The day is well gone, but the stars are having a grand game of peek-a-boo, hiding behind the clouds to reappear moments later. Brody and I are lying on the ground, long periods of silence passing between us as we watch the sky show.

“How are you feeling now?” I want to touch him, but every time my hand gets close, the electrical charge he’s emitting is too intense for me to connect in a personal way.

“Awesome,” he states sourly.

“Are you mad at me?”

“Why would I be mad at you?”

I sigh. “Because you can’t shapeshift anymore.”

He lost more than he bargained for when his connection to the Tribunal was severed. Cutting the ties was only supposed to disconnect him from forced loyalties. I didn’t mean to alter his Sumair status entirely. Regrets? Yep. Loads.

“I’m mad at myself,” he admits.

“Why?”

“For shocking you.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” I hiss.

“I can’t be that ridiculous for thinking it.” His chin tips toward the house, pointing out our still-attentive audience. “You should be doing what they’re doing.”

“What? Being creepy peepers? Hard pass.”

He chuckles, a deep rumbling sound coming from his chest. It makes me smile.

“You’re not scared of me,” I remind him.

“Scared for you.” He cracks his knuckles. “I’ll get used to it.”

“So will they,” I assure him.

“An average cloud weighs the same as a hundred elephants.”

“That’s heavy.”

He grins wide. “I’m full of useful information.”

“You’re full of something.”

He closes his eyes and inhales deeply. “Do you see it when you close your eyes?”

“See what?” I roll on my side to face him. “I can’t see anything but clouds and stars.”

“Feel where they are,” he persists. “See it with your imagination.”

I scoff. “You can’t feel clouds.”

“I feel them. I couldn’t before. Each cloud has its own vibration.”

I lie back down and try to feel what he’s feeling. I read nothing but the unnecessary concern of my window watchers.

“I feel each one, where they are and where they’re going. Is that how it is for you? With people?”

“Nothing so navigational for me. I just get a sense of what they’re feeling.”

“Close your eyes,” he suggests. “Feel the people around you to navigate their position.”

“Now you’re just being ridiculous. I can’t do that. Maybe you short-circuited something important in your brain.”

“Just try.”

I groan dramatically and close my eyes.

“Where’s Derry?”

“You know where Derry is. He’s at the window.”

“How can you tell?”

“Deductive reasoning. I just saw him there.”

“How’s he feeling?”

“Irritated...anxious...”

“How can you tell?” he repeats.

“Deductive reasoning.”

“Fair enough,” he agrees. “Where’s Tally?”

Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

My eyes dart to the window.

“No cheating,” he chastises.

I groan again but keep my eyes closed. Where’s Tally? No idea. I didn’t pay much attention to whether she was at the window or not. Perhaps not. Hmm. Where might she be? She might be on the couch. She might be in the kitchen. Huh.

“Someone’s in the kitchen.”

“Who?”

“How should I know?” He’s starting to annoy me.

“If you focus on the kitchen, what feelings do you feel?”

“You can’t feel feelings from a kitchen, Brody.”

“When you focus on the kitchen, what comes to mind?”

“Charcoal.”

“Do you always have to be so difficult?”

“Yes.” I nod emphatically. “Always.”

Barry’s probably in the kitchen. I haven’t eaten much today, and he’ll be working on something to force-feed me. Only, it doesn’t feel like Barry’s in the kitchen. It feels like Ryan’s in the kitchen. There’s a warm swell in my chest.

“I think Ryan’s in the kitchen.”

“How can you tell?”

“I’m just guessing.”

“You guessed right,” he advises.

“That doesn’t prove anything.” I snort derisively. “It was a logical assumption.”

“What if it wasn’t an assumption? What if you could locate him based on the familiarity of his feelings?”

“It means we’re deeply connected.”

“Where’s Tally?”

Most likely, she’s in her bedroom with Barry. Imagining the red pillow, a shot of affection streams through me. Emotional warmth from Tally is atypical but not impossible. When I explore the feeling further, the warmth progresses to a full-blown flame, pinking my cheeks. I’m immediately embarrassed.

“She’s in her bedroom,” I whisper. Brody laughs while I fan my cheeks. “Apparently, I’m the creepy peeper now.”

Brody laughs harder. It’s fantastic to hear the sound again.

“You’re connected to them,” he says softly. “Yes, more deeply than you realized.”

“Not cool.”

