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“I need a timeline!” The Dragunhead tosses a copy of Debs Daily at me. A photo of his unmasked face is on the front, under the headline: Has the Dragunhead Lost His Touch? “When will you find the Sphere?”

“I’m working on it, sir, with my brother.” I shift in my seat. He shakes a folder at me and my chin hits my chest.

“This report includes details of a raid you were on recently. Raiding is not what I told you to do, Jordan.”

Shame over the failed raid, and what I did two nights ago, has burrowed a hole in my chest. I don’t think it’ll ever go away. I don’t deserve to be Dragunheart.

“And you didn’t come in at all yesterday, Maei says?”

“I…was sick. The raid took a lot out of me.”

He throws the file on the desk. “Yes, it sounds like it was a hot mess.”

I glare at the folder, remembering how I stayed up most of the day yesterday, furiously filling it in with all kinds of details.

“Look at me, son.”

I can’t look at anything but my pendant.

“Alright.” He draws in a long breath and lets out an even longer one. Then he closes the door to his office. “What is it? Come on, now. You’re the Heart. I’m the Head.” He sits on the edge of his desk, beckoning me to meet his eyes. “Out with it.”

I’m silent for a long time. There are some things I can’t ever say aloud. “Sir, have you ever…On these raids, there are things we must do, but it doesn’t feel right sometimes, if I can be honest.” My grip on my seat tightens.

“You can always be honest with me. And I will always give it to you straight.”

The commissioning ceremony when I was awarded my Dragun coin comes to mind. Then the day I debuted, by plunging my dagger into my chest. And when I accepted my sixth virtue pin, completing the set. And the moment the Dragunhead hung this stone from my neck.

“How do you know for sure the brotherhood is making a difference?”

He traces the lines of his face before pouring me a drink.

“Like, I’ve wondered about mementaurs. Maybe we could—”

He holds up a hand. “For every memory they destroy, they lose one of their own. Is that right? Is it fair? There’s a reason things are done the way they’re done.” He slides the glass I didn’t take toward me anyway. “Drink up.”

The brown liquid burns my chest. But my disgrace burns hotter.

“Jordan, there is no easy answer for what you’re asking. Sometimes we just have to dig deep into our hearts, rely on what we know, and trust that.” He leans back in his chair.

My grip tremors on the glass. That’s what I did. At that house. I swear, that’s what I did. And everything feels different now.

“Take the rest of the morning,” he says. “Try to get some rest. You look like you need it. Then back at it.”

“Thank you, sir.” I gulp down the well of emotions and gaze at the folded paper again, noticing the date. “It’s the final day of Trials at House Perl.”

“Ah, your aunt—”

“My cousin, Adola. I have to be there. I’m sorry, sir, I’ll be back first thing tomorrow.”

He doesn’t push back. Not much good it would do him. I’m going. Regardless of how I’m feeling, I’m not missing the chance to be there for Adola. When I return to my workspace, I have a dozen missed messages from my aunt. Yani skips by then, plops herself on my desk, polishing her purple-studded silver diadem. She hands me a stack of scribbled-on papers.

“First six places on my list. Not one of them has heard of that girl.”

“Have you heard from Charlie? How’s his list going?”

“No, actually. He’s been hard to reach. Busy with Mother, probably.”

“Of course.”