Steiner hissed, gurgled. His eyes rounded. He glanced between the dagger and Tabby's face, gasping and sputtering, not quite believing. But he didn't scream.

"I'm sorry," Tabitha Grey said, shaking her head, "but you've involved yourself in something bigger than I can handle." She wasn't really sorry. This was purely business. Though she would miss their games. And she did enjoy seeing his surprise. There was satisfaction in that.

She held firm, keeping the dagger in place as his handsome features transformed into desperation. She could have pulled it out—killed him faster. But some sick part of her enjoyed watching him struggle, watching him die.

His mouth opened and closed. "But...your father," he hissed, clawing at the sofa, clenching his hands into fists, doing nothing to stop her.

"What about him? He's the one who gave me to the Spectrum. He turned me into this."

"I...I know...who he...who he is—"

"Stop!" Her chest tingled, mind tumbling into confusion. "You can't possibly know. You're lying." But it was there, in his eyes as they began to glass over. "Tell me," she hissed, twisting the dagger deeper. "Tell me!"

But it was too late, Steiner was beyond speech. She was losing him. And with him, perhaps the one thing she had chased for most of her life. An explanation.

Everything the Spectrum taught her fled. She spared a glance at the ring on her finger—one single glance of desperation—before white light shot from the prism straight into Steiner's chest. She ripped the dagger free, exchanging it with light as it filled the incision, pushing the blood back into his body.

But his face was deathly still. And his breathing slowed and stopped. It...it was too late. She was too late. He was too far gone, and she would be no closer to knowing. No closer to the real monster in her life.

Steiner's words came back. "Always so close, only to come away empty handed." Was this what he'd meant? Unwilling to give up, she maintained focus, encouraging the light to sink deeper into the tissue between his ribs, pushing the blood back in, knitting his skin together, closing the fissure in his lung.

A familiar throbbing filled her head as her fingers twitched and fluttered, guiding white where it needed to go, repairing the blood vessels and the damage she'd done. Seconds felt like minutes, minutes like hours. Her brute focus chipped away at her mental stamina, shard by shard. A familiar migraine formed and then pounded against her skull—light sickness. She ignored it—kept working.

Light wasn't supposed to do this, to heal tissue or stop bleeding. No individual color could. Not red, not indigo, not even violet. But in white, she had found a way. And trained herself in secret, pouring over medical texts in Chroma's library. This. This was her best kept secret.

Nit's voice was like a hand, pulling her from a chilly abyss. "He'll live, Tabby. He'll live." It reminded her that she wasn't breathing. And that's when everything came crashing down around her.

"Oh, Light!" she breathed, glancing around and back to Steiner.

What had she done?! Why had she saved him? More importantly, what would this cost her?

"You did what anyone would have done when someone targets a weakness."

A weakness. Steiner had targeted her greatest one. Her father. But she could no sooner take back what she'd done—no sooner kill him again. Not now.

His body lay sprawled on the couch, unconscious. She felt for a pulse. There it was. Weak, but growing stronger. A gentle current of air came from his nose. The last vestiges of glowing white light faded from his skin, absorbed by the tissues of his body. The wound had closed completely and disappeared, leaving behind a smear of blood and a rip in his robe.

"It worked," she whispered, staring at him with wide eyes. The white prism in her ring had turned a dull gray. Completely spent. Life was expensive, after all.

After discovering the power of white light for herself, she had started by healing her own injuries before practicing on her victims—those already marked. She'd taken every opportunity to study the human body, its inner workings, the science of bones and tissue and organs. But she had never revived someone so close to death. Never.

Steiner sputtered, gasping, before his breathing steadied. His eyes remained closed. It would take a few minutes for his mind and body to catch up.

"Do you think he was lying?" she asked, more anxious by the minute.

"No."

She grunted. "It would be like him to lie."

"I don't think he would," said Nit. "Not about this."

"But how does he know? How could he possibly know?!"

The frustration ate at her. Knowing she was a Spect was one thing. Knowing she often snuck into Ipsum was another. But knowing the identity of her father?! Knowledge she had failed time and again to obtain. That was entirely different.

"He knew exactly what to say," she mused. "Like he's been studying me. Like he knows me. He could have said anything, but he said that."

Steiner coughed and shot up into a sitting position, opening his eyes. He wore the face of someone who'd seen death, or near about. As soon as he spotted her, he yelped and scrambled away. There! That was a look she was used to.

"At least you finally see me for what I am," she drawled, giving him a moment.

He pulled his robe back and looked down at his chest, at the cut in the fabric, then back at her. "You...but how?" His eyes darted to the ring at her finger, to the white prism disguised as a diamond, drained and dull. "How?" he repeated.

"Shouldn't you know?" she asked. "You who knows everything else about me?"

He opened and closed his mouth. "You killed me! You...you stabbed me!"

"Bravo!" She clapped. "And yet you act surprised? Did you really think your handsome face would convince me to spare you? Get over yourself, Steiner."

