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He smacks the bottle, sending it crashing to the stone floor, sharp crystals in a pool of red. “She said fucking stop.”

Sola laughs, glancing nervously at the pile of glass as he returns to his spot on the floor. “Fine, Eli. You don’t have to waste it.” She moves me to her other side, leaving me unrestrained on the couch, directly across from Eli.

The effects of the scarlet soda trickle through me, my fears and worries soaked up, and that constant simmering rage I knowso well doused with red liquid. Bottles empty all around, and the tingle trekking through me slowly turns to heat.

“Where’s Milo? Scarlet soda ishiscreation,” Coen says, breaking the awkward silence.

“His sister turned sixteen. He’s moving her into his house,” Sypher says.

Coen sits up straight. “Another one? How does he have so many sisters when each and every one of us is a damn miracle?”

“Anyone could,” Sypher argues. “His mother was willing to lose two babies for every one that survived. Most women aren’t.”

“Or maybe his mother was a—”

“Enough, Coen,” Eli says, his voice like steel. “You don’t talk about Milo or his dead mother.”

“Lose two for every one?” I ask as I look Eli over, marveling at his loyalty.

Sola puts a hand on my thigh, immediately removing it with the threatening look Eli gives her. “Only one in three babies survive birth.”

One in three?“Why?” It’s the opposite in Caldera. So many babies are born and given up that families are only allowed to have one child. Any additional ones need to be taken from the growing pool of foster children.

“That’s how it is.” Sola goes for another bottle, and I find myself wanting more of the so-called scarlet soda, seeking an even deeper escape…like the teva roll that turned my rage and fear into puffs of purple smoke. Escape from this mind that never stops.

Coen takes a long swig, his trim, muscled arm raised, his neck moving with each swallow. He shoves Sola’s chest back for an unobstructed view of me. “What’s it like not to have links? Everyone fucks everyone?”

“Don’t sound so excited about that,” Sola says.

“What are links?” I ask, reaching for an unclaimed bottle near my foot.

“The end,” Coen says, garnering a laugh from Sypher and a whack in the chest from Sola.

“I’ll tell you—I like you,” Sola says. “A link is your person, a deep connection. Everyone gets one, whether they want it or not, so they’re not alone with the responsibility of receiving a gift.”

Right. Magic and gods again. “So you all have links at birth?” I fumble with the cork jammed into the bottle.

“No, the link comes later. We’re born with the gift of magic, and linking creates the emotion needed to activate it. It’s just like the triggers. They’re designed to cause emotions strong enough to wake up magic. And linking is another layer of protection in the cycle. Magic is a lot to take on internally. We have to keep it balanced and flowing to prevent it from dying…or harming us. It’s ours until we die, then it moves to the next part of the cycle, going into nature to be used again. Coen and I linked years ago, and I was gifted matter shifting. I can change the properties of things. It’s a common gift—and limited—but at least I was able to help melt the ice last month.”

She holds both golden hands up, though apart from their size, they look normal.

“Eli and Sypher are due to link any time now,” she says. “Magic is in them, but they won’t receive their gift and be able to use it until their links form, which they won’t feel until maturation starts. Then they’ll grow taller and stronger and stuff. Maturation, linkthengift.”

Eli even taller? I blink away the carnal image my mind offers up. “What does it feel like?”

“Intense. It just comes on, and youknowwho you’re linking with. You crave their presence and become so intertwined and connected that your souls are practically one.”

Coen leans around Sola. “Ignore her. It’s miserable. You stop being able to fuck without consequences, and your options are narrowed down to one.”

“Isn’t doingthatbefore linking forbidden anyway?” Sypher’s eyes dart back and forth, showing his innocence.

Coen pops open another drink and circles the hissing mouth of the bottle with his finger. “Forbidden? Yes. On everyone’s mind? Yes. Happening every day all around you? Yes.” His finger slides inside the bottle, and he uncorks it with a wetpop.Heat trails down my thighs. Damn this drink.

Sypher’s eyes grow full and round like the moons, and I wonder if Coen is just trying to make him squirm.

Sola settles into Coen’s arms as she speaks to me, her cheeks blooming pink. “Pretty much everything is forbidden in Sonnet—staying out after hours, most weapons, large gatherings, music, dancing, drinking, smoking, fucking for fun…being happy.” She reaches over her shoulder and snags Coen’s chin, giving it a squeeze. “But that’s what makes it feel so good when you do it anyway. I wouldn’t want it any other way. We can be loyal to the Centress and Sonnet and still find some way to let go. Everyone does it.”

Coen points the mouth of his bottle at Eli. “I think Eli’s loyalty to the Centress is questionable at this point.”