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Fitz’s heart races as he runs down the stairs to the troll hive, sweat sticky on his skin. He can feel his echo stirring, a dull ache creeping up the sides of his chest. Biana follows him. It’s hot and humid and near unbearable in the troll hive, but Fitz knows he can’t let Alvar get away. Not again. Not like he did earlier.

The dagger sits heavy in its sheath, its weight a constant reminder. He could’ve done it. He was so close to doing it. Gethen’s voice lingers in his mind, the memory of his words repeating over and over. Perhaps I’m trying to see if we recruited the wrong Vacker. He shakes his head, trying to clear his thoughts. It’s not— it can’t be. There’s no way he’d join the Neverseen, right? He’s not like Alvar. He’s not like his brother.

Fitz stops at the bottom of the stairs, frantically glancing around. Alvar couldn’t have gotten far. There — he’s running through one of the many silver passageways, his footsteps clanging loudly against the metal flooring. Fitz chases after him, blood rushing in his ears. Alvar tries to escape, but he ends up backed against one of the cubbies, surrounded by metal and glass, his only way out blocked by Fitz.

“I should’ve killed you earlier,” says Fitz, trying to stop his voice from shaking.

Alvar laughs. “Then why don’t you do it now?” he taunts. “I can tell you want to. You think you’d be saving them all from me. You still have the knife, don’t you? And yet I’m the dangerous one.”

Fitz swallows. “You’re the murderer here.”

“And you were seconds away from becoming one,” Alvar counters. “Besides, I’ve never actually killed anyone. There may be blood on my hands, sure, but there’s always been a reason behind it.”

“So you don’t regret it, then? Any of it?” Fitz’s fingers inch closer to the handle of the dagger. “What reason could there possibly be for kidnapping Sophie and Dex? For hurting my friends?”

“I don’t have to explain myself to you. You wouldn’t understand, anyway. You never did.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Fitz grits out, grasping the knife. His hand shakes as he draws it from its sheath. He could do it right now. He should do it. He’s never taken a life before, but how hard could it be? It’s not— it wouldn’t be murder. It’d just be… harm prevention. After all, how many people might Alvar end up hurting if he lives?

“Fitz,” Biana says from behind him. Her voice is shaking. “Don’t— it’s not worth it. He’s not worth it.”

For a moment, Fitz hesitates. Alvar backs away from him, eyes flitting around, cornered against the troll hive wall. What happens next is pure instinct. Alvar lunges, trying to escape, turning invisible as he darts forward, and Fitz plunges the blade into his flesh. Someone screams. Fitz isn’t sure if it’s Alvar or Biana or himself. Alvar’s eyes are wide, shocked, as he stares at Fitz, dark blue boring into teal. There’s a tinge of betrayal in them that Fitz can’t tell if he’s imagining or not. He looks down at where the dagger has sunken into Alvar’s body, crimson blood dripping down from the wound and staining his clothes dark. His chest rises weakly, a shaky gasp rattling from his lungs. The knife has struck something vital. Slowly, Fitz pulls it out, watching as Alvar slumps to the ground with a quiet thud. When he turns around, he sees Biana standing frozen, a look of horror on her face. Their eyes meet. Biana steps away, her footsteps clanging against the metal flooring. And then she runs.

Fitz watches as she disappears down the hallway. He doesn’t follow her. Instead, he turns back to face Alvar’s crumpled body. All of this feels so far away. Like he’s in a dream, something distant and intangible and made-up. It’s as if Fitz has disappeared off to someplace else and yet his physical body has remained here, unmoored and alone. Everything is spinning. Fitz tries to focus on Alvar, crouching down to peer at his face. He’s saying something. “I guess Gethen was right,” he manages to get out. His voice is raspy and barely audible. “You were the one they should have gone after. Not me. It’s never me, is it?”

Fitz tries to say something in reply, but when he opens his mouth, no sound comes out. Alvar takes another rattling breath. This time, when his chest falls, it doesn’t rise again. His eyes are still staring up at the ceiling, only now they’re dull and lifeless. The knife falls from Fitz’s hand and clatters against the floor, the sound echoing across the metal chambers of the troll hive. His hands are bloody when he looks down at them, stained red and trembling. He can feel his heart pounding in his chest. It’s as if the world has tilted on its axis. Fitz tries to move, tries to take a step back from the crime scene and the shuddering realization that he’s the one who caused it, only to stumble and end up on the ground, kneeling in front of his brother’s corpse, unable to look away.

