I sit in the cottage living room, tapping my foot impatiently on the floor. Brody arrives in under ten minutes to rescue me, but my rescue is conditional. He’s busy dealing with a situation, so he doesn’t have time to babysit me. Molly gets the job. She’s thinking the same thing I am.

Can we end this thing before Brody realizes what’s going on? Superego cheers. You, me, and Molly makes three. Three’s the charm.

I hear a long, pained whine from the bedroom, where Brody and Phelan disappeared. They’re trying to keep Connor comfortable. He’s running low on energy and can only recharge that back in Sheelin, which apparently is their headquarters. I honestly don’t know if he’s even capable of making the journey at this point, however far away it is. He’s in a really bad way. From what they’ve said, it doesn’t usually get so bad so fast. Their admission isn’t a hopeful sign.

Guilt washes through me. Connor’s suffering because of his obligation to protect me. Why can’t anyone see how absolutely pointless protecting me is? What’s so special about me that the Tribunal will allow this many sacrifices to keep me alive?

“Will they let me help him?”

Molly guffaws, releasing a healthy dose of her Pine and Ginger scent. “As if you could legitimately help him.”

“I can relax him.”

She pauses for a moment, seriously considering it. “No, I don’t want you anywhere near him. He’s not in a controllable state. If something happened to you—”

“You could finally go home,” I cut her off.

She glares daggers. “If you think they’d let me split after allowing you to sacrifice yourself, you’re a lot more stupid than you look.”

She’s not wrong, Superego informs me. You’re a hot mess.

My hair is a disaster, and my makeup is smeared in unnatural ways after my cry session. I probably do look stupid.

The open floor plan means the kitchen is barely ten steps away, so I do my best to at least freshen up slightly. If I can somehow talk my way into that room, the last thing I want is to freak Connor out from the sight of me. I need to get in there. I can help. At the very least, I can ease his pain. Up to now, getting them to let me try has been misfire after misfire.

When he lets out a window-rattling roar, I wince.

What if my mother is feeling every bit of what he’s experiencing? No, she doesn’t physically react to the stimuli, but what if that’s why she can’t fight her way out of the coma? What kind of gift does she possess protecting her from the withdrawal symptoms being displayed behind that wooden door?

“You use the earth element. Your specialization is fauna.”

She rolls her eyes. “Yeah, you’re a regular rocket scientist.”

“Another fauna user converted you, right? That doesn’t happen by chance. That’s calculated. All the Scouts display the same specialization. Tally’s power is flora. She can grow living things or manipulate organic things.”

She looks annoyed…or bored. Maybe both. She’s not an enthusiastic sounding board. Noted.

“You all ended up as land-walkers, despite their hopes to recondition some of you into the sky-walker and water-glider roles.”

She yawns, shoving herself further into the couch while still not looking at me.

I pace back and forth in the small living room. “Whoever converts you dictates the powers you have and will display. Whoever converts you controls what you become.

“If I converted my mom when I was born, and my power is fire, her power would be fire, too. I deal in emotions. What if she isn’t feeling anything? What if, where I can stop emotions, she doesn’t have any? Maybe she isn’t suffering.”

Or perhaps, along with burning out her pain receptacles, you burned out all her brain cells, Superego adds unhelpfully.

“Before you come to a startling revelation that’s wrong, hold your horses.”

I stop pacing.

“The element is transferred, yes, but the specialization isn’t relative.”

“You’re all fauna.”

“We were chosen since we’d be fauna. It’s more than even that.”

“How so?”

“We have to be fauna, and we have to be able to shapeshift.”

“Is that genetic? Like you and Connor have the same thing due to a blood bond?”

“The Sentry leader can direct earth energy to a degree if the right conditions are met.”

“Who chose you? How could they know?”

“Brody explained the Tribunal to you.” She sits upright on the couch. “We share stuff in briefings, whether we want to or not.” I’m aware our conversations aren’t private. It doesn’t bother me. She wipes at her tired eyes, the black circles of exhaustion prevalent. “The Writers write us.”

“Meanwhile, the Readers can supposedly tell powers, and the Writers write the history, but that’s where I’m getting confused. A historian would only see things from the past. How does that tell who’d specialize in fauna or be able to shapeshift?”

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“The Writers write everything,” she clarifies. “They cover the beginning to the end.”

“So, the Tribunal knows everything about everyone?” I doubt that. “Even the future?”

“Did Brody mention the Writers are blind?”

“How do they write? Brail?”

“What they put in the scrolls is blank until it either happens or something is read by the Readers.”

“Then recorded and relayed by the Archives.” I’m finally catching on.

“Yep.”

“That’s how you knew about me.”

“Bullseye.”

My eyes widen hopefully. “Could they tell me about my mother?”

“Once you transition, you can consult the Archives. They’ll provide you information about your mom,” she offers. “You’ll have to see them, regardless.”

“Why?”

“You’ll need to be branded.” She grins evilly. “It’s painful.”

“Like the marks on Declan and Tally’s palms?”

“Yes.” There’s another loud round of roaring from the bedroom, and she grimaces. “The emblems only light up the first time. It’s a warning signal.”

“Do you get branded, too?”

“We don’t have to. The brand guarantees a food source for us, not vice versa. It’s a wound that doesn’t properly heal, ensuring their light is exposed to us.”

“They don’t glow around you anymore.”

“They cut the ties.” She makes a snipping motion. “We can’t feed from them now unless they reform the connection. Tally’s the only one we could augment from. Did you notice the link to her was stronger? Earth to earth. That’s why.”

“So, the Tribunal knows every Solathair that exists and will exist, along with every Sumair created.”

“Pretty much.”

“Do they keep tabs on them?”

“Pretty much all of them.”