"I offered you a black prism!"

"A black prism?! Light! A black prism to take out the Spectrum? My answer is still no, by the way." She crossed her arms. "How about you give me the black prism and the identity of my father. I'll walk out of here tonight and let you live. How's that for a bargain?"

Steiner fell quiet. When he next moved, it was to retrieve a fresh robe from his wardrobe. "You aren't like the others." His voice was low. He turned to her.

"The hell I'm not."

"You're not. You keep secrets. Secrets that the Spectrum will kill you for."

"Oh, what, because I use prism tech?" But he was right. The Spectrum abhorred the use of prisms for anything other than the holy use to which they were intended. Light pulling. Magic that only Spects were entitled to. Long ago, the Queen of Candela had made that abundantly clear during the Great Purge. "And I suppose you believe it's my superior ability with color that makes me an ideal candidate for this...this scheme of yours?" She glared at him.

He glared back. "I do. That, and a black prism. If you had one." He looked down at his chest again. And then at her ring. "White light," he murmured. "The Spectrum doesn't know you can manipulate white, do they? No one believes it's possible."

Elias had. He was the one who once suggested it. Lighters—true Lighters, he'd said—could manipulate every color including white. But no one had seen it for hundreds of years. And those in the Spectrum who possessed Lighter abilities validated themselves by claiming it wasn't possible.

She sighed. "Fine. Let's get hypothetical here, Steiner. If I take out the High Mask, someone on the Council will simply fill his place. I'd have to take out the entire Council. Even then, others might fill their places. Sooner or later, they'd know it was me. I'd spend the rest of my life looking over my shoulder. Hunted to the end of my days."

"Don't you already?" He gave her a knowing look. "There are thirty-nine Spects in the Spectrum, including the Council and the High Mask—not including quarter masks," he amended, lifting a finger. Quarter masks were merely acolites. No threat whatsoever. Most of them would be happy for freedom.

"Thirty-nine," she repeated, frowning. "How do you know this? How do you know any of it?" He shrugged. "And you want me to kill all of them? You're mad."

"Not all. But this isn't a cut-the-head-off-the-snake scenario either." He paused. "If you eliminate the Council and the High Mask, the Spectrum will fall."

Eight deaths, minimum. That's what he was asking. No small feat.

She snorted, slouching against the sofa. It wasn't as if she hadn't considered this before. Oh, she'd considered it plenty. Especially after Clora's death. Years and years spent wishing things could be different. But dreams were only that. And nothing she did would ever bring Clora back.

"I still don't see how it's possible," she said. "Where would I start? How would I find them? With nothing but their Spect names, Ghost, Deadlock, Flint...You want me to chase smoke?"

"I have their names—not all of them. Enough to get you started."

Her skin erupted in goose bumps. "How?"

He sighed. "It's unimportant. Just know that I have them. The others—we may have to resort to unconventional tactics."

"You mean torture." Coming from a Spect, the suggestion wouldn't have surprised her. But from someone like Lord Steiner? "Just because I'm well versed in the art doesn't mean I want to," she said. Maybe she was different, after all.

"You want your father's name? He lives here in Chroma, by the way. Did you know? He's still alive."

Her heart skidded to a halt, then slowly sped up again. She opened her mouth, then closed it. This close? Right under her very nose? All this time? A flash of rolling fields and a large country estate distracted her. Her childhood home until she was nearly five. Until she was—No. That was enough.

"You still haven't told me how you know him, Steiner. How can I trust you? And why should I bother, when I can simply pry the information from you?"

"You can try." Steiner's eyes glittered with unspoken challenge.

She swallowed. Torturing Conrad Steiner was the last thing she wanted, no matter how good she was. "I'd hate to ruin that pretty face of yours," she decided.

"Agreed! That would be a real shame." He hesitated. "Work for me, Tabby. Work with me. I'll give you a black prism. Use it how you like. When you've eliminated our marks, I'll gladly hand over your father's identity. What you do with it is up to you. The Spectrum will fall. You'll be a free woman."

He wasn't just offering the name she longed for, but a new life. Freedom. What better way to begin anew than by confronting her estranged father? The man who'd abandoned her to this fate. The one who'd turned her into...this.

Nit was strangely silent.

She shook her head, gripped with indecision. Why was she even considering it? Because the last ten years had been hopeless? Empty?

"I don't know," she said at last. Steiner had disarmed her in a way no others had. As much as she disliked him, she had to respect him for it. "It is an impossible task."

"It's not. You know it's not. You're scared. Rightly so. You should be." Steiner took a step forward. "Shall I bring out the prism? Perhaps a good look will help." He moved towards the door.

"Not so fast." She stole across the room in a blink, blocking his path. "You don't think I'd let you leave the room."

"Well, I'm the only one who knows where it is. And I think once you see it, you'll be easier to convenience."

"How do I know you aren't going for help? I'm not stupid."