Murderer. The world bubbles up in his mind, his own voice coming back to taunt him. Fitz tries to push it away, to ignore the sinking feeling in his gut and the memory of Biana’s face flickering in his head, stricken and fearful. He should be worried right now, shouldn’t he? Guilt can break a mind, shatter a soul. He’s witnessed it firsthand. Only — he doesn’t feel guilty. Not really. Not in the way that sits heavy on his conscience, numbing and unshakable. Fitz replays the day’s events, mentally rewinding, and finds that he’d do it over again if given the choice. No, he doesn’t regret a thing. And maybe that’s what scares him the most.

Shaking Fitz out of his stupor is the sound of footsteps, loud and clear in the near-empty troll hive. His head darts up and he looks around, searching for any sign of an intruder. Reflexively, he reaches for the knife. His hand trembles but his grip stays firm. “Who’s there?” he calls out, hoping his voice sounds steadier than he feels.

“Looks like you didn’t disappoint me after all,” says Gethen, taking in the scene as he walks towards Fitz. “I wasn’t sure if you really had it in you. I had my doubts when you failed to kill him this evening. Turns out you just needed a little more of a push, hm?”

Fitz shrinks away, holding the dagger out in front of him. “Stay back. I— I’ll kill you too, I will. I won’t hesitate.”

Gethen just smiles, unsettlingly calm. “Oh, I’m sure.” He walks closer, unfazed by the weapon in Fitz’s hand. “I rather like living though, so that won’t do.” With a wave of his wrist, the knife begins to levitate, breaking free from Fitz’s grasp with ease. Blood drips from the blade onto the tiled metal floor as it floats toward Gethen. It stops in front of his face, hovering, spinning around slightly for Gethen to examine it. “I must say, you’ve surprised me with these. Didn’t realize you all had the guts to carry weapons around. Are you finally taking the fight seriously, then?” Gethen stares at the dagger for a few more moments, then twists his hand. The metal blade warps suddenly and bends in half, now useless. It clatters to the ground as Gethen drops the skill, continuing closer to Fitz with that eerie smile on his face.

“What do you want?” asks Fitz, trying not to show how defenseless he feels.

Gethen stops, standing a few feet in front of him. “I want a lot of things. And you, Fitz, will help me get them.”

Shaking his head, Fitz backs away. “No. I’m not helping you. No way.”

Gethen tuts, crossing his arms. “Perhaps you should reconsider. You want to take down the Neverseen, don’t you? And I want to see it changed. Greatly. Just think about it. Isn’t a newly rebuilt Neverseen easier to destroy? More unstable? And you’d be familiar with its inner workings, too. You’d know how its leaders work — how I work. That’s valuable information. So when you return to your friends — that is, if you even decide to — maybe they’ll be more inclined to have you back. I mean, you can’t possibly imagine they’d readily accept you now, do you? After you killed someone in cold blood without any sign of remorse? Even if they do, they wouldn’t trust you. Not like they did before. You’d be unable to help. Unable to do anything, really, among people who’d refuse to see beyond your worst deed. So what do you say? Are you still adamant on staying?”

Fitz’s whole body is shaking, or at least it seems that way. He tries to take another step back, but his foot hits something soft and fleshy. Alvar’s corpse. He feels sick. “I don’t… I’m not…” He breaks off, swallowing, unsure. He doesn’t know what he’s trying to deny. That he’ll help? That he’ll be shunned? That he doesn’t feel remorse? Because he isn’t certain those things are wrong, not really. He just— He wants to do something. To be helpful. Useful. He wants to prove he didn’t just make a horrible mistake, that his friends still have reason to stay by him. And… Gethen’s right that he can’t do any of that if he stays.

“I see you’ve made your decision,” Gethen says, a small smile creeping onto his face.

