“Yeah—it’ll make it worse,” Fitz muttered.

“Probably,” she agreed. “That’s why I already made them promise to add you to the team if I need you.”

“If you need me?” he repeated.

Sophie couldn’t tell if he was teasing or moping. Maybe a little of both.

And after all the ways she’d neglected him, she… owed Fitz a little reassurance. Even if Ro would forever torment her for it.

So she leaned a little closer, telling herself to be brave as she reached up and smoothed the crinkle between his eyebrows with the tip of her finger.

Pretty sure I’ll always need you, she transmitted.

“Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaand they’ve gone into full Fitzphie eye-staring mode—so that’s our cue!” Keefe announced, fumbling for his home crystal.

He hooked his arm around Ro’s, but she locked her knees. “Nope, I have one more question for Pretty Boy, first.”

Sophie and Keefe groaned.

Fitz crossed his arms and tilted his chin up. “Okay, hit me with it.”

Ro flashed all of her pointed teeth. “If Sophie can’t find out who her genetic parents are, does that change anything for you?”

He frowned. “Why wouldn’t she be able to?”

“Doesn’t matter,” Ro told him. “Just answer the question.”

“But… the question makes no sense!” Fitz argued. “It’s not like the information doesn’t exist. If we needed to, we could pull it right out of Forkle’s brain.” He glanced at Sophie. “Wait—should we just do that?”

“It’s plan Z,” Keefe told him.

“Huh. Any reason why it’s not plan A?” he asked.

“Because… it’s icky,” Sophie mumbled, “and I don’t want to be that kind of person unless I have no other choice. Especially for something like this.”

“ ‘Something like this,’ ” Fitz repeated slowly.

Sophie sighed, trying to figure out how to explain without making everything worse. “It’s just… I already thought matchmaking was unfair to certain people. And now I’ve turned out to be one of those people. And that seems like proof that I was right and the system’s seriously broken—not something I should use as an excuse to violate someone’s privacy.”

All Fitz had to say to that was, “Hmm.”

Ro elbowed Keefe. “Nothing you want to say, Hunkyhair?”

“Yep! Time to go!” He held his crystal up to the fading twilight, and Sophie wondered when it had gotten so dark outside—and how she hadn’t noticed.

Ro shook her head. “Fine. Be that way. But you still didn’t answer my question,” she reminded Fitz.

“Because it was a dumb question,” he argued.

“I figured you were going to say that,” Ro told him. “So I have a new question for you. And be careful. In fact, don’t answer until you’ve put some serious thought into it. There’s no wrong answer—but that doesn’t mean there isn’t one that’s right.”

Keefe sighed. “You have ten seconds until I tackle you.”

“Try it,” Ro told him, keeping her focus on Fitz. “Ready for your question?”

“I’m definitely not scared,” he countered.

“We’ll see.” She batted her eyelashes—but her smile was anything but sweet as she asked, “If Sophie decided she didn’t want to find out who her biological parents are—and didn’t want anyone else to look into it either—what would you say?”

Fitz frowned. “Why would she do that?”

Ro clicked her tongue. “I told you not to answer.”

“I didn’t.”

“If you say so.” She glanced at Keefe. “And since you’re still not going to say anything, I guess that’s the best I can do. For now.”

“What does that mean?” Fitz asked, but Ro had already dragged Keefe into the light. They were gone the next second, nothing but a shower of glitter—though Sophie could’ve sworn Keefe mouthed the word Sorry as he left.

Fitz blew out a breath, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Well… that was weird.”

Sophie nodded, trying to figure out how to fill the silence now that they were alone—or as alone as they could be next to a hallway filled with eavesdropping bodyguards.

But her brain couldn’t come up with anything useful.

She missed how much easier things used to be between them.

Comfortable.

Friendly.

This dating thing was so much more complicated than she’d realized—if they even were dating.

And it got a whole lot worse when Fitz asked, “So… would you?”

“Would I what?”

“You know… do what Ro was asking. Decide you don’t want anyone to find out who your biological parents are.”

“Oh.”

She dropped her gaze to her hands, knowing this was another one of those questions where there was definitely a right answer.

But she couldn’t make herself say those words.

So she gave Fitz the same answer he’d given Ro. “Why would I do that?”

And Fitz looked relieved. “Exactly.”

THIRTEEN

I THINK I’M GOING TO CALL you the Droolmonster from now on,” Stina announced, and Sophie’s head snapped up so fast, she slammed the back of it against the braided bark of Calla’s Panakes tree.

She reached for her chin, sighing when she discovered that it was a little slobbery.

And the smirks on Dex’s, Wylie’s, Biana’s, and Stina’s faces made her wonder if she’d also been snoring.

She wiped the drool away with the side of her sleeve and scowled at Bo, Sandor, and Flori, who were patrolling the nearby pastures along with Lovise and Woltzer. Clearly her bodyguards had no interest in protecting her from humiliation.

The last thing she remembered was petting Wynn and Luna in the shade, waiting for the rest of her team to arrive for their first planning session. But the alicorn twins seemed to have abandoned her. And if the crick in her neck was any indication, she’d been conked out for a while.

“Couldn’t sleep last night?” Biana asked as Sophie rubbed the back of her head, finding the tender spot where she’d bonked it on the tree.

“Not really,” Sophie admitted.

No matter what images Silveny had tried sending—soaring through starry skies, galloping across pristine beaches, grazing in quiet meadows—Bronte always crept into the dream, lecturing her or scowling at her or threatening to exile her. And when he’d held out his arms and asked, “Who needs a hug?” she’d decided she was never sleeping again.

But then she’d gone outside to brainstorm for the first meeting of Team Valiant, and Wynn and Luna had been all snuggly, and the air had been filled with a soft, whispering breeze that felt like Calla was singing to her through the swaying leaves, and the day was warm and quiet, and the grass was soft and squishy, and… now she would probably forever be the Droolmonster.

But there were worse nicknames.

And thankfully, she didn’t remember dreaming at all—score one for Panakes-napping!