things you’ve accomplished because of those powers. I realize it’s not easy being one of a kind. I also understand how natural it is to fixate on the negative, particularly in a moment like this, when you’re facing another complication. And I won’t deny that we’ve run into unexpected challenges. But none of that makes you defective. You… are my greatest success.” He stepped closer, reaching for her hands. “Never lose sight of how special you are, Sophie. You’re unique in a way that no one else ever can or will be—and only part of that comes from our experiments, by the way. The rest comes from you. From the bright, brave, brilliant girl you naturally are. And I hope you know that as far as all of us involved with your creation are concerned, you exceed our expectations every single day.”

The words were some of the most wonderful things that anyone had ever said to Sophie.

But for some reason, they only threw kindling on her anger.

Maybe she was tired and frustrated and sick of being manipulated.

Or maybe she just needed answers.

Either way, she finally snapped back with the question she’d been avoiding. “Does that include Councillor Bronte?”

Mr. Forkle frowned. “What do you mean?”

“The people involved with my creation,” Sophie clarified. “That includes Bronte, right?”

“Why would it?” Mr. Forkle asked.

Sophie rolled her eyes. “You’re really going to make me say it?” When he stayed silent, she sat up straighter, holding his stare as she said, “Fine. I know Bronte has to be my biological father.”

Amy sucked in a breath. “He’s the pointy-eared guy we rode the alicorns with, right? The one who let me keep my memories?”

Sophie nodded, not taking her eyes off Mr. Forkle, whose expression was as inscrutable as ever.

“Well?” she prompted. “Anything you have to say to that?”

He cleared his throat. “I suppose I should’ve realized you’d jump to that conclusion, given the rarity of his ability. And I won’t deny that I studied his DNA as I developed the tweaks I made to your inflicting. But that’s the full extent of his involvement in Project Moonlark—and he has no idea he was even a source of inspiration. I gathered the sample of his DNA without his permission and conducted all of my research without his knowledge.”

“And I’m just supposed to believe that?” Sophie argued.

“I would hope so, since it’s the truth.” He looked away, shaking his head. “You’ve also met Bronte—and seen how he treated you and our order. Can you honestly see him agreeing to be a part of Project Moonlark?”

“I don’t know—that could’ve been his way of trying to cover up his involvement,” Sophie countered.

Mr. Forkle sighed and reached up to rub his temples. “It wasn’t. And I’m only going to say this one more time, Miss Foster: Councillor Bronte is not your biological father. So I need you to put that thought out of your mind—and call off any investigations you and your friends might be making into it—before you start rumors that could cause a nightmare of drama and headaches.”

“If you don’t want us investigating, you should tell me who my genetic parents are,” Sophie told him. “That’s the only way it stops.”

“I’ve told you—I can’t do that.”

“Why not?” Amy asked when Sophie didn’t bother.

“I can’t tell you that, either,” Mr. Forkle said, and Sophie mouthed his answer along with him, nailing the words and his inflection. “I can’t,” he added, when he noticed Sophie’s mimicry.

“Maybe not,” Sophie said quietly. “But I can’t let it go, either. And… I can’t trust someone who’s hiding things from me.”

“I’m hiding them for good reason,” Mr. Forkle assured her.

“Even if that’s true,” Sophie told him, “you’re also asking me to trust you with my life—again. Asking me to swallow something I’m deathly allergic to and trust that whatever remedy you give me—using another huge needle, by the way—will stop the reaction before I die. I’m supposed to do all of that, and you won’t even trust me enough to tell me a simple truth about my life that I deserve to know.”

Mr. Forkle turned away, pacing across the room.

“Is that what this is, then?” he asked, his voice ominously low. “ ‘Tell me who my biological parents are or I won’t let you reset my inflicting’?”

Sophie hadn’t realized it was until he spelled it out that way.

“Yes,” she said quietly.

“That is… unfortunate,” he gritted out as he paced back the other way.

“It is,” Sophie agreed, refusing to worry that she was being stubborn or selfish.

She’d taken every single risk the Black Swan had ever asked of her—plus dozens more.

And they repaid her by hiding the one secret she’d ever demanded in return.

Silence followed—nothing but Mr. Forkle’s shuffling steps and Sophie’s pounding heart for thirty-seven breathless beats.

Then he told her, “Well then, if that’s your decision, I guess we’re done here.”

Sophie nodded, proud of her legs for not shaking as she pulled out her home crystal and stood to face him. As Sandor moved to her side, she transmitted a promise to Amy that she’d hail her later.

“I guess we are done,” Sophie told Mr. Forkle, holding his gaze as she raised her crystal to the light.

And she didn’t hesitate when she leaped away.

EIGHTEEN

SOOOOOOOO… THESE ARE DISAPPOINTING.” Keefe took a second bite from a round Digestive biscuit and crinkled his nose. “Are they supposed to suck up all the spit in your mouth and turn it into a paste? Is that, like, something humans find delicious?”

“Maybe you’re supposed to dunk them in milk?” Sophie suggested, trying not to spray crumbs as she struggled to swallow the bite she’d taken. They really did win the prize for Driest. Cookies. Ever. “Actually, I think you’re supposed to eat them with tea.”

“You think?” Keefe asked, shaking his head and stuffing the rest of the Digestive into his mouth. “You’re failing me with your human knowledge, Foster.”