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“I have it under control,” I say.

He lifts his shirt to show me the handle of his fire dagger.

“Underneath your veneer is fear,” I say. “You wouldn’t carry a weapon otherwise.”

He drums up another snappy reply, and I realize we’ll never get anywhere if we’re at each other’s throats like this. “The Dragunhead mentioned Yagrin. Of all people, why him?”

He picks his nails. “He knows the most about sun tracking. I’m not taking any chances out there.”

I frown in confusion before realizing both Yagrin and Jordan finished at House of Perl. So they must have been at Hartsboro around the same time.

“He lied to me, pretended to be one of his personas to gain my trust. He knew my mother was at Hartsboro and never said anything. I’m not working with him.” A strangled laugh escapes my throat. I did all I could to get away from Yagrin and yet here I am.

“You don’t have a choice.”

“You can’t trust him. He wants to bleed the Sphere out of spite.”

“He can’t bleed the Sphere. He’s tried. He wasn’t strong enough. He needs you to do it. Lie to him, I don’t care.”

“So we’re using him?”

He chuckles, a real laugh that creases around his eyes. “You act like you’re above such a thing.”

“All this time you’ve been thinking I used you?”

“I don’t spend any time thinking about you at all.”

His words cut, even though they shouldn’t. He is tossing his bag of candies in the trash when the alleyway door to Headquarters opens and Yagrin appears. His pallor is worse and his hair is longer. A thin scruff of a beard shadows his face.

“This is a surprise,” Yagrin says. “What’s happened?”

“We were just talking about how I never wanted to see your face again. But Jordan insists that, of all the brotherhood, we have to drag you along with us because you’re good at sun tracking.”

“The best,” Jordan says.

“Ah. Who better than his spiteful, sorry-excuse, waste-of-space brother?”

“Enough, Yagrin.” Jordan glances at me. “Quell, are you ready?”

Yagrin’s brows bounce, his features curling into a smug expression I know well. Beside him, Jordan huffs with impatience, his expression twisting in the same pompous way.

Almost the exact arrogant way…

Jordan’s taller, with lighter eyes, fuller lips, and more melanin, but if that were taken away, he’d look a lot like Yagrin.

“No. There is no way.”

Yagrin and Jordan look at each other, and the slopes of their profiles match.

“You’re—”

The sharp cheekbones, the deeply set eyes, the aquiline noses. Genetics are a funny thing. I hardly look anything like Mom.

“Brothers?”

“How could you not tell her?” Yagrin mumbles.

“I thought you had,” Jordan mutters back. Before I realize it, I’m stomping in his brother’s direction. The slap shocks both of us and leaves my hand stinging. Yagrin’s cheek is bright red.