Proud and collected in his tailored suit, Trent fingered his gift and came closer, hiding his tension under a practiced calm learned in the boardroom. I couldn’t help but be impressed with his determination to try to salvage something from this.

“I brought you a gift,” he said, extending the wrapped box. “A show of thanks for your cellular sample.”

Jenks landed on my shoulder. “The man has more balls than a prize bull,” he muttered, and the rims of Ceri’s ears colored. She didn’t take it, and Trent finally set it atop the piano.

Ignoring him, Ceri turned to Quen. “You hesitated to attack Rachel at first. Why?”

Quen blinked, clearly not expecting this. “Rachel’s strongest defensive abilities are in her physical skills, not her magic,” he said, his gravelly voice blending beautifully with Ceri’s smooth, perfect tones. “I’m proficient with both, and it wouldn’t be honorable to defeat her using something she can’t defend against when I can assert my will where she has a chance to meet me equally.”

From my shoulder came Jenks’s loud comment, “Piss on my daisies, I knew there was something I liked about the little cookie maker.”

“That’s important to you?” Ceri questioned regally, ignoring Jenks’s comment.

Quen dropped his head, but his eyes were unrepentant from beneath his dark bangs. Trent shifted his feet. I knew it was a ploy to bring her attention to him, but Ceri smiled at Quen. “There is a spark of us left,” she said, then took a breath as if readying herself for a difficult task.

Outside, pixies plastered themselves against the glass, and I felt a stab of nervousness when Ceri returned her focus to Trent. Seeing them together, I was struck by how much they looked alike. Their hair was that same fine, almost-transparent blond, their features both had the same delicate yet firm cast. Slim without losing strength. Strength without sacrificing beauty.

“I’ve been watching you for some time,” Ceri said softly. “You’re very confusing. Very confused. You have forgotten nothing, but you don’t know how to use it.”

Trent’s expression almost hid his anger. Almost. “Mal Sa’han—”

Ceri’s breath hissed, and she dropped back a step, dress furling to show her bare feet. “Don’t,” she said, complexion a delicate rose. “Not from you.”

Quen twitched when she reached for her waistband, and she froze him with a look as she pulled a swab in a torn cellophane package from it. I recognized it as one of mine. “I came to give you this,” she said, handing it to Trent. “But since I have your attention…”