Fitz stiffens. “Stay out of my head.” He considers running, going rogue like Keefe and trying to find a way to help without going to the Neverseen — but Gethen, manipulative as he may be, isn’t wrong. He can do more if he goes with him.

Sophie Elizabeth Foster was born in San Francisco, healthy and clever. She was born to parents not her own, in a city which was poison to her lungs, in a world on which she did not belong. A changeling forced upon Emma and William Foster, who had wanted nothing more than a child of their own.

For a few months, everything seemed normal. Their baby was the prettiest, smartest, and most talented baby there was, just as every other parents’ was. But soon the Fosters had to admit something was wrong. Their baby seemed too advanced, well beyond what could be expected. Sophie was very easily potty trained, and babbles turned into words too soon. Emma saw herself already mourning the baby she had wished for so long, seeing her grow up all too soon.

But again, all parents felt as if they were running out of time, in the blur of dirty diapers and thrown food and outgrown shoes. Surely, the couple throught, this was all normal. Nothing to be feared, nothing to fret over. They were normal parents, with a normal daughter. All the books and classes and seminars had warned they would worry over every little thing. The were already weary of strange drugs and chemicals, they could hold out against diagnoses and boxes for their daughter.

Until they couldn’t. Sophie could read at two, didn’t make it through a grade without skipping another, and seemed completely uninterested in playing. She was not a child, not the one they wanted. Despite her best attempts, anyone her age regarded her as stuck up and strange. She had no friends, only books. No one would invite her to their house, or attend her birthday party, or do all the things with her which children should do.

Amy Foster on the other hand, could not have been a better child to them. She looked exactly like either of them, depending on how you looked at her. She was not worryingly behind, but was hardly ahead of others. She cried, and then babbled, and then spoke. There was a year more of blow outs then Sophie had had. Even with her older sister as a role model, Amy seemed two worlds behind.

Mothers wish always for their children to grow up slower, to cling a little harder, and linger just a moment more. Emma knew she shouldn’t have favorites, as every mother does. However, she couldn’t help but notice how Amy got along with everyone. She didn’t answer every question with some obscure fact, or a correction. While William may have been less sentimental, he recognized that any pride in Sophie seemed out of place compared to other fathers. She was always so far ahead it seemed as if he couldn’t compare her accomplishments with any of theirs.

Thankfully, their thoughts were safely in their heads, and they just had to try and make believe that their children were the same. Any frustration, any lapse, could be overlooked by stress and exhaustion. Being a parent to two was hardly an easy task after all. Sophie was none the wiser to how even her parents had no idea what to make of her, and could be happy in their love. Until the accident.

For as long as the Fosters could remember her, they knew that that single hospital visit, in which she was pumped full of drugs and pain, was the moment they lost her. Sophie had a horrible migraine, that would not end. She heard thoughts, she said . And then she didn’t.

While always quiet, Sophie withdrew even more. She wore all gray, drawing as little attention as possible. There was no attempt at friends, at connections. She went to school, came home, and all too many times cried. This wanted to protect her, but she wouldn’t even admit to the bullying. Instead, when they thought for a moment that if only she were like other children, she would turn away from them and sniffle.

Sometimes when a thought happened upon them, one they really didn’t mind, she would give them a look. So heartbroken. So innocent. She was begging them to take it back. In private, it was another thing which they wished was different. All parents had low moments, but they seemed to be watched for any failures.

In the stress of college applications, and wildfires, they thought they would snap. At only twelve, Sophie was so much grown up and still too young. She couldn’t navigate her way through smoke safely, and yet they were supposed to give her away to college. The idea of her moving out, living on her own, they couldn’t bear it. So they told her no, and kept her close to home. No Yale. No growing up. They claimed it was because of the attention, but it really was very selfish. However much they struggled with her, she was their daughter, their first one, and they could not part with her so easily.

If there was something the Fosters could be at ease with, it was school. Sophie got there exactly on time, and left when it was over. She had no clubs, nothing to be tracked. Amy was in volleyball, which was enough trouble with tournaments and practices. Sophie on the hand, preferred to do as little as possible and still excelled.

Until the day she wandered from a field trip, into the smoggy streets. No chaperone, no guide, no adult. What was she thinking? She could get lost, could get kidnapped. And then the next day, she had played hooky. Who was this? Where was their daughter? The girl so afraid of being wrong she wouldn’t even raise her hand. Covered in ash and even more distant.

