His father. Chat, this man, his father, here before his eyes. Imperfect, breathing, real.

  Wilder never knew his mother. Wilder was the one who killed her when he wriggled, already crying loudly, into this world. He has one memory of his father, in which he reached down to ruffle Wilder’s hair with a fond look. The man disappeared when Wilder was four. He has a few more memories of their elderly neighbors, Marco and Elna, and their snooty but affectionate cat, Darn, whom Wilder loved as well. When Marco and Elna passed, both within one week of one another, Wilder was the one who begged Bee to keep Darn. So they did, until he, too, passed.

  Bee was ten when the couple passed. When most kids his age were only starting to go out on their own, without a guardian, Bee was begging the local trademasters to accept him as an apprentice. When most kids his age were only starting to learn about how to handle money responsibly, Bee was haggling the neighbors over the value of his time, bartering food, clothing, sometimes coins for any odd jobs they would allow him to do. Everyone in Finlow knew that they were on their own. Everyone in Finlow did their best to help. Bee, prideful and ashamed, refused any form of charity. When he received gifts, he would work in someone’s garden overnight, fold their laundry, make them simple, poor-looking but edible food.

  Of course, Wilder wasn’t aware of most of this at the time. All he knew is that his favorite brother couldn’t play with him very much anymore, so he started playing at Fio’s home instead. He grew accustomed to the looming SURVIVE that appeared one day over Bee’s head. Shortly after SURVIVE was joined by PROTECT and neither word faded for years. They were different from the other words Wilder saw. He thought everyone else could see it too, could see the Play and Bake and Be Safe, the words that his neighbors and friends didn’t speak aloud but clearly meant. When Wilder asked Bee about it, he learned that his magic had come in. He named his ability True Sight, next to Bee’s Earthshaker, which his brother didn’t like to talk about, and Fio’s Leap.

  Then Fio moved away when Wilder was twelve, and Darn was gone not long after, and Bee always looked so tired and sad, even though he got really good at hiding it.

  It feels… odd, very odd, to now have these missing pieces of the story in his hands. Wilder is certain that his brother has been looking for these answers his entire life. He’s lived with the raw edges of those gaps. Wilder knows that the gaps were there, but he never felt them in the same way. Of course his brother took care of him, of course his brother looked after him. That’s what brothers do when they love each other. They didn’t have parents, and that was a little troubling, but Wilder never doubted that they would be alright, because they had each other.

  Where do these new pieces fit? How is Wilder supposed to handle them? He keeps them in his hands for now, because it seems as though they aren’t quite ready to settle in his mind.

  Nineteen years old, and now, he has a father.

  Chat—his father—has asked them to move into another room. Iris introduces herself as they move, a brief greeting taking place.

  The next room is a workspace, or some kind of laboratory. There are many instruments and tools, charts and papers scattered about. Chat lifts Mino onto a tall table and moves some things around, searching for something. Mino isn’t speaking, but above her floats the word: Learn.

  Iris leans against him. Comfort, he sees. Wilder feels warmed with gratefulness as he looks at her. She’s been so patient through all of this. He’s barely been able to focus on her at all with everything that’s going on. He hesitates for a moment, wondering what would help her feel at ease, then puts his arm around her.

  Chat turns back to Mino. He reaches out and his hands hover over her head for a moment. He takes one of the flowers between his fingers. Wilder is unable to see what his father intends, like he is unable to see the man’s words in the air.

  Chat doesn’t know enough about the flowers. “Don’t pull on them,” Wilder cautions. “If you pull, they hurt her.”

  Chat blinks and pauses. “They hurt when pulled, but not when bitten?” He looks down at Mino for confirmation. She nods.

  “Hmm…” Chat hums, eyes narrowed. “Would you be willing to demonstrate how much force it takes to produce pain?”

  Mino nods and reaches up. She rustles amongst the petals for a moment, then finds a stem. Wilder doesn’t like seeing the Hurt that flashes above her. Chat watches as she slowly pulls until she begins to wince.

  “That is plenty,” Chat says. “Thank you.” He smooths a hand over her head, but for some reason, Mino just frowns. She watches Chat with a new curiosity in her eyes. What is she thinking?

  Bee is standing closer to the two of them, watching even more scrutinously than Wilder is. The word is large over his head: Protect. He’s always been so wary. Wilder wants to take some of that burden from him. But how?

  Chat picks up the object that he found earlier. It looks like a small window. The frame has rounded wooden edges—similar to the wood that is used to create e-pages. In fact, it might even be the very same. Chat places his hand over the glass and it begins to emit a soft light. Then, he holds it up to Mino.

  “Is that a real magiscan?” Bee asks. His eyes are wide, and for a moment, scientific curiosity has overcome his tension around their father. He leans closer to observe the screen as Chat holds it over Mino.

  “It is,” Chat confirms. “Many curiosities from the Overground end up in Brindle, one way or another. I was able to secure this after much trouble. It comes in handy, you’ll see.”

  Bee seems to become more aware of how close he is to the man. He steps away, face more closed-off now, but he keeps asking questions. “How do you read it?” he asks. Below Protect, a new word begins to form. Study.

  Chat looks hopeful, proud, fond. His body flickers only slightly as he begins to explain.

  “The brightness you see indicates how much magic is present, the solidity signifies strength. The color can determine whether the magic is inherent, foreign, or the result of an illness.”

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  “The flowers belong to her?”

  “They do. This scan is showing all the signs of an atypical manifestation of magic.” Wilder feels the information hit him like a dull blow. Mino does have magic. One of his reasons for sending her away made even more flimsy. He grips Iris a little closer, trying not to let the guilt overwhelm him again.

