puppet—you’re Keefe Sencen: the most stubborn person I know.”
Sandor snorted from the doorway. “Boy, is that the truth.”
“Tell me about it,” Ro agreed.
Keefe felt his lips twitch, like they wanted to smile.
“You should listen to your pretty little Blondie, Hunkyhair,” Ro told him. “I honestly don’t get what your mom is thinking. Like… she’s met you. She has to know there’s no way you’re ever going to do what she wants you to. So why give you more elf-y powers to use against her?”
“And why a Polyglot?” Fitz added. “It’s not exactly the most useful talent. Not that it’s bad or anything,” he added, glancing sheepishly at Sophie—which normally would’ve given Keefe an abundance of Fitzphie Fail jokes.
But he’d been wondering the same thing.
What did his mom think he was going to do for her now that he was a Polyglot?
Translate stuff?
Mimic voices?
She could already do all of that herself!
“Well… maybe this is proof that your mom’s plan isn’t very good,” Sophie suggested.
“Yeah, most of the Neverseen’s plans don’t make a whole lot of sense,” Fitz reminded him.
“And yet, they keep beating us,” Keefe muttered, tossing his pillow aside, “usually because we can’t figure out what they want until it’s too late. Aaaaaaaaaaaaand here we are again.”
“Wow, that’s quite a pity party you’re throwing for yourself,” Ro told him.
“Uh, if anyone’s heaping on any pity, it’s you guys.” Keefe fanned the air, which felt so thick and sour it made him want to vomit.
“I don’t think your senses are as good as you think they are,” Sophie said, offering him her hand, just like Elwin had earlier. “You’re not getting any pity from me. Go ahead and check.”
Keefe stared at her gloved fingers, very aware that holding her hand in front of the Fitzster was a terrible idea—even if it was just to take a reading.
But… he couldn’t leave her hanging there, could he?
And he was curious about what she was feeling.
So he reached up and…
There were no words.
Keefe had never stood directly under a waterfall before, but he was pretty sure he knew what it felt like now as every possible emotion crashed against his senses with the force of a million stampeding mastodons.
He couldn’t think.
Couldn’t breathe.
Even after he yanked his hand back—assuming he actually did that.
He couldn’t tell.
He couldn’t feel his body anymore.
All he could feel was fear and fury and panic and pain and hate and horror and sadness and regret and things he didn’t have words for—pounding and stretching and twisting and tearing and shredding.
His lungs screamed for air, and his brain screamed for help, and the rest of him just screamed the only word—the only thought—left in his exploding head.
The plea was fire and ice on his tongue, searing hot and cold as he ordered his senses to do the only thing that would save him.
“NUMB!”
And it worked.
The roaring faded.
The emotions vanished.
The nausea and headache eased.
And his starved lungs sucked in a trembling, grateful breath.
Then another.
And another.
His pulse followed the same steady rhythm, and his vision sharpened into focus, and he searched the room, realizing he was now surrounded by…
… blank stares.
Sophie.
Fitz.
Elwin.
Even Ro and Sandor.
They just stood there, slack-jawed and unblinking.
And he realized.
He wasn’t numb.
Everybody else was.
- THREE - Sophie
SOPHIE HAD BEEN DRUGGED BEFORE.
Lost days drifting in and out of a blurry haze.
But she’d never experienced anything like this.
There were no words to describe it.
No metaphors or comparisons.
Everything was just…
Blank.
She could hear her pulse pounding in her ears—see her chest rise and fall with each breath.
But she couldn’t feel it.
Nor could she register any trace of the panic her brain kept telling her she should be experiencing.
She was empty.
She was nothing.
Life had become a memory.
All that remained was existence.
She realized her arms were moving and glanced down, watching a pair of hands jostle her wrists. The jarring motion should’ve startled her, but she couldn’t feel that, either. She also couldn’t tell when she lost her balance. The only clue was the ground rushing toward her—and some tiny part of her wanted to scream. But she didn’t have the energy.
She couldn’t even brace for the crash.
But the hands holding her wrists pulled her back up and steadied her as a familiar voice echoed in her ears.
“Sophie.”
“Sophie!”
“SOPHIE!”
She didn’t know how to answer.
Even when the calls turned to pleas.
Then commands.
“WAKE UP!”
“RELAX!”
“UNDO!”
Nothing made any difference.
“Please,” the voice begged. “Please don’t be numb anymore.”
Still no change.
Time slowed to a crawl and Sophie tried to count her breaths. But she kept losing track after three or four.
She’d just started over again