Florence had something else on her mind. She turned to Rohan. “I see how glum this has made you,” she said.

Rohan tried and failed to smile. “I can’t deny that.”

“It’s very serious,” said Florence. “But until we know the truth, there’s no sense giving up on the world over it.”

“If I’m being honest, it’s very hard for me to think that way at this point.”

“What helps me is to remember that Fifer and Thisbe are incredible mages,” said Florence. “They are smart and bold and brave. Perhaps there will be some surprises coming our way.”

Rohan looked up, horrified. “More surprises? I don’t know if I can take any more.”

Aaron, who’d been uncharacteristically quiet recently, was listening in. He caught Rohan’s eye. “If it’s any solace,” he said, “people can come back from grave mistakes.”

Florence nodded. “All is not lost,” she said. “No matter what.”

Rohan studied Aaron. He’d heard the whole story of Aaron’s past by now. “Do you put any stock in the dragon-detected levels of good and evil?”

Aaron was thoughtful. “I don’t have enough information to go on. I only know that the dragons believe Fifer is more good than evil, Thisbe more evil than good, and Dev is exactly half and half.”

“I am more good than evil,” Rohan said. “And what about you?”

“I don’t have a clue,” said Aaron.

Florence frowned, as if she detected where the conversation would land.

Rohan rolled a question around in his mind. He knew asking it would be terribly rude and possibly hurtful. But he was completely out of sorts and desperate for answers. So he plowed ahead, hoping he could make amends later if necessary. “Aaron,” he said. “Thisbe is thirteen. How old were you when you started down your… evil path? When you killed Mr. Today?”

Florence’s jaw slacked. “Rohan…,” she said softly. “That’s not…”

But Aaron saw the desperation in the boy’s eyes and held up his hand to stop Florence from chiding him. He understood more than anyone just how Rohan must be feeling. Aaron was not only desperate, but he’d started feeling responsible for Thisbe’s actions too. What if she was just like him? How could Aaron bear the shame of that? Seeing his own horrific choices and mistakes recurring like a reflection in a lake of oil?

“I was thirteen,” he said. “Nearly fourteen. But that doesn’t mean anything. She’s not me.”

Rohan closed his eyes.

“I mean it, Rohan,” Aaron said, his voice catching with emotion. “Our upbringings were vastly different. She has everything good going for her.”

“Except for things she can’t control,” said Rohan, opening his eyes. “Things… that might run in families.”