Jerkily, I sat up.

“I refused to come. But he’s persistent. He sent you this.” She dropped a bundle in my lap. A thermos, and something else I couldn’t make out. Curious, I held it up to the moonlight. I inhaled softly. It was a beautiful wooden replica of my Apex. It fit nicely in my hand and was lightweight. So, unlike the Helix, it would be easy to throw. Etched along its smooth side was a girl. Her long braids flagged behind her as she ran. With this model Apex, I could practice aiming my weapon without exposing the humiliating limits of my strength.

Voltaire waited for my reaction. I blinked rapidly, unable to find words.

“You could say thank you,” she supplied, her tone more caustic than usual.

Taken aback, I looked at her. She was grim-faced and accusing. She sensed the strain in my relationship with William, how he hovered over me like an old watchdog. She’d seen him be gentle and harmless, and she had judged my halfhearted response to his care.

“I don’t want his gifts,” I said, finally. “Take them back.”

“I won’t. Crane laid down his club, but he’s proud and I won’t humiliate him.”

She didn’t say that I had humiliated him, but she didn’t have to. I had rejected him repeatedly.

I ignored the thermos and went to the spring. Water ran down my chin as I drank.

Voltaire snorted. “Well, if you’re not going to listen to reason, at least be fair. You’re supposed to be reading to me and instead, I’m here coddling you.”

I didn’t answer.

“And, if you want to know the truth, you could use help with your Helix. We all saw how pitiful you are. You’re weak!”

“I don’t want his help!”

She threw her hands up. “Why not? Because he’s a worker and you’re an illustrious Record Keeper? You can’t stomach the idea of help from a feral?”

“That has nothing to do with it.”

“Suit yourself—English.” She turned to walk away.

I don’t know what compelled me to stop her. Maybe, despite our differences, I felt kinship with Voltaire as a woman. Perhaps she was just so unlikeable that I didn’t fear my heart becoming entangled with hers, as I did the other bandits. Or perhaps, I just had to get it off my chest. “I don’t want his help because William is my birth father,” I said.

She whipped around.

“My birth father,” I repeated. Relief swept through me as I released the truth. “He knows who I am,” I went on, “but he doesn’t know that I recognize him. I didn’t at first, but now I’m certain. There’s no doubt.”

She stomped back toward me, mouth open.