Keefe watches the scene play out in the Spyball.

The air shimmers behind him, but he keeps his gaze locked on the orb. Images of Tribunal Hall swirl on its surface—the shaken Vacker family, Councillor Emery's frantic gesturing, the blood staining the platform. And standing in the midst of it all—

"I'm glad you were right."

Keefe turns around in his seat, annoyed. The only reason he was sitting in his mother's office in the dark was because he knew she wouldn't be here—she had just been in Tribunal Hall, after all—and because no else would willingly interrupt him. He had forgotten that not everyone operated by those rules.

Vespera seems to not notice his sour mood, and instead smiles icily as she pulls the dark hood back from her face.

He nods at her in greeting. "Right about what?"

She raises her eyebrows at the Spyball, where the orb reflects an image of a blonde-haired girl in the middle of Tribunal Hall. Sophie's eyes are wide, her face riddled with shock and devastation.

"About Miss Foster, of course," Vespera replies. "You have good instincts. Like your mother."

She leans across the desk to peer curiously at the glass orb, and Keefe resists the sudden urge to shield Sophie's image from her.

"For such a force of nature, who would've expected the Moonlark to be such an unassuming little thing?" Vespera muses.

Keefe thinks about Sophie, her soft hands folding over his, her gentle touch on his stinging cuts, her shy smile. At the same time he thinks about the cold fury in the Moonlark's masked face, the glint of her daggers slashing at his face, her burning eyes as she sinks the shamkniv into his gut.

It should've been hard to believe they were the same person. But in his head it was easy to reverse the roles—easy to see it was the Moonlark smiling shyly at him over the Tutoring Center table, easy to see it was Sophie glaring up at him with wild hatred, covered in blood. The realization had felt almost natural, as if something in him had recognized her from the start and was simply waiting for his brain to catch up to what he already knew.

"I saw you got Alvar," he says, pushing any thoughts of Sophie out of his mind's eye.

She tilts her head. "Of course. Your mother is dealing with him as we speak."

"What's going to happen to him?"

"Nothing he didn't sign up for," she answers breezily. "We still need a Vacker. Willing or not."

Keefe chews on his bottom lip. "Did you really have to kill Timkin Heks for that?"

"He was in the way."

With a frown, Keefe glances back at the Spyball to see that Sophie had moved toward Stina and her mother. Sophie reaches out, as if to put a hand on Stina's shoulder, but stops at the last second, and her hand falls to her side.

"It was a messy move," Keefe remarks.

His tone sounds harsher than he intended, and he flinches when Vespera snaps, "A mess that is none of your concern. Not when we have the serum to finish."

He blinks up at her incredulously. "You said you had all the samples you needed from me—"

"And I do," Vespera insists. "But we're still missing something."

Keefe grits his teeth. "How am I supposed to help with that?"

"The Lodestar Initiative has been worked on by your mother for the better part of the last century," Vespera answers. "I'm doing my best as an advisor, but when you've been alive as long as I have... your memory isn't quite all there and, well, I barely remember developing the original centuries ago."

He makes a mental note to be less cryptic and insufferable when he's an Ancient. "We have Telepaths."

Vespera waves her hand dismissively. "I don't want Gethen's help. We already know what's missing. But only you can get it for me."

Keefe narrows his eyes. "Get what?"

"Project Moonlark's original serum was more... stable than the Lodestar Initiative. They each bring out different qualities, but the essential building blocks remain the same. That's where our solution lies."

"You still haven't told me what I'm supposed to do."

Vespera flicks her gaze back down to Gisela's desk. She's staring at the Spyball.

With a sinking feeling, Keefe follows her gaze. On its reflective surface is Sophie, her head angled toward a hulking goblin. He watches her lips form the words to a tense conversation he can't hear.

"You want Sophie," Keefe deadpans.

"I want the Moonlark." Vespera rests a hand on his shoulder, and he winces at the cold, emotionless pull surrounding her. "And I don't care what mess you have to make. Do you understand me, Lodestar?"

A year ago, Keefe would have leapt at the chance to confront the Moonlark directly. He waits to feel excitement, anticipation, the thrum of hatred that usually accompanies the sound of her name, but it doesn't come. The hatred is still there, but it feels different. He's not sure what to make of it.

"I understand," he says.