She started saying strange things. Talking about how much she loved them, even Amy. She hugged them all, and walked out the door. Then they had a new last name, a dog, and only one daughter. There were no resentful thoughts, no quiet concerns, only domestic contentment. Tinged with a slight feeling of wrongness. Of something missing. But of course, who misses a changeling, who does not talk or act as it should?

~

The Ruewens did not want another daughter. How could they? Sixteen years was but the blink of an eye. She had only twenty years, surely they would be allowed to grieve for at least as long. Alden could not really think to pass of some poor, too human girl onto them. One who looked just too much like Jolie, if it weren’t for those strange eyes. Just another reminder she didn’t belong in their house.

Edaline did her best to be kind, she wasn’t a monster. A room was made up, plenty big enough for her things. Edaline even went shopping with her, something she hadn’t dared to before. Perhaps Alden was right, Sophie would do them some good. The sun was warm on her face, her nephews had grown, and there was hope in the air.

It would not last, she would fall asleep in her daughter’s bed night after night. She would catch a glimpse of blond hair and forget. She was no mother, no parent. That was for sure. Even Alden couldn’t ask that of her. She had tried, she had failed. Havenfield was a grave of its own. Filled with the memory of a toddler, a little girl, and young woman. Sophie was intruder upon it all, changing things meant to stay the same.

Edaline was fated to rot in her own grief. To be embittered by the injustice, to stew and relive. She was not meant to make desserts. To laugh at questions only her queer child would think of asking. To have Dex over and other kids.

Her sanctuary, her home was meant to be quiet. Sounds of tackling and rowdy games cut through her fragile peace. Some days it was enough to cut through her darkest thoughts, her painful reminiscing. Other times, it only made it worse. Jolie lived in every laugh and toss of the hair. She lived in Dex’s nose. Those were the worst days, the ones she couldn’t reason her way out of.

She couldn’t cry, not when Sophie needed her. Not when Grady would be set off by her grief, and demand Alden take her back. Send her to some other home. One who wasn’t filled with wounds she could only prod at. One with parents who hadn’t lost their only daughter even before she died.

Grady was angry. Grady was always angry. His daughter. His daughter. She was gone. Killed. Stolen. By villains the council wouldn’t investigate. He was trapped with his wife, buried by a tragedy they couldn’t stop. Instead of cooling, his rage fermented. Nothing was done, no action taken.

Locked in their house, waiting for a daughter who would never appear. And yet Alden dared. He dared to talk to him. As if they were friends. Grady had no friends. He had a wife. He’d had a daughter. He had a house filled with shadows. What more could he get?

And then miss Sophie Foster arrived. Clueless, all too aware of being unwanted. She jumped at every sigh and seemed all too eager to please. She treaded on all their sore spots. There was nothing she could leave as is.

Yet she was sweet, genuine. She knew nothing, and wanted only to have some idea. Everything she learned was a lie, from who she was to how dinosaurs looked. All in all, she did well with what she could. There were secrets, there had to be. Sophie didn’t understand, but what child of twelve could? She was too curious for her good.

So Grady raged, carefully contained within himself. He held his wife, guided her to bed. He spoke niceties to Lord Vacker. There was anger, but there was restraint. All for the sake of a foundling. A girl he did not want. A girl he been forced to take in. A girl he was forced into attachment to.

It was not for nothing. Grady and Edaline both went in public. They laughed. They smiled. They hoped. Soon they were taken in by school supplies, and classes, and the stress of tests. There was growing unease, as secrets piled up. Alden made empty promises. Sugary desserts turned to acid. But he could put on a face. For Sophie. For her sake.

~ Sophie was done, completely, utterly, done. All she had asked for was a break from all the bullying she got from her classmates. All she had asked for was to stop having to hear her parents get annoyed at her. All she had asked for was a place where she belonged. All she had asked was to pass her final exams. All she had asked for was for her and Dex to make it out alive. All she had wanted was for Grady and Edaline to want to keep her.

