There’s a memory lodged there, stuck in the back of my mind, and it won’t budge. Something important. Tears of disappointment and frustration prick in my eyes, but maybe I shouldn’t be so surprised. Moncha Corp have given us everything—our home, Mom’s job, my education. We don’t know why I was injured, but I can see why Mom might not want to cause a fuss. We don’t need a target on our backs.

The only reason I was fighting Moncha Corp was because of Jinx. They were after him, and I didn’t want them to harm him. Now that he’s safe, maybe I should give up too.

Mom presses her fingers on either side of the bridge of her nose. “Monica Chan is a multibillionaire. She has plenty of people looking out for her. She doesn’t need rescuing by you. Leave the big problems to the big people, Lacey. You need to focus on yourself.”

Now tears spill out onto my cheeks, rolling down in thick tracks and gathering on my jawline. “I can’t believe it. You promised you were going to help me.”

I still can’t believe that the conversation we had was only twenty-four hours ago. How could she have forgotten so quickly? It’s as if everything has been wiped clean. Reset.

We’re both distracted as Petal flashes, a series of lights dancing up and down her wings. Mom listens to a message from Petal, and when she looks back at me, her eyes are blank. “I have to finish cooking. This sauce is about to burn. How about instead, you tell me about your day? I want to hear about what homework you had, how your teachers were, how your friends are doing… I do not want to hear another thing about Profectus, Moncha Corp, or that old baku of yours.”

“I thought you loved Jinx too,” I say in a quiet voice.

“Jinx who?” Mom deadpans back to me.

That’s when I can’t take it anymore. “I’m not hungry,” I say. “I’m going out.” I storm out of the room, slamming the door behind me. I half-expect Mom to chase me, demand to know where I’m going, make me stay home.

But it seems like she doesn’t even care enough about me to do that. I press the button for the elevator, waiting there with my chest heaving. The longer I wait, the clearer it becomes that Mom isn’t coming after me. The anger that has been building in my chest deflates. I just feel sad.

And then, the elevator refuses to come. I furiously mash the button, but nothing changes. It must be broken again.

I walk a bit farther along the corridor and push through the door into the stairwell. It’s a long way down—fourteen floors—and as I spiral down each set of stairs, I feel more and more alone.