“I’m not sure that’s a good idea