“Pretty much?”

She narrows her eyes. “We’ve lost track of a few. This was before I was converted. There’s one earth elemental that ended up creating someone unreadable.”

“Like a blocker?”

“Exactly.” She rubs her temples when Connor roars again. “That problem was rectified.”

I shudder at the thought of their rectifying tactics. “What did you do with the Sumair they created?”

She shrugs. “Couldn’t find them.”

“Did you lose anyone else?” My pacing resumes. “Could the remaining Sumair mask others as well as themselves? Did you lose anyone else around the same time?”

“We lose them all the time.” Her nonchalance is disturbing. “This isn’t an easy-to-survive existence.”

When Connor lets out a shrill howl, she stands from the couch. “I should go check on him.”

I pause in my tracks. “I can help him.”

“I don’t understand what makes you so special, Sheyla, but if it’s all the same to you, I don’t feel like testing your capacity on my brother. He’s all I have left.”

She’s right. I do want to test something out on Connor, and it isn’t a morally sound desire. Bearing in mind the wails originating from behind the door, I don’t see what harm it could do to try. If I can’t ease his pain, can’t snatch even a fraction of the intense craving he’s experiencing, maybe I can give him enough energy to appease it.

If it works, I could do the same thing with my mother. If she’s in there, anywhere, it could help her find a way out. Convincing Molly to let me try might be my only hope before Dad hands in the execution papers.

“He’s asking for her,” Brody says from the doorway. “Begging for her, actually.”

“No way.” She sets her jaw, determined. “Phelan will back me up.”

Phelan appears from behind Brody. “Do you trust me, Molly?”

“Yes.” She looks at the ground, avoiding eye contact.

“We need to let her try,” Brody reassures her. “It’s different this time.”

She sighs. “It’s been worse every time.”

“There are three of us,” Phelan persists. “We can stop it if we have to.”

“I have my shut-off switch.”

“This is a bad idea.” She’s coming around.

“There’s a reason we were tasked with protecting her,” Phelan throws in. “This could be it.”

“Your head thinks too big,” she snaps at him. “She’s the only one in transition. That’s why we’re here.”

“They didn’t give you more details?”

“No, Tally was right. We’re their little lap dogs, and loyal pets don’t question their directives.”

Phelan’s voice comes in a deadly baritone command. “Enough.”

She winces, lowering her head.

“Please, Molly?” It’s obviously no longer her decision, but I want her consent before continuing. I don’t want her to have another reason to chomp me unless I invite her to dinner.

“Alright.” While she won’t thank me, I feel her appreciation for my seeking acceptance from her. “You were right, Brody. The girl is like a walking vacuum. It’s impossible to keep things from her.”

If the screams were ear-splitting, the sight of Connor is heart-shattering. He’s curled into a tight ball, rocking back and forth on the bed. His convulsing body is coated in sweat. He isn’t the monster Tally described. He’s the monster’s ratty old chew toy.

“Oh, Connor.” He flinches when I skim his back. “I want to help you.”

I begin with emotional cleansing. While my fire is subdued—it’s less aggressive after I’ve been around Derry—I still have something left.

I absorb his emotion, his frantic, all-consuming desire, and try not to succumb to the same frenzied state. Brody catches me before I can fall, holding me beside the bed. His worry distracts me from the onslaught of Connor’s raw, contagious feelings.

I focus on them both, using Brody as a buffer while incinerating Connor’s lingering strain. I’m confident it’s working when his body stops causing the mattress springs to moan in protest. He’s covered in sweat, his back slick against my hand.

I let go of him to wipe at my tear-filled eyes. “Connor, can you roll over and look at me?”

I immediately wish I hadn’t asked. His eyes are nothing like a Solathair’s opal clouds. They’re dark, nebulous clouds with hints of brown and green mixed in the coloring.

“Is that normal?” I inhale sharply, absorbing his Maple and Marjoram scent.

“Yes.” Brody gives me a reassuring squeeze. “Ours go dark. Yours go light…will go light.”

“I’m not transitioning.” I’m saying it more and more. It’s losing meaning. “How much do you need?”

He grits his teeth, refusing to answer. In regaining a small fraction of his control, he’s registering what my intention is. He doesn’t like it any more than Molly.

Fear replaces his previous struggle, and he jerks back, trying to get away like my hand is a fire poker. I need to finish fast. Thankfully, stripping his fear is a lot easier than calming the craving.

“Take what you need, Connor,” I urge him, placing my hand on his slick chest.

He closes his eyes, unable to look at me, as he goes against every last grain of good sense in his brain. Bright side: his need outweighs his conscience. The pull I feel is something like the release when Derry kisses me, making me more curious how my power works. How can two similar experiences be so diverse?

“You’re almost empty,” he mutters. “I can’t...I can’t take much.”

I blink rapidly. How can I almost be empty? He’s barely tapped into what I can offer. Yes, I’ve felt run down, but the more I expel, the quicker and stronger the spark bounces back.

You likely just need a nap, Superego suggests.

Brody experiences a new degree of fear that I try to ignore. Initially, his distraction was helpful. Now, he’s doing more harm than good.

“Just take what you can.” I try my best to help with the flow while stilling his out-of-control desire to consume. He needs to find the strength to stop, and the only way I can assist is to continue providing the healing balm of emotional abstinence.

Connor holds up his hand to tap out, so Brody rips me off him. Connor and I lock gazes for a lengthy moment. His expressive eyes have settled back to the deep forest green I remember. We’ve survived, both of us. My practiced stoicism was our salvation. This success changes everything.

I pull my vibrating phone from my pocket.

I really need 2 talk—Derry.

Me 2. Can I go 1st?—Sheyla

Always—Derry.