Legacy (Keeper of the Lost Cities #8) - Shannon Messenger Page 0,168

not without its gaps. The man may also have altered his appearance in some significant way since Mr. Sencen saw him in this memory—a change of hairstyle. Adding a beard or mustache. Gaining or losing weight. Even the simple inevitabilities of human aging, like wrinkles and hair loss, could be significant enough to make the cameras disregard him as a viable match.”

The words might as well have been a giant pair of scissors, snipping the threads of excitement that had been stitching Sophie’s newfound hope together.

She’d been living with the elves for long enough that she’d forgotten how much more humans change than the elves. Everyone in the Lost Cities stayed mostly static once they reached adulthood. An elf looked the same at thirty as they did at one hundred thirty and three hundred thirty and one thousand thirty and on and on and on. The only notable difference would be the points of their ears or how they chose to cut or style their hair.

Maybe that was even why the London cameras hadn’t found the guy.

“Don’t look so disheartened,” Mr. Forkle told her. “I should be able to help Mr. Dizznee create some basic algorithms that will allow the cameras to predict the most likely appearance alterations and search for those as well. There will still be a margin for error, of course, but—”

“You would do that?” Sophie interrupted.

“Of course! That shouldn’t come as a surprise to you, Miss Foster,” he chided. “I fear you’ve lost sight of who I am. Allowed the fact that I’m unable to share information about your genetic parents to feel like an enormous chasm between us. When the reality is so much simpler. We’re still on the same side. We still share the same goals. Still crave the same answers. So how about we endeavor to focus on those similarities from this point forward?”

He extended his hand for a handshake, and, after a quick glance at Keefe, Sophie reached out and took it.

“Excellent,” Mr. Forkle said. “I’ll explain all of this to Mr. Dizznee as soon as he returns from Loamnore this evening, so he can make any necessary preparations before I bring him to my office.”

“Why is he in Loamnore?” Sophie asked.

Mr. Forkle released her hand. “That’s classified information.”

“Right. And I’m the leader of Team Valiant,” Sophie reminded him.

“You are. But no one else in this room has the necessary clearance. And it’s best if you don’t use your telepathy right now.”

“It’s best if you don’t do anything right now,” Elwin added, before Sophie could suggest asking everyone to clear the room, “except drink a bottle of Youth, have some broth, and try to sleep. Give us at least the rest of today to get you a little stronger before you start diving into all the stressful conversations. Save the updates and worrying for tomorrow.”

“Elwin’s right,” Livvy agreed, handing Sophie a bottle of Youth as Edaline conjured up a bowl of pale, purple-toned broth for her to eat. “I know you’re itching to get back to work—and I get it. Believe me. But right now, your focus needs to be on your recovery or you’re going to slow the process down. And the good news is, your friends are brilliant and talented and every bit as determined as you are, so it’s not like you have to worry that nothing’s getting done. They’re out there right now kicking butt and taking names. And you have to be here. So make it worth it. Get as much rest as you can.”

Sophie sighed and forced herself to take a bite of broth, which was somehow both a little sweet and a little salty. “What is this?”

“Panakes blossoms steeped with a few herbs Flori recommended,” Edaline explained. “She thinks it’ll speed your healing.”

Sophie finished the whole bowl, and it eased some of the aching in her limbs, which made her want out of that bed even more.

“Try to sleep,” Elwin told her, pulling her blankets back into place when she tossed them aside.

“But I’ve been sleeping for three days!” she reminded him.

“That wasn’t restful sleep,” Elwin insisted.

“It must’ve been, because I’m not tired,” Sophie argued.

“I can fix that,” Flori offered from the doorway. She padded over to the bed, singing a lullaby about windswept branches dancing in perfect harmony to the rhythm of the breeze, and the flowers on Sophie’s canopy filled the air with their sweet, soothing perfume.

“That’s not fair,” Sophie grumbled through a yawn.

“Yeah, wow,” Keefe said, rubbing his eyes as he stumbled