I’ll do my best, she promised again.

Wylie let out a breath. Thank you. And… thanks for not pushing me to tell you what her ability is—and for not stealing that info out of my memories. I know you could find it in, like, two seconds if you wanted.

I could, Sophie agreed. But… you’ll tell me when you’re ready—or Maruca will. Either way, it’s not worth damaging your trust.

He turned back to look at her. That’s why you’re going to make a great leader—and I don’t just mean of this team. I had my doubts about Project Moonlark for a long time. I think you know that better than anyone. But… even with everything that happened to my dad, I can still tell… the Black Swan really got it right with you.

Sophie glanced away, hoping he couldn’t see the way tears were welling in her eyes, or how hard she had to blink to keep them from spilling down her cheeks.

Hearing those words from anyone was amazing—but from Wylie? After how much he’d hated her when she first got to the Lost Cities?

Thank you, she transmitted, wondering how her mental voice could sound choked when she wasn’t actually using her throat. That really means a lot.

Yeah, well… that’s why you’re Lady Fos-Boss.

He winked as he said it, and Sophie clung to the tease, letting it rein her emotions back until they were much less sappy.

That’s NOT what you guys are going to call me, she told him.

Wylie grinned. Keep telling yourself that.

“Uh, is there something you two wanna share with the rest of the team?” Stina asked, her voice jarringly loud after all the whispering and transmitting.

Sophie glanced down, surprised to see Stina’s hand wrapped around her wrist.

She had no idea when that happened.

She also had no idea when they’d stopped walking.

Or how long everyone—including all twelve Councillors—had been watching her and Wylie.

But she hoped her red spotlight camouflaged her flushed cheeks.

“Just a trust exercise,” Wylie said smoothly. “To make sure we can work together, since Sophie and I have a complicated history.”

The Council looked mostly satisfied with the explanation.

Dex and Biana, not so much.

And Stina tightened her grip on Sophie’s wrist.

“Is this where we’re taking our oaths?” Sophie asked, yanking her arm free and turning to survey where they were standing, which was basically a dark dead end. She could see nothing but the faint outline of solid diamond walls and one small silver door that looked more gnome-height than elf-height.

“This is how we reach the place where we’ll make our oaths,” Councillor Emery corrected, because nothing with the elves could ever be quick or simple.

The door slid silently open as he approached, brightening the dark hall with a rectangle of light that spilled from wherever they were heading. The doorway itself stretched several feet deep, so it was impossible to see the room they were about to enter.

Emery’s spotlight vanished when he reached the threshold, and he had to stoop and shuffle forward with strange, almost pigeonlike movements in order to pass through without conking his head—as did the rest of the Councillors when they followed one by one. They disappeared from sight after a few steps, but Sophie could hear their stumbling footfalls continue on, picking up a hollow tone once they’d entered the room beyond.

“I’m assuming there’s a reason you guys didn’t make the door taller?” Dex called after them, frowning at the abundance of untouched wall that could’ve easily been cut away to make the opening a normal size. “And a reason why the doorway’s so deep?”

“Yes” was all Emery shouted back.

Sophie shared a look with her friends before Stina shrugged and followed the Councillors—and the amount of bending and slouching she had to do was both hilarious and impressive. Wylie didn’t look nearly as graceful when it was his turn. Neither did Dex. But of course Biana found a way to saunter through the doorway like a celebrity on the red carpet. And Sophie was the clumsiest of them all—though, in her defense, her gown was also the poofiest, and the layers of tulle made the process a special kind of impossible.

The strange tunnel-like doorway turned out to have a second door on the other end, which slid shut as soon as Sophie passed through, leaving her no choice but to shove her way deeper into the crowded, tiny room. She bumped so many limbs along the way that she was sure she’d have a few bruises the next day. And her face ended up smashed into someone’s armpit.

She didn’t want to know whose.

Claustrophobia wasn’t something she usually wrestled with, but she couldn’t help staring at the low ceiling and curved diamond walls around her—which lacked any trace of windows or other doors—feeling like she’d just been locked inside a super-blinged-out, elf-size hamster ball, packed with sixteen other people.

The urge to shove everyone out of her way and pound on the only exit until someone let her out reared up hard—but she tamped it down, worming toward the edge of the group and pressing her back to the cool wall.

“This is the Paragon,” Emery explained. “You five are the only non-Councillors to ever set foot inside of it.”

“Lucky us,” Sophie mumbled, sucking in a slow breath and trying not to wonder how the room got any fresh air. She didn’t see any vents, or even any tiny gaps between the wall’s honeycomb-shaped diamond bricks.

And it did not help when Councillor Emery pointed to the golden key securing his cape and told them, “You won’t be able to return to the Paragon—or leave—without one of these.”

“I know it’s bit cramped,” Councillor Oralie added, her lovely eyes flashing with sympathy as they met Sophie’s. “But that’s only temporary.”

“How temporary?” Stina asked, sounding almost as miserable as Sophie felt.

“A matter of minutes,” Emery promised. “Brace yourselves.”

“For what?” Dex asked, but the Councillors were too busy bumping into each other as they struggled to reach their key-shaped cloak pins. Once their hands were in position, they each pressed their right index finger against the bit piece of the key, holding it there until a low rumble vibrated the floor.

“It’s best if you keep your eyes open for this next part,” Emery advised, drawing in a breath before he added, “Here we go.”

The Councillors pressed their keys once more, and the floor rumbled again—harder this time. And then…

… nothing.

Seconds ticked by—so many that Sophie became convinced they’d be stuck in there for all eternity, or until they ran out of air, whichever came first. And she was about to start clawing at the walls when the Paragon rattled hard enough to leave everyone wobbling.

Sophie had barely regained her balance when the room seemed to roll forward and bounce up at the same time, triggering gasps and yelps and a whole lot of squealing and flailing—but only from Sophie and her friends. The Councillors barely seemed to notice as the Paragon blasted up and up and up some more—faster, faster, faster. Her eyes watered and her ears popped and her stomach dropped into her toes—which, she was stunned to realize, were no longer touching the floor.

“Why are we weightless?” she asked, trying to wrap her brain around the strange physics of their situation. By all counts, gravity should be pushing down against their upward momentum, shouldn’t it?