Oralie had once told Sophie that objects held more memories than the mind. Five years after her death, the words still haunted Sophie's thoughts. They gripped her heart and refused to let go.
As a Telepath, she hadn't fully understood her mother's proverb—after all, the mind was where every possibility lay, ripe for the plucking.
But Sophie sort of understood as she stood beneath the branches of the Panakes, the soft petals falling around her like a magical rain. Closing her eyes, she felt an ache, raw and primal and—So. Very. Painful.
It was bravery, a friend sacrificing their life.
It was newness, an almost-kiss and warm tears.
It was laughter, an elf-shaped cookie and crooked smiles.
More than that, it was a feeling, one that did not lead to a picture or a thought, but a memory of an object rather than the mind.
Yes, she understood, though it passed swiftly, without a goodbye. A different pain took its place, one born from experience, from voices and signs and white cloaks.
It was fear—fear Sophie had felt before, but never as intensely.
It was the fear of a choice, the fear of making a choice, the fear of responsibility and leadership and all the things she was supposed to be but didn't want to be.
In her friends' faces during the march, Sophie had seen absolute disgust.
But she hadn't been disgusted. She'd been terrified.
Years of rebellion and unrest had caused irreparable damage. The best they could do—the Council and Black Swan, together—was bandage the wounds and tell everyone to move on.
Sure, there were some things they could fix. They could bring the humans back. They could allow more freedom. But there were some things that could not be forgotten. It was all they could do to step forward. To not give up.
And then the Purities had arisen.
The Purities, who fought for a world before the Neverseen—their version of peace. Instead, they only caused more fear and more chaos.
What was Sophie supposed to do? How was she supposed to protect the humans and keep the elves happy?
She couldn't help but wonder if she was doing the right thing. That was what they were supposed to be—the good guys. But what was right anymore—absolve the humans of all their crimes or turn them away?
The worst part was that the humans were still guilty. They still killed, they still overpopulated, they still polluted.
But.
That wasn't everyone's fault, and how could she punish a whole species for the mistakes of only a few?
Except it's not just "a few," she reminded herself. More than enough humans do all those things that someone could justify banning them from the Lost Cities.
"They could," she whispered, breeze blowing her hair back, "but can I?"
"Can you what?"
Sophie jumped, spinning around to find Keefe—garishly red cape gone, thank goodness—standing just out of reach of the branches, as if the ground beneath the Panakes was sacred.
Or maybe he didn't want to feel peaceful right now.
Hey—Sophie got that.
She stepped away from the tree to kiss him. It was nothing special, only a small kiss in greeting, but she found herself wanting more.
She didn't initiate, though. Keefe didn't deserve a girlfriend who used him to ignore her problems.
Instead she took his hand and let him lead her to the cliffside. They didn't sit—they were both too restless for that—but standing was fine. Honestly, simply being near him calmed her nerves.
Then again, that could have been the remnants of Calla's song humming through her mind; the distant splash of the waves against the rocks; the gentle caw of a seagull. The sounds also sent her back to darker times, when enemies were invisible and allies were unknown.
So much for calmed nerves.
"You okay?" Keefe asked, brows pinched together.
Old instinct to jerk away almost overtook Sophie's arm muscles, but she held still. "Did you turn the dulling off?"
He shrugged. "I can still read strong emotions, and since your 'normal' feelings are already strong, when your emotions get intense, the effect is the same."
"Mm."
He shuffled, his grip in her hand sliding as his palms turned sweaty. He bit his lip. "Soooooo. About yesterday—"
"You don't have to say anything," Sophie interrupted. "I shouldn't have brought it up."
The reminder made her stomach go sour, but she pushed it back. If she tried hard enough, she could hide some of her emotions from him now—which was an awful thought for her to have.
But Sophie couldn't tell him everything. It would require too much explaining, and... she wasn't even sure what was wrong herself.
"Okay," said Keefe, looking at the ocean below.
Sophie tried not to cringe. When had their conversations become this awkward? Was it because they hadn't been spending enough time together?
Or maybe it was because all their time they did spend together was at work, either as Mentors or two people fighting against the injustices of the world. The only times they could afford to have a "casual conversation" was in between classes or on the way to all the places they needed to be. Maybe they had gotten out of practice.
Say something quirky, she commanded herself, but her all-powerful, Telepathic, genetically-enhanced mind couldn't seem to come up with anything. Besides, quirky was Keefe's forte.
Except he didn't say anything.
So she said the only thing she could think of, the only thing on her mind since that afternoon: "What are we going to do about the Purities?"
Sophie wasn't sure what she wanted to hear from Keefe—Reassurance? Hopeful sentiments? An actual solution?
