“Absolutely not!” A muscle twitches by Mom’s mouth. “Don’t say a word, Walker. Just portal her out of here.” Mom’s words remind me of something she said in my dreamscape last night. Don’t do it, Xavier. Just get out of here.

I freeze.

Memories whirl through my brain. The casual way Mom invited Tim for drinks. The calm words she used to describe their falling-out. The lack of kisses, goo-goo eyes, and any flirty energy between them, period.

So not like Xavier. A shiver rattles my shoulders. Suddenly, it’s obvious why my eyes are angel blue. Xavier is my father and Mom lied to me in a big way. My blood boils with anger. I turn to my mother, my voice low and creepy-calm.

“Tim is not my father. You two never even kissed, did you?”

Mom’s voice catches in her throat. “That’s not true.” She half-collapses onto the couch. “TIM-29 is your father, Myla.”

Rage whirls up my spine. Enough already. “I know you’re lying to me, Mom. Xavier is my father.”

She chokes out one word. “No.”

My blue eyes narrow. “Let’s see, then. All quasis have brown eyes that flare red. Angel eyes glow blue.” I give my chin a few dramatic taps. “My eyes turn red when I’m in wrath-mode. If my father’s an angel, then they’ll glow blue when I feel love.”

Mom clutches the couch’s frayed armrests. “Myla, don’t do anything silly.”

That settles it. Closing my eyes, I picture Lincoln standing at the Ryder fountain, describing how I burst out of the lake, killing Doxy demons and laughing. From that day on, I’ve thought of you. I remember how his mismatched eyes glistened, how delicious his mouth felt on mine. A pleasant chill settles onto my skin. Odd electric sensations zing about my fingertips. I open my eyes once again.

“Myla, stop!” Mom gasps. “No one can see you like this.”

Mom lectures on and on about hiding my glowing blue eyes, but I barely hear her. Instead, my attention’s locked on the now-pleasant feeling of power that lingers around my fingers. The electric sensation expands and changes until it’s a thousand tiny voices calling to me, some singing, others laughing, all of them aching to be brought to life. It’s hypnotic. I glance around the room; Mom and Walker are lost in conversation. Only I can hear the little voices.

I’m dimly aware that Walker sits down beside Mom. Some of his words break through the haze in my brain. “Camilla, there’s no point pretending any more. Her eyes are glowing bright blue.”

Mom lets out a ragged breath. “Yes, Myla. Your father is Xavier. You were right about Tim. We never even held hands.”