"No. You are not stupid. I wouldn't be asking this of you if I thought otherwise." He hesitated. "Tabby, if it can be done, you're the person to do it."

She shook her head. "How long have you been watching me?"

"Six years."

Six years?! Disarmed again. Ice flooded her veins. Alarm. Fear shot straight to her core leaving her light headed. If he'd managed, who else might be watching?

"Fine. Go. Five minutes and then I'm coming after you." The green light on the walls disappeared. She needed a moment alone—to process. He nodded and disappeared into the hallway.

In his absence, emotions battered her senses. Fear, apprehension, longing, excitement. Steiner had a black prism. She wasn't sure how he'd found one. He had too many secrets, perhaps more than her.

"He's spent a long time studying you. If you do the same, chances are, you'll discover what makes him tick."

"He's not a mechanical, Nit." Still, Nit had a point. "Do I do it? Do I accept?"

Moving against the Spectrum? It was certain death. Absolutely and undoubtedly insane. Killing those who had trained her to kill? Was it even possible? She couldn't deny that she had longed for a shot at Reaper ever since Clora. She wanted revenge almost as badly as she wanted the name of her father. But the entire Spectrum? Perhaps it was so wickedly crazy that she might actually succeed. And Steiner was right. She wasn't anything like the rest of them.

The corners of her lips curled. No one in the Spectrum manipulated white light. They didn't use prism tech. Even with a few colors, the Spectrum would be hard-pressed to surpass her. She had every color on her side.

"And you have me," Nit said, a certain smugness to their voice.

"And I have you," she repeated.

Steiner returned, breathing hard, carrying a wooden box.

"Did you run all the way to the Taewae for that?" She gazed at him, eyes narrowed. Still suspicious. This could very well be another trap. The Spectrum liked to play games. Test the loyalty of its Spects. She'd been caught up in plenty of them, and she had never once failed. But this...her father's name....

She wanted to distrust him, and under any other circumstances, she would. But...she'd killed him. She'd plunged a dagger straight into his chest. No Spect would ever allow such a thing. Self preservation was at the very core of their identity.

"Three flights of stairs and a cellar," Steiner drawled. "You only gave me five minutes." He glanced at her hand. "Mind stowing your dagger? You're making me nervous."

"At least you won't underestimate me again."

"No. Certainly not." He set the box on the small table in the middle of his room. "Might want to do your fancy sound trick again. I don't want the servants overhearing."

She snapped her fingers, calling more green to blanket the walls, this time from a different prism since she'd already drained the first. Her eyes didn't stray from the box. Steiner kept his hands on it, holding it. After all the searching she'd done. Here it was. At last.

Hunger snaked its way around her.

Steiner glanced up and dropped his hands, stepping away. "I'd hate to deprive you of a moment like this. By all means."

She stowed her dagger and stepped closer, heart leaping. After a nod from him, she opened the box and her breath caught. There it was, nestled in satin, stark against the white fabric. She blinked. Blinked again.

A sense of recognition passed through her.

The prism was the size of a large coin. It was blacker than any black she'd ever seen. An object capable of sucking light from the air around it—so it was rumored. She knew next to nothing about them, only bits and pieces.

"May I?"

Steiner nodded.

The prism was multifaceted, crudely cut. No light reflected from it—like looking into nothingness. She squeezed her fist around it, feeding off of the thrill that raced through her limbs.

Steiner watched. Obvious hunger spread across his features. "Well? Does it do anything?"

"Give me a moment." She closed her eyes and focused. This would be different. She wasn't pulling light out. Instead, she was coaxing light to enter. An opposite process.

She felt it around her, each wavelength, blanketing all the objects in view, rendering them in different colors, each with its own identity. She touched them, caressing them like plucked strings, calling to them as she lifted her free hand and made a fist, pulling them inward. Sweat beaded on her forehead and rolled down the nape of her neck. She let out a breath. Her headache from earlier doubled, intensifying.

"Light!" Steiner's gasp forced her eyes open. The first thing she noticed was a profound blackness gathered about her. She could see nothing but a void.

She choked, not quite believing, though the splitting pain in her head and the sudden onset of dizziness was a sure sign she'd done something. It had worked quickly, too quickly. Too easily. Why?

"I'm...a shadow."

"Unbelievable," Steiner whispered.

She almost barked a laugh, releasing her hold, sighing with relief as light returned to her surroundings. Some said those capable of true manipulation were blessed by Light. Light Touched, they were called. She certainly didn't believe any of that nonsense. Yet, she couldn't quite comprehend what she'd just seen. Her ability to easily manipulate the lump in her hand. Nor her deep understanding for light, for the things she could do with it, things that others couldn't.

A black prism. Emotion ripped through her, pooling in her chest as a triumphant smile stretched across her lips. She wasn't just a blade anymore—she was a weapon of darkness. Maybe Steiner was right. Maybe she did stand a chance. She could do her best work at night, utilizing the darkness around her. The Spectrum could try and thwart her. But first, they'd have to see her coming.