I snag the wrench out of the air and hold it in front of me. Setrákus Ra turns his attention to Five, still standing there silently, waiting to be dismissed.

“Fly,” Setrákus Ra orders.

Five looks up, confused. “What?”

“Fly,” Setrákus Ra repeats, waving to the high ceiling of the docking bay. “As high as you can.”

Five grunts and slowly levitates until he’s about forty feet in the air, his head nearly brushing the rafters of the docking bay. “Now what?” he asks.

Instead of replying, Setrákus Ra turns to me. I’ve already got an idea what he wants me to do. My palm is sweating against the cold metal of the wrench. He kneels down beside me and lowers his voice.

“I want you to do what you did at the Dulce Base,” Setrákus Ra says.

“I told you, I don’t know how I did that,” I protest.

“I know you are afraid. Afraid of me, of your destiny, of this place you find yourself,” Setrákus Ra says patiently, and for a terrifying moment his voice sounds almost like Crayton. “But for you, that fear is a weapon. Close your eyes and let it flow through you. Your Dreynen will follow. It is a hungry thing, this Legacy that lives within you, and it will feed on what you fear.”

I squeeze my eyes shut. Part of me wants to resist this lesson, my skin crawling at the sound of Setrákus Ra’s voice. But another part of me wants to learn to use my Legacy, no matter the cost. It doesn’t seem so unnatural—there’s an energy inside me that wants to get out. My Dreynen wants to be used.

When I open my eyes, the wrench glows with red energy. I’ve done it. Just like at Dulce Base.

“Very good, Ella. You can use the Dreynen by touch or, as you have just accomplished, charge objects with it for long-range attacks,” Setrákus Ra explains. He takes a quick step back when I thrust the wrench towards him. “Easy now, my dear.”

I stare at Setrákus Ra, unblinking, holding the wrench like I might hold a torch if I was trying to scare off a wild animal. I wonder if I could hit him with it, drain his Legacies and then bash his head in. Would Five try to stop me? Would I even be able to pull it off? I’m not yet sure of the full extent of Setrákus Ra’s Legacies, or what other tricks he might have up his sleeve, or what might happen with the charm that now binds us together. But maybe it would be worth it.

A slow smile spreads across Setrákus Ra’s face, as if he can tell I’m making these mental calculations and he appreciates them.

“Go on,” he says, and his eyes flick towards the ceiling. “You know what to do next. He failed me. And he killed your friend, didn’t he?”

I know that I should resist, that I shouldn’t do anything Setrákus Ra wants me to do. But the wrench, charged with my Dreynen, feels almost eager in my hand, like it’s hungry and needs release. And then I think of Eight, dead somewhere down on Earth, killed by the chubby boy currently in a midair sulk right above me, who my grandfather apparently has designs about marrying me off to.