Despite people being entitled to their privacy, I’m perpetually invading it. In that regard, I empathize with Derry and his push to disconnect himself from his Sumair telepathic ability. He’s been paying the thought invasion fee for far too long. I can’t fault him for wanting to unload that costly burden.

Besides, don’t I want the same thing? For someone to strip me of my powers? Someone offered to do that. Fire Supreme. He agreed to take them after I transition, but instead of following our agreement, I crapped all over it by freeing Barry without ever fulfilling my end of the bargain. Okay, agreement is a bit of a stretch. It was an ultimatum. Plain and simple. If I’d trusted him, things would’ve gone a different way. I didn’t, of course. Still don’t. How do you trust someone you can’t read? Not easily, that’s for sure. The only person who might give me credible insight into his character has amnesia.

“Being connected to them is a good thing,” Brody informs me, commandeering my wayward thoughts. “You’ll know where they are and when they need to be found.”

“Could be a range restriction,” I dismiss him.

“Could be, but the range will increase the more familiar you become with their feelings.”

“So much heavy,” I complain.

“Elephant heavy.”

“No more playing. Seems I’m not a little girl anymore.”

“You’re right.” His face contorts strangely. “Except you were never a little girl. Not really.”

“You would know. Don’t they have some book up there telling everything about everyone?”

“I’m more of a movie man.”

“They do have books like that, right?”

“Yes.”

“You haven’t read them?”

“There isn’t a library, Sheyla.” He places his hands under his head and looks back up at the sky. “That’s not how it works.”

“How does it work?”

“You ask a lot of questions.”

“You skirt a lot of questions.”

Brody doesn’t like Tribunal talk. He isn’t purposely withholding. He’s just uncomfortable discussing it. I’d hoped freeing him from his obligations to the Sinsear Sentry would open the path for exploratory conversation. No such luck.

The Sinsear Tribunal is broken up into factions. The Sentry, which Brody was part of, is driven by the earth element. Prior to going off-leash, he was a Scout. The air elementals have the Scholars: Writers, Readers, and Archives. In essence, they’re a Solathair library. The Writers write the stories of all Solathairs. Presumably Sumairs, too, by association.

“You have a giant Sheelin library, but you don’t use it?”

“Had.”

“Sorry.” I chew at my lip. “I’m sorry I took you away.”

“You didn’t take me away.” His eye trains on my lip. “You freed me.”

He reaches over to touch my shoulder, but I dodge. His frown feeds my guilt. He wouldn’t intentionally hurt me, but it took a monster effort on Ryan’s part to heal me from the last contact.

“Sorry.”

“Quit apologizing!”

“Sorry for being sorry.”

“Anyway,” he clips dramatically, redirecting yet again. “I didn’t care for the library.”

“Too busy training physically to exercise your mind?”

He shakes his head. “No, it isn’t technically a library. I mean, there are scrolls and notebooks, but the pages are blank to anyone but the Readers.”

“Right.” I click my tongue. “The pages are blank until the thing being written actually happens, or it’s critical enough they get a preview.”

“Exactly.”

“That’s why you came here initially? That’s why you thought I was in danger? My pages stayed blank?”

“Yes, Barry blocked everything with his earth shield.”

“The Readers can tell us about our powers, too.”

“I haven’t met a Reader. I’ve only ever met an Archive. The Readers talk to the Archives, who talk to us. They can withhold or share whatever secrets they want.”

“So, they can lie? An Archive would relay a lie as truth?”

“Yes.”

“Have they ever lied to you?”

“No way to confirm.”

“How many of them are there?”

“It varies. It’s constantly changing.”

“Why?”

“It’s a tough position. We lose some to boredom, some to madness, and some are recycled. Shooting the messenger is a real problem.”

“Where do they go?”

His eyes widen. “Away...”

“You’ve never met a Writer?”

“No need to,” he reports.

“What about those handy perma-brands? Someone must’ve met a Writer.”

“When you transition—” I glower, so he backpedals. “When a Solathair transitions, there’s a ceremony.”

“The Keanes didn’t mention this ceremony to me,” I hiss.

He lifts a brow. “Did you ever ask?”

“No.”

“There’s a decent chance they don’t remember it. Asteria manipulates memories.”

“Is she the reason Mom can’t remember anything?”

“Maybe.”

“Well, how can we find out?”

I don’t necessarily want to handle the Tribunal directly since they’re the reason we’re camping out in our makeshift fortress, but if they can help my mother, renegotiation is a worthwhile consideration.

“Don’t even think about it.”

Oh, I’m thinking about it. Absolutely.