It didn't really matter, because it was none of those things. He just sighed, like it was the most exhausting question in the universe, and dragged a hand down his face. "Why is everything with you about the Purities?" he muttered.
Her mouth dropped open. "The Purities marched today."
"Seriously? You and Dex both?"
"What's wrong with taking things seriously, Keefe? But oh, wait, I forgot who I was talking to." Her words were daggers, chipping at Keefe's soul, and she wrenched her hand out of his, backing away. She needed space.
"You guys don't get it. No one gets it. 'The Purities haven't attacked yet,' you say. But they will, Keefe. We can't keep pretending this isn't a serious threat, because that's what the Council did when the Neverseen was taking humans behind their backs and torturing them."
"I'm not saying the Purities aren't a bad thing, but maybe you're..."—he flinched—"overreacting?"
Something in Sophie snapped, something figurative, and yet it felt very, very real. "Maybe you're underreacting," she seethed. "Maybe you're the one that's convincing yourself of things that aren't there. Maybe you have things all figured out in your little bubble, but that's! Not! Real! Life!"
"Foster—"
"No! You don't understand! I'm the leader of the Collective now—"
"So it's back to the Black Swan again," Keefe mumbled. "Why does it always come back to that?"
"Because it's important! The Black Swan is doing something while you hide behind your office doors, oblivious to everything, then claim I'm overreacting?"
Keefe laughed darkly. "Believe it or not, Sophie, you're not the only one dealing with things right now."
"Oh, really? Then what's your excuse? Because I don't hear Tam or Biana or Wylie complaining about their issues—and yeah, I'm sure they have them. But they've decided to put them aside for the sake of the world. That's something you've never been able to do, because you're always occupied with yourself. What can you do to make Keefe comfortable? What can you do to protect Keefe?"
"Stop it," he whispered.
"It's the truth, and you know it. You're hiding, Keefe—but from what? I thought those days were over, but it looks like I'm wrong."
"What days? I don't know what I'm doing wrong!" he shouted.
"You won't take responsibility! You won't join the Collective and help!"
"Why do I have to be on the Collective to make you happy?" he asked, voice choking. "Why can't what I want make you happy?"
"Because you're being selfish," she hissed. "You don't care about the humans—you only care about Keefe Sencen"—he flinched at the mention of his last name—"but guess what? I may be an elf, but I am just as human as all those refugees, and if you won't help them, then you can't help me."
"Sophie—"
"Go."
"But—"
"GO!"
She turned to Havenfield, unable to look at his face as he leaped away. She didn't want to see the hurt—not yet. She wasn't ready to feel guilt. The Purities—the cause of every heartbreak—could not make her feel guilty.
She was Sophie Foster.
The Moonlark.
She would find a way to take them down, with or without Keefe.
"Sophie?" a soft voice said from behind her—Edaline—and she clenched her jaw to hold back tears. Edaline came closer, arms wrapping around Sophie's shoulders. "Marella is here. She says you're leaving in a little bit, so I brought your bag downstairs for you."
"Thanks." The words felt hollow in Sophie's throat, but she pushed the feeling back. It was okay. It was just Edaline.
You mean Mom, she thought—but it was too hard to say that word without thinking of Oralie, so she ignored it.
"There's also someone else."
At this, Sophie perked. Distraction—that was what she needed. "Who is it? Bronte?"
"It's your Human History substitute. Come on, you'll be excited to see her." Edaline led Sophie down the path leading to Havenfield, glancing at her every so often as if to gauge her reaction at this news.
But Sophie was barely paying attention. She felt a little ashamed that she had totally forgotten about her Foxfire class; being the most recent elf to live among the humans, she was asked by the Council to teach prodigies about the Forbidden Cities and the species that lived in them. With some persuasion she'd agreed, and with Keefe being the Magnate, things weren't so bad...
Wait, did Edaline say "see"?
Sophie's hand in Edaline's became limp. Edaline had said "see," not "meet."
"Who exactly is my replacement?" she asked, tempted to dig her heels in the dirt and refuse to go any farther unless Edaline answered. But that was probably too immature for a twenty-one year old.
"You'll see," Edaline sing-songed as they crested the last hill and approached Havenfield's glass doors. Standing in front of them was a short, curvy teenager, curly brown hair pulled into a low bun and yellow T-shirt rumpled.
Elves didn't wear T-shirts.
This time Sophie did dig her heels into the ground—she didn't care how immature it looked—and she felt her mouth drop open. "You've got to be kidding me."
Her sister shot Sophie a devious grin and did her best rendition of jazz-hands. "It's about time someone called me Lady Amy!"