  “Why can’t we sense that the magic is hers?” Bee questions.

  “The current theory is that when the individual does not feel connected with their own magic, an atypical manifestation will occur.”

  Wilder looks at Mino, who appears thoughtful.

  “When I woke up, I didn’t know the first flower was there,” she says. “Then, I was scared of it. I thought it was going to hurt me. I didn’t understand magic at all.”

  Chat nods. “Many don’t understand magic in its entirety,” he says. “It is difficult to understand the entirety of anything. Most learn their own magic quite intimately, and understand the magic of their friends and family to some degree. And most can understand the kinds of magic that help the Underground function as it is. But most do not understand, or pursue knowledge, further than that.”

  “We took Mino to see a few different healers,” Wilder says. “None of them knew about this ‘atypical manifestation.”

  “It’s uncommon,” Chat explains. “I would estimate only one quarter of the healers in the Underground know of this phenomenon.”

  “I still don’t understand,” Mino says. “My magic is to grow flowers out of my head?”

  “I think you have noticed that there is more to it than that,” Chat replies. “You could sense that I was close to fading away when the others could not. Your touch helped me stay grounded in life, and consuming your flower strengthened the effect. If you continue to allow yourself to connect with your magic, you will understand it more on an instinctual level. You will learn what you are capable of and the purpose of your power.”

  Mino thinks for a moment. “It seems like it has something to do with living, or growing,” she says.

  Chat nods again. “I believe that is a strong theory.”

  Something still hasn’t been addressed. “If Mino becomes more connected with her magic, will the flowers stop hurting her?” Wilder asks.

  Chat hums and examines Mino once more with a critical eye. “Have the sensations become more or less sensitive over time?” He asks. “Or, have they stayed the same?”

  Mino thinks, then says, “More sensitive.”

  Chat frowns. “If they have become more sensitive over time… Mino, how did you know that it wouldn’t hurt you for me to bite one off?”

  “A twisted ate one before,” Mino says, and all hell breaks loose.

  “A twisted?” Bee asks. Protect flares brighter, bigger. Wilder steps forward, worried, as Iris flinches away.

  “Mino, when did you encounter a twisted?” Wilder asks urgently. Mino scowls and holds her hand out in a rare display of sass. Defend, she intends.

  “You need to calm down,” she says. “I think you have bad opinions of twisteds and they don’t deserve it.”

  “Twisteds hurt people,” Bee says. “They’re dangerous.”

  “They don’t have to be!” Mino exclaims, emphatic. “They want magic, right? I think the one I met calmed down after I gave it some of mine.” Convince.

  “You gave it magic?” Iris asks, startled, as Chat says: “I have never heard of someone giving their magic away before.”

  Mino frowns. “That’s what I did,” she says to Chat. “I gave you magic.” Mino is generally truthful. Wilder doesn’t believe she would lie in order to convince them.

  “You believe you transferred some of your own magic to him when he ate the flower,” Bee summarizes.

  “Yes,” Mino nods.

  Chat seems calm, so Wilder lets go of some of his apprehension, though he can’t let go of all of it. “It could be possible,” Chat says. “I believe that your soul is strong and generous, Mino. You might be capable of such a thing.”

  “Her soul?” Bee snorts. Protect is smaller now, slowly being replaced by Think.

  “You said her magic is manifesting, she shouldn’t have a soul anymore,” Wilder reminds Chat.

  Chat looks annoyed, but the expression softens into sadness. “We should not be called Soulless,” he says. “We with magic still possess souls.”

  Bee looks disbelieving, but Wilder wonders.

  Mino has always insisted, since the moment she first learned about the history, that the people in the Underground still had souls. Wilder didn’t believe her—couldn’t, but his faith in the facts was shaken.

  “Souls are gifts of the stars,” Wilder says, recalling his own lessons in history. “The original Soulless sacrificed their souls to steal the power of the stars, which is grown unnaturally and passed on to children. When humans leave the Overground, they forsake the stars, and they lose their souls to gain magic.”

  Chat shakes his head. “The scientists were wrong. We did not need to lose our souls in order to gain magic, and thus we still have them.”

  “How do you know this when no one else does?” Bee challenges. Think and Consider weigh heavy over him. Wilder also catches sight of a tiny Hope. His heart clenches.

  “Shortly after I received the magiscan, it became faulty and only worked inconsistently. It would under-report magic levels even in things that I had previously scanned and recorded. In my attempts to fix the device, I realized that I could improve it beyond it’s original function. I enhanced it’s precision and the amount of magic it could process.”

  Chat looks Bee directly in the eye and firmly says, “The scientists of old believed that we did not have souls because their equipment was not strong enough to register the amount of magic that our souls contain. The equipment could not process the information it was meant to scan, and so, displayed nothing where the soul is located.”

  Can this be true?

  The room is silent following Chat’s declaration… except for Mino, who, with a smug grin, says, “Told you so.” Floating above her, clear and bright: Gloat. Wilder bites his lip to avoid laughing.

  Bee’s Hope struggles to grow, but it soon settles, remaining very, very small, but constant. Next to him, Iris’s intent is a wavery Consider.

  “So you are saying,” Wilder says slowly, “That we, the soulless, the people who are descriptively named Soulless… have souls.”

  “Yes,” Chat says. “I know it.” He takes the magiscan and holds it out in front of Bee’s abdomen. Before everyone’s eyes, it begins to glow. Wilder can feel the air grow warm unnaturally quickly. All at once, the shape of a star is blazing out, bright enough to light the room, brighter than the sun in the sky.

  And all of the words floating above his brother’s head disappear. The only one left is a huge, red:

  f l e e