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“Will I get to see my brother’s actual face today?” I ask, checking the sun’s position overhead. High noon is supposed to be a great time to sun track.

No response and no change.

Yags stops at a pair of lounge chairs near a glistening bed of rocks full of dancing flames. I sit beside him, and Liam’s blue eyes find me.

“Thanks for this. And the bed.”

I nod, trying to find the right way to phrase what I want to say next. Yagrin’s brown eyes bleed through Liam’s and stay. I stare at the glimpse of the brother I know. The slant in his eyes has tilted more over the years. He plays his strings and I let him, listening in silence. When the song finishes, he plays two more. By the time that’s done, I gather the words I’ve been tossing around in my head, none of which feel quite right, and force them out of my mouth.

“It’s a perfect day for sun tracking.”

“Indeed it is,” he says without any bite in his tone. I move closer to him, and my hand moves to the vial in my pocket. But just as it feels like the chasm between us is closing, his gaze falls to the virtue pins on my lapel. He sneers.

“I don’t get how you can stand her.”

Beaulah.

“I hate her as much as you do. But I won’t apologize for my accomplishments.”

“There’s more than accomplishment that comes with those pins.” The blue of Liam’s eyes hasn’t returned. Yagrin still stares back at me. I shift in my seat. Beaulah is very insistent about virtue pins and what they mean in her House. When she pins them on, asking the receiver to accept them, it always feels a bit like swallowing an eel. But my brother only ever earned a single pin, for discretion. And not because he couldn’t earn more. By the time his magic showed strongly, he had already grown apathetic, refusing to practice anything but sun tracking. He loathed the pressure. So he slacked in every way.

I adjust my coat, the sun catching the gleaming line of gold on my chest. My brother turns the pegs on the headstock of his guitar. He has nothing to show for his life but bitterness. All things considered, he’s probably, in some small way, jealous of me.

The next time he looks at me, the brown in his eyes has returned to Liam’s blue. Walls back up. I prop my leg on my knee and settle into my seat, hoping I look more chill than I feel.

“I was thinking about that ordeal with the butler you reminded me about,” I say. “It was quite ridiculous. But I liked old Brisby. He smelled a little weird.”

“It was that tonic he used in his hair, I think.” My brother smirks.

“Remember when we swapped it with Father’s aftershave?” The picture forms in my mind: my father’s red face, his greasy beard, and the stale-smelling liquid dripping over his face and clothes. A guffaw bubbles up and bursts from my lips. It feels foreign and jagged, almost painful, like a hammer hitting a brittle piece of concrete. Yags chuckles, too. When our laughter settles, I feel lighter.

“What an awful waste of space that man is,” he says. “Not Brisby.”

“Father,” we both say at the same time.

“You know, as much as I loathe the brotherhood and how you are sliding further into its clutches—” He glances at the ruby heart pendant. “The best thing you’ve ever done was tell the Dragunhead about Father’s health so he had to be sent away.”

“That was good, wasn’t it?”

“Absolutely brilliant. It’s almost like we’re related.”

I slip the vial of Sun Dust from my pocket. But I hold it in a closed fist, realizing how bringing it out right now will look to him. Talking with him like this is…nice.

Yags glances at my closed fist. “Sometimes I think you forget I know you better than you know yourself.”

I open my hand, my cheeks flushed.

“You were awful at sun tracking last time I saw you.” Yagrin learned to sun track during a session Beaulah offered for her inner circle of pupils. He’d try to talk to me about it, but I was busy trying to attend as many raids as possible. I would give anything to go back to those conversations now.

“I was fourteen, Yags.”

“You probably still can’t do it.”

My heart skips a beat. “Try me.”

“You know who is really good at sun tracking?” He smiles and the answer mocks me. Quell. Between gritted teeth, I force out, “Oh, because she is bound?”

“She can suspend Dust like you wouldn’t believe.” He’s practically giddy. “I would bet anything she feels the Sphere’s magic in her bones, like those old stories Nana used to talk about.”