The technique isn’t as simple as it sounds. I try to focus on the things Elaine said, but my thoughts drift. First to the knives, then to the strange vision I had, then to Kaden. Nothing happens.

Elaine is unimpressed. “Focus.”

I try again, but the knives still don’t move.

Elaine purses her lips thoughtfully. “When I read someone’s aura, it helps me to imagine it as a shape and color. Otherwise I just get vague impressions and feelings. But when I give the thought a tangible connection, everything gets clearer.”

A flame sparks to life in Roy’s palm. “My pyrokinesis is the same way. I have to think of the flame as a part of myself to be able to control it.”

A tangible connection. A part of myself. I repeat the words over and over again as I focus on the knives. I think about the way the edges curve, about the touch of cool metal in my hands. My fingers curl in, mimicking their size, the grip. I imagine picking the blades up out of her hands, of them becoming a part of me.

The knives shiver, then disappear, reappearing clasped in my hands. Their cool touch startles me, and I nearly drop them.

“I’m not sure I’ll ever get used to all of this,” I say reverently.

“You don’t have to get used to it,” Roy says with a grin. “You just have to get good at it.”

“In three days,” I mutter. What if I haven’t learned enough to defend myself against Kaden and his boss?

Roy claps my shoulder, nearly knocking me forward despite my new strength. “You’re doing great, kid.” He offers me a smile. “And you’re not alone in this.”

Guilt makes my stomach twinge. “I’m sorry.” I dragged them all into this, and now they have no choice but to be involved. “Involving you wasn’t fair. You should leave me and Kaden to each other.”

Roy’s laugh is practically a bark, so loud and abrupt that I jerk my head up in surprise. Beside him, Elaine looks offended. “Family doesn’t only mean blood around here, Colin,” he says, nodding at something over my shoulder.

Anna is moving toward us, her sketchbook tucked under her arm. The late autumn sunlight filters through the burnt-orange leaves at her back, Max pouncing on bugs in the grass ahead of her. “It doesn’t even always mean human.”

My stomach twists again as Max bounds over. He leaps, and on instinct I stick out an arm. He lands on my forearm with control beyond that of a cat and clambers up to perch on my shoulders.