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Pace had slipped from me with a low, gritty sound before palming my belly, his morning kiss unbearably sweet.

Now, he reaches out, looping an arm around my waist and hauling me close. “Just digging into the palace files,” he says, idly stroking my stomach. I’m only in my eighteenth week, but when it comes to Pace and Lex, I’m already beginning to feel like one of those statues people rub for good luck, the patina worn down through the ages.

“For… Odette?” I ask, saying it out loud for the first time. I’d given him back the paper he dropped in my room the next time I saw him on campus. I didn’t have to ask who Odette was. I just knew.

“Yeah,” he sighs, slowly pulling his arm back. He uses it to type something. “So far, there’s nothing. It’s like she never existed, except I know she did. Adeline has a picture.”

“Can I see?” I ask.

Finally, he looks at me, searching for something in my stare. “Are you sure? Because I think this is someone none of us are supposed to know about.”

Frowning, I reply, “I’m sure.”

He taps a few keys, and the image of a beautiful woman pops up. I lean close to inspect it, noting the white coronation gown. She’s young, and I intimately recognize the mixture of excitement and fear in her eyes. She’s been through the throning, I realize. She’s taken her deposits. In this photo, she’s pregnant. Successful. Coronated.

None of that is what keeps my eyes glued to her face. It’s the similarity between her and Pace. There’s no doubt they’re related.

“She looks just like you,” I say, voice full of awe. “Do you think she’s your mo—”

“I don’t know who she is,” he cuts me off and closes out the image, shoulders shifting uncomfortably. “But yeah, I’m pretty sure we’re related.”

I want to ask him how that makes him feel, but I’m not sure I have the right. I grew up with a mother, and never had a clue who my father was until Ashby made the announcement. But Pace is so closed off emotionally, and we’ve only just made advances in trusting one another. I don’t want to risk him shutting down entirely.

“Have you asked your father?”

“Fuck no.” He scoffs, opening another file. “Any discussions about our birth parents happened eleven years ago. We were taken into his office, one at a time, given the paltry information he offered, and told that under no circumstances were we to bring it up again.”

My heart clenches at the thought of a little eight-year-old Pace sitting in Ashby’s office, lost and confused. “What did he say?” Only, as soon as the question leaves my mouth, I wince. “Sorry, that’s probably super personal.”

But Pace just shrugs. “I was told my mother was black and my father was white. They’re both dead, just like Lex and Wick’s parents.”

“Could he…” The question sticks in my throat, but when Pace turns to meet my gaze, I rally the courage. “Could he have been lying?”

Pace gives me a look that says this answer is obvious. “Of course he could have been lying. That’s why the three of us did our research. Wicker’s parents… well, you know about his dad.”

I wince again. “He was Clive Kayes’ son, right?”

“In other words, obviously dead,” Pace confirms. The light from his screen cuts the angles of his face in sharp relief as he turns back. “And Lex’s parents—their deaths were… let’s just say, incredibly public. Nothing to hide there.”

Part of me is screaming to know what that means.Incredibly public? But a bigger part of me is noticing, “You didn’t find anything on yours?”

Pace shakes his head, clicking around. “He didn’t really give me anything to go on. No names. No ages. I don’t even know if they lived in Forsyth. Lex’s parents didn’t.” Shrugging, he drags a hand over his face, looking tired. “When Father doesn’t want you to know something, you don’t. End of story.”

“What about computers?” I ask, going rigid as I assess all the security components in the room. “Will he be able to see you’re searching for information?”

Pace’s lips form a lazy grin. “He would if I wasn’t so good at covering my tracks.” He pulls up a new page, this one a series of numbers and codes, and points at the screen. “I can see everyone who accesses the Palace feeds, and erase my own, as well.”

Some of the tension in my spine unwinds. It’s strange to think that a couple of months ago, the thought of seeing one of these men punished by Ashby might have felt satisfying. Now it just makes me vaguely ill.

“Wait.” Pace’s low voice brings all of the alarm rushing back, and the way he snaps straight doesn’t help. “Wait a fucking—what the hell is this?”

“What?” I ask, looking between his stony frown and the screen. It looks like gibberish to me.

“This IP,” he says, copying the series of numbers. “This isn’t one of ours.”

“Ashby?” I watch as he pastes the number into a text bar, a page flashing up.

But Pace shakes his head. “This isn’t even a domestic IP. This is some flimsy VPN relay. Father wouldn’t bother.”