Sophie steeled herself for some sort of cruel threat. Instead, Lord Cassius told her, “Please let him know that no matter what happens, he will always have a room here at Candleshade. I realize my son and I do not get along. I’ll even own that it’s primarily my fault. But regardless of our differences . . . Keefe and I will always be family. And no matter where he goes or what he does, he can always choose to come back home.”

It definitely wasn’t the kind of speech that left Sophie feeling warm and snuggly. But Lord Cassius was offering his son more than Tam and Linh’s parents had done for their children.

“I’ll let him know,” she promised.

Lord Cassius nodded. And with that, they leaped back to Havenfield.

MR. FORKLE GAVE THEM TEN SECONDS after their group arrived in the creature-filled pastures before he held out his pudgy hand. “Show me the letter.”

Fitz obediently passed it over.

“Well,” Mr. Forkle said when he’d finished reading, flipping the note over to study the drawing. “Mr. Sencen is a remarkable artist.”

“That’s it?” Sophie asked as Tam groaned. “What about the note? And the numbers?”

“And the sparkles,” Linh added.

“Excuse me for wanting to give proper praise to Mr. Sencen’s talent. Look at those details! Do we know how old he was when he drew this?”

“He was a Level Three at Foxfire,” Sophie said. “And now you’re stalling,”

“I am,” Mr. Forkle agreed. “But only because I know you’re all going to start shouting at me in a few seconds—even Sandor and Grizel.”

“Why would we do that?” Fitz asked.

“Because . . . I know what the numbers mean.”

“YOU DO?” six voices shouted in unison.

Mr. Forkle rubbed his temples. “Just as I expected. And now . . .”

He pointed to the path that led to the T. rex pasture, where Grady came sprinting toward them covered in neon green dinosaur feathers.

“Is everything okay?” Grady asked. “I heard shouting while I was bathing Verdi.”

“We’re fine,” Mr. Forkle said. “But by all means, please join this conversation. It’ll save me from having to explain a second time.”

Mr. Forkle handed Grady the note from Keefe’s mother and pointed to the line under the signature. “Eighty-one, thirty-four, one hundred and ninety-seven. I’m surprised none of them could guess after seeing the crystal powder.”

Grady sighed. “Path angles.”

Mr. Forkle nodded. “For those who’ve never made a temporary leaping crystal before, the beam is made by three facets that converge to a single point, and then collapse in on each other once the leap is done. In this case, the crystal that Lady Gisela is instructing her son to carve has an eighty-one-degree angle, a thirty-four-degree angle, and a one-hundred-and ninety-seven-degree angle. She also provided the crystalline powder he’d need in order to form it, so he could take the leap of faith and meet her.”

“So we can do the same thing, right?” Sophie asked, hoping she hadn’t lost any of the powder when she opened the letter.

“I assumed that would be your next question,” Mr. Forkle said. “And I’m sure all of you are now imagining rather dramatic scenarios that involve storming a secret Neverseen hideout and solving everything with an epic showdown.”

“That’d be nice,” Tam said.

“Though I’d be even happier if they surrendered without a fight,” Fitz admitted. He rubbed the spot on his chest where he’d been impaled during their Exile prison break.

“We are the only ones who will be storming anything,” Sandor assured him, pointing to himself and Grizel.

“That won’t be necessary,” Mr. Forkle interrupted. “And no, Miss Foster, I’m not saying that because my first instinct is to deny things. I happen to know where this particular crystal will lead, and it’s nowhere we need to be visiting. I used the same angles the day I came to rescue you and Mr. Dizznee from the Neverseen.”

THIRTEEN

THE FLASHBACKS HIT Sophie hard.

No visuals. Only sounds.

Ghostly laughter. Haunting threats. Questions with no answers.

“Are you okay?” Fitz asked as Sophie dug her fist under her ribs, trying to keep the tangled emotions from unraveling.

“I’m fine,” she promised—then cleared her throat and tried again without the definitely not-fine squeak. “I just don’t have good memories of that place.”

“Neither do I,” Mr. Forkle mumbled. “Seeing you blistered and drugged and strapped to a chair . . .”

Everyone shuddered.

Sophie didn’t have the same memories. Her blindfold had prevented her from seeing the hideout. And the cloyingly sweet-scented drugs had dulled the rest.

All she remembered was pain.

And panic.

And scattered random details, like the weight of her bonds, the rush of the elevator they’d used during their escape, and the endless minutes as Mr. Forkle had carried her and Dex through the halls. Then she’d woken up on the streets of Paris with new abilities and three vague clues to help them find their way back to the Lost Cities.

“Just so I’m understanding this right,” Tam said, “you guys actually know where one of the Neverseen’s hideouts is?”

“An abandoned one, yes,” Mr. Forkle said. “They managed to destroy the entrance in the brief time it took me to treat Miss Foster’s and Mr. Dizznee’s wounds—and by the time I found a new way in, they’d removed all trace of themselves. Which is probably why Lady Gisela chose it for her rendezvous point. If the note fell into the wrong hands, all anyone would find are a few empty underground rooms—and even then, only if they knew exactly how to find them.”

“Does that mean the numbers in the note are a dead end?” Fitz asked.

“Unfortunately, yes. I’m sure any lookout Lady Gisela posted there is long gone now that she’s in prison. And we monitor the area. No unusual activity has ever been reported.”

Fitz’s shoulders slumped. “Just when I thought we were getting somewhere.”

“We are getting somewhere,” Mr. Forkle said. “This note is not the only discovery we made today. All we need—”