“You only gave up your Pocket Best Friend when Tai told you she wanted it for Saxim,” he continues, glancing at Saxim, her eyes trained on the ground, her hands fingering something behind her back. “You would do anything for your sister. You still would. Who wouldn’t? She’s so special.” He smiles, and I shiver, my hands in neat fists at my sides. “I wish you’d both stayed that young and sweet forever. You were perfect. So special, and so complementary. The sun sister, and the moon sister. And you were so happy.”

I want to beat my fists into his chest so hard that his heart stops.

“Wait, but why would you make Mina play me that recording, Teddy?” Tai asks.

I answer her: “So that we would mistrust Nítuchí instead of him.”

I can tell that I’m right from my uncle’s silence. His eyes have gone glossy and dark.

“But … Why?” Tai whispers to me.

“Nítuchí’s not a good person,” Teddy says. “You need to know that. And your father was oblivious to it. He only found out that his own company had been paying Mitso Arakit to stay silent years after your mother’s disappearance. And he died believing the man was just another a stalker.” He scoffs. “One frank conversation with your mother would’ve changed everything. But he didn’t have it in him. The God among men.”

So Dad didn’t lie. He just didn’t try. I think back to his letter, packed full of regrets and holes in his knowledge, and my heart grows heavier.

“Why didn’t you just tell us all of this?” asks Tai, eyes flashing with hurt. “We love you, Teddy. You didn’t need to lie to us.”

He watches Tai, mystified to the point of disbelief. I see it all, then, and I know that if I do, then Tai does, too. Here is a man who would give his entire world—virtual immortality—to those he loved. Here is a man who believed he could not receive, or did not deserve, love and trust in return. Here is a man who views the beautiful and the special as unique possessions to stockpile.

I feel the buzzing returning in the back of my head; I feel the memory of that smooth leather in my hand. There’s something hidden; there’s something more. Call it a self-destructive instinct—knowing when I should push deeper into the darkness. The fizzy pennies can be a useful tool; they’re so firmly intertwined with instinct that I hadn’t been able to differentiate between the two. Until now.

“You need to tell us what really happened with Mama now,” I say, in a voice I can’t even recognize as my own. “Where is she?”

Teddy sighs, adjust the cuffs on his shirt. It’s petulant, almost. “Saxim shouldn’t be here. This is really family talk.”