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“Well, nice for her.”

“Cori was kind.”

“If only we could all be paragons of virtue by age six!”

“Cori loved everyone!” She lovedme,Aimee didn’t say. “And she remembered everything—birthdays, stupid songs, the color of your coat from two weeks ago. She wouldn’t have forgotten. She wouldn’t walk around putting everyone in danger and pretending like she’s still the victim.”

“Aimee,” Aiden snapped.

But Aimee couldn’t stop. The knife was already in her hand, and if she was going to be the villain, she might as well cut deep. “She wouldn’t have becomeyou!”

The words landed like a slap. Aiden flinched visibly, his gaze dropping to the floor as though he wished he could vanish through it.

Silence fell.

Taly’s jaw worked. Her eyes flickered before setting back into careful emptiness. Finally, she said, “You’re right. I’m not her. And thank the Shards for that.”

Aimee swallowed hard, blinking fast as the burn behind her eyes threatened to spill over.

Their gazes met and held.

“I think we’re done for today,” Taly said.

“I think we are,” Aimee replied hoarsely.

Then, with synchronized wounded dignity, Taly turned sharply one way, Aimee stiffly the other.

Leaving Aiden, still sitting on the bench. “Great talk, everyone. I’ll just be… here.” He glanced between their retreating backs. “I still need a spotter.”

The basement smelled like dust and time—old wood, dry parchment, and the faint metallic tang of forgotten trinkets. Shelves sagged under the weight of books. Crates overflowed with things too valuable or sentimental to throw away. Along one wall, armoires bulged, their doors barely closing around centuries of old clothing waiting to come back into style.

Taly sat cross-legged on the cool stone floor, surrounded by open boxes and half-sorted piles of junk. A faded stuffed gryphon, missing a button eye, sat beside an ornate glass spyglass, the lens fogged with age. A bundle of her mother’schildhood ribbons, still tied in neat little bows, was tangled up with a string of pearls that had lost their luster. A tarnished candelabrum leaned precariously against a stack of old schoolbooks—some hers, some Skye’s, some belonging to people long gone.

She wasn’t sulking. She was organizing. Because that was productive. That wasuseful. And it wasn’t like she had much else to do. She wasn’t needed at the healing park until later. She couldn’t scry.Is the grimble dead,Ivain had asked the last time she’d brought it up.No?Then there was her answer.

At least down here, buried under decades of dust and discarded history, there was no one watching her. No one tilting their headjust so,hesitating before asking the inevitable,Are you okay?As if the answer would be any different this time.

Of course, she was. Why wouldn’t she be?

She’d escaped the grimble. No blood, no lasting damage. The only problem was how everyone kept making such a big damn deal about it.

A sharp knock echoed through the basement, making Taly jump. She hadn’t realized how quiet it had become.

“Go away, Skye,” she called out, voice tight. He was probably just checking to make sure there was a dreamspindle within range. He’d been installing them everywhere—in every room, over every bed, closing off any chance she had of slipping around the rule.

The door creaked open, but it wasn’t Skye’s familiar silhouette filling the doorway.

“Uh, hi,” Aimee said, a bit hesitant, ducking to peer down into the basement gloom.

Taly turned back to the chipped teacup, turning it over in her palm before setting it in theask Sarinapile. It looked like junk, but she wasn’t making that mistake again. “What do you want?”

Aimee stepped onto the first stair, the wood groaning beneath her striders. “You weren’t at the training hall this morning.”

Taly didn’t look up. “Observant as ever.”

“It’s not like you to miss a session.” Aimee crossed her arms, trying to appear casual, but her posture was too tense, her eyes searching.

“We’re done,” Taly said, the words flat and final.