Technically, she got what she asked for. She was moved to a school with people her age, who also didn’t like her. Her parents no longer knew she existed, and she would never see them again. She belonged more in the lost cities, but she was still the freaky weird girl. She missed her final exams, thanks to being kidnapped. Dex was fine, but she had to spend way too long in the healing center.

The only thing she hadn’t gotten was for the Ruewens to want her. She had lived with them for nine months, and it had been good. Really good. She still missed her parents, and Amy, and Marty. But she loved Havenfield, and she loved them.

Apparently, they didn’t feel the same way. Sophie wasn’t dumb, she knew there had been problems. She knew they weren’t over Jolie, and didn’t really want to take her In. She knew Edaline had still slept in her real daughter’s bed at the beginning. That Sophie looked too much like her. She had known that not everything was perfect, but she thought it had been good.

It wasn’t like it was easy all the time with her parents either. Their thoughts could be cruel, even if she was never meant to hear them. Sometimes they would agree with her bullies, even without meaning to. She was constantly compared to Amy, and Amy was constantly compared to her. Why couldn’t Sophie be more outspoken? Why couldn’t Amy focus more on school?

But her parents tried. Really hard. They had family dinner every night and talked about their days. Sophie may have smoothed over some of the worst bits, or the fact every concern they had assaulted her, but that wasn’t their fault.

They had loved her, but she had no choice but to erase their memories. So now she was here, stuck living with the Vackers. With Fitz, who was too cute for their anyone’s good. And Biana, who hadn’t actually wanted to be friends with her. Because the Ruewens didn’t want her. Because they canceled her adoption.

So now she was stuck her, on a cot, half dead. The Vackers had visited earlier, and so had Dex. Even Keefe had visited, as annoying as he was. But no Grady or Edaline. This was probably the perfect excuse to cut ties with her. She should get adjusted to her new family after all. Maybe they didn’t want to see her. Maybe they wanted to be rid of her as soon as possible.

Sophie was being unfair, but she didn’t care. They had done their best for eight, long months. They had looked at her, even if it was painful. They had stood by her even with alll the trouble she had gotten into.

But they still weren’t here. And she wouldn’t ask Elwin. She wouldn’t. Either they came to see her, or they didn’t. It wasn’t like it mattered either way. She would be living with Alden and Della. She’d have another few months before they got tired of her.

Then she heard a knock. Elwin rushed to get the door, and blocked her view. She was two shadows, but he didn’t let either of them in. Instead, he closed the door and started walking back towards her. His face was grim.

“Grady and Edaline came back to see you”

“Came back?” She had to know.

“They’ve been frantic these past three and a half weeks. They spent the entire time searching for you, and then making sure you’d get through when you were found.” Elwin told her.

Her eyes stung. They did care about her, or they just felt guilty. She had gone to the caves to avoid them. So she wouldn’t have to see them. If she hadn’t found out about the cancellation, she never would’ve been alone. But still, they wanted to see them.

“Let them in.” She hated how fragile her voice sounded.

The door creaked open, and they stepped inside.

They were haggard, their clothes wrinkled. Their hair greasy and unkempt. Edaline’s eye bags were worse than hers. It was clear they had barely slept.

Pettilly, she wanted to ask if Edaline had slept in her bed.

But she restrained herself. She wasn’t going to make it worse for everyone.

“We made a mistake-“ Grady began.

Her heart sank.

“-but we’re going to fix it.”

“We were so afraid of losing you like we lost Jolie. Of not being enough for you. Of not being able to keep you safe. We thought, with all the mistakes we’ve made, all the time we still spend grieving, that other parents would be better. Ones who lived in the present, who could actually raise you.” Edaline’s voice sounded ready to snap.

“The Vackers are already raising three children, and would be a good family for you. You already get along with their children, and they could give you a loving family.” And there was Grady, crushing her hopes again.

Edaline was wringing her knuckles and holding back tears.

“So we’re giving you the choice. You can move into Everglen, or you can stay at Havenfield. No matter what, we’re happy to have you. Even if you choose to be adopted by the Vackers, you can come to us for anything.” He was clearly struggling to keep his voice steady.

“Anything?”

“Anything” Grady promised.

She held out her arms, and they rushed to hug her.