Mr. Forkle and Bronte pause in their conversation as Sophie shuts the door behind her. "Sorry I'm late," she mutters sheepishly.

"No worries," Mr. Forkle says. "We're not going over details just yet."

Mr. Forkle's office in this particular base is small but cozy. The glow from the fireplace reflects off the gemstones in the wall, casting small flecks of light around the room. Mr. Forkle himself is seated in a cushy armchair behind an ornate desk.

"I have to say," Bronte speaks up, "I didn't expect the Moonlark to be... a child."

Sophie pulls down the mask covering the lower half of her face. "Will that be a problem?"

"I was only surprised by the need for a Foxfire enrollment, but I suppose that would actually make this mission much smoother." Bronte leans back in his chair and studies Sophie with a skeptical look. "I've heard of Project Moonlark, but truth be told I could hardly believe it wasn't a myth."

"Well, here I am," she says.

"Sophie was born into a human family," Mr. Forkle explains. "Her abilities were triggered in an accident when she was five, and we brought her back into the Black Swan. She's been with us ever since."

"And you train her?" Bronte prompts. "Like a weapon?"

"Sophie is a valued member of our organization," Mr. Forkle replies tersely. "Her existence is meant to unite, not conquer. The abilities that come with being the Moonlark just happen to be powerful ones."

Bronte looks apprehensive. "Perhaps too powerful."

"I know where my loyalties lie, Councillor," Sophie tells him. "Do you?"

Bronte narrows his gaze. "I may not know much about your Moonlark business, Miss Foster, but I know you're not the first. You can't blame me for having doubts, considering what happened the last time one of you went rogue." He looks to Mr. Forkle. "Lumenaria, for starters?"

Sophie grits her teeth. "You pardoned the Black Swan for that."

"The Black Swan, yes, but not the Moonlark." Bronte raises his eyebrows. "And what about Ravagog, as well?"

It takes all of Sophie's willpower to not tackle him to the ground. "None of that was my fault—"

"Enough," Mr. Forkle sighs. "It's very late and we're all tired. Sophie, please apologize to Councillor Bronte."

She frowns. "But—"

"Sophie." Mr. Forkle looks up at her with tired eyes. If you truly want to do this assignment, it would be in your best interests to not upset Councillor Bronte.

Failed step one, she replies bitterly, but mutters, "My apologies, Councillor. I didn't mean to provoke you."

Bronte sighs. "See that it won't happen again." He examines his nails with indifference. "I actually have a slight... adjustment to make to our original request."

Sophie frowns. "Do you not want protection for the Vackers?"

"Oh, no. We definitely want you to do that," Bronte clarifies. "I want you to investigate them, and report back to me if you find... anything of interest."

Sophie glances at Mr. Forkle, but he looks just as taken aback by Bronte's statement. "Can I ask why?" she questions.

"Take a guess. The Vackers are a powerful family with centuries of history. The Neverseen are a powerful organization with centuries of history. The Vackers' eldest son has disappeared with the Neverseen under mysterious circumstances." Bronte shrugs. "Does that not seem suspicious to you?"

Sophie shrugs. "I guess so."

"I'm not asking for anything extreme. We just want someone keeping tabs on them and any possible connections to the Neverseen."

"No offense, but can't you do that yourself?" Sophie asks.

Bronte scoffs. "Can you imagine the scandal that would cause? Ridiculous."

"Thank you for this, Councillor," Mr. Forkle says wearily. "But it's getting very late. I think we can resume this meeting another time."

Bronte nods. "Certainly." He gives Sophie one last skeptical look. "Please don't make me regret this, Miss Foster. Good night." He gathers his robes around him and leaves the room, followed by his goblin bodyguard.

As soon as the door closes, Sophie lets out a loud groan. "Please don't make me interact with him anymore than I have to."

Mr. Forkle huffs out a laugh. "If you can do your job correctly, I imagine you won't have to."

"Thank goodness I'm good at my job," she says sarcastically.

"You are."

"I walked us into an ambush today," she exclaims. "An ambush!"

"Always being so hard on yourself," Mr. Forkle scolds. "You kids know how dangerous guilt can be."

Sophie resists the urge to roll her eyes. "What did Bronte mean, anyway?" she asks. "About a Moonlark going rogue?"

Mr. Forkle goes still. "Don't let him get under your skin, Sophie," he answers, but he's staring too intently into the fireplace.

"Is this about Jolie?" she asks quietly.

He sighs, rubbing at the bridge of his nose. "It's late. You should go to bed."

"Why won't you tell me—"

"Leave," Mr. Forkle warns in a low voice. "I won't say it again."

Sophie's burning with questions—questions that have plagued her for years—and the one person with the answers still refuses to answer them. Mr. Forkle won't even look at her, and just stares into the fireplace with his back turned instead.

She leaves the room without another word.