But every promise sounded so empty. So she went with the same assurance that Linh had said when she first found out that Tam had left with the Neverseen.

“Tam can take care of himself.”

“I hope so,” Linh whispered as she let the light carry her and Bo away.

Marella and Maruca left soon after—though not before Maruca made it clear that she would be talking to the Collective about joining the order. And Sophie didn’t try to stop her.

If Tam’s warning had proven anything, it was that they needed all the protection they could get.

Though it wasn’t nightmares about cloaked figures coming for Linh—or coming for any of Sophie’s friends—that had Sophie building another makeshift bed under Calla’s Panakes that night.

It was Tam’s voice, replaying in her head.

Shouting over and over, I LIKE IT HERE. I’M EVEN MAKING FRIENDS.

* * *

“We need to have a serious discussion about your leadership skills, Miss Foster,” Bronte’s sharp voice barked the next morning, jolting Sophie out of the dazed, half-sleepy state she’d been lingering in since sunrise. “And perhaps also about your strange choices for sleeping location.”

Some part of her brain had been telling her that she needed to get up and get ready for a big day of super-important stuff.

The other part had decided that all of that stuff could wait a tiny bit longer.

And then a tiny bit longer after that.

And a little more after that.

As if she’d found some sort of strange mental snooze button—which she was happy to keep hitting as long as it let her stay surrounded by baby alicorns and Calla’s soothing songs instead of having to face reality.

And now her entire brain was telling her that the best solution to her current situation was to pull her blankets over her head and wait for Bronte to go away.

The only problem was… Bronte was right.

Part of the stuff she had to do that day was the rather important task of going to Loamnore with Grady and the rest of Team Valiant to meet with King Enki and examine the dwarves’ security. And she’d planned to check in with Dex, Biana, Wylie, and Stina the day before, to make sure they were ready.

But then there was the chaos with Wynn and Luna and the gorgodon—and Maruca, Marella, and Linh showed up with their risky plan, and there was all the drama with Tam and…

It totally slipped her mind.

She also still hadn’t followed up with Wylie and Stina about their meeting with Lady Zillah—despite her vow not to get sidetracked from that again.

And she couldn’t even argue that they should’ve reached out to her when they didn’t hear from her, because she’d ignored a bunch of hails after her standoff with Mr. Forkle, and there was a good chance that some of those had been from her teammates.

She was also pretty sure that she hadn’t actually given Dex an assignment to work on.

And Biana…

Sophie stopped breathing when she realized who Biana had been trying to arrange a meeting with—and why.

The same person who barked again. “Miss Foster, I know you’re awake.”

Sophie held extra still, wondering if there was any way to trick her mind into playing possum for her. Lapsing into a vegetative state for a few hours seemed like the only viable option at that point.

Until another voice said, “Maybe we should let her rest a little longer,” and Sophie’s eyes popped open—as if her brain had decided, You can ignore the grumpy Councillor, but not the nice one.

And Oralie did reward her with a warm, reassuring smile.

But then Sophie’s gaze followed the movement in her periphery, and before she could stop herself, she was focused on Councillor Bronte.

And there was something extra unsettling about his stare.

A wariness in his expression that she’d never seen before. Mixed with…

Was it pity?

Maybe even a dash of curiosity?

All of which swirled together into a nauseating reality.

He knows.

Biana must’ve followed through with her plan to confront him about being Sophie’s biological father—and if Sophie’d had any doubt, the fact that Bronte broke eye contact first definitely settled it.

But he cleared his throat, ever the steady taskmaster, and asked her, “Do you need us to explain why we’re less than satisfied with your leadership skills?”

“Satisfaction has nothing to do with it,” Oralie corrected. “We understand that it’s going to take some time for you to fully adjust to your new responsibilities, and we simply want you to know that we’re here to help you organize and prioritize. I think it might be wise for us to come up with a schedule of things for you to do every morning and every evening until they begin to feel like a habit. For instance…”

Sophie tried to listen as Oralie listed off what were surely lots of helpful leadership suggestions.

But her brain was too stuck on other, much more selfish questions like, Was Bronte, or wasn’t he?

And, Did she even want to know?

Mr. Forkle had already claimed Bronte wasn’t, but… that didn’t necessarily make it true.

“Sophie?” Oralie asked, and Sophie blinked back to proper focus, realizing that hadn’t been the first time Oralie had called her name.

“Are you okay?” Oralie asked, reaching for Sophie’s forehead like she was checking for a fever. “Should we hail Elwin?”

Sophie shook her head and forced herself to sit up—which turned out to be a mistake. An overwhelming head rush blacked out the world, and she would’ve collapsed back onto her pillow if Oralie hadn’t grabbed her shoulders.

“You’re sure you don’t want me to call for Elwin?” Oralie checked. “Or at least for your parents?”

Sophie cringed at the last word.

And Oralie frowned, tracing her fingers down Sophie’s arms—which made Sophie realize two things.

One: She was still in her jammies, which had both ruffled shorts and hopping jackalopes on the tank top.…

And two: Oralie was reading her emotions.

“You feel very… strange,” Oralie said softly, closing her eyes and tilting her head. “The worry, I understand—though you’re not in any trouble, despite what Bronte may wish you to believe. But there’s such reluctance, and dread, and—”

Sophie pulled her arms away before Oralie could add anything else to that list of feelings.

“I’m fine,” she promised, relieved to have her voice working. “I’m just…”

She needed an end to that sentence.

But her brain had run out of useful words.

Bronte sighed and stalked to the edge of the Panakes, brushing aside the curtain of weeping willow–esque branches to gaze out at the pastures. “Should I assume this means you haven’t followed up with young Miss Vacker since she spoke with me?”

Sophie managed a nod.

Bronte shook his head. “Wonderful, so I’m going to have to endure this conversation a second time.”

“What conversation?” Oralie asked.

Don’t say it, Sophie mentally begged.

She may have even transmitted the plea.

But if she did, Bronte ignored her—and it turned into one of those surreal moments where everything seemed to switch to slow motion as he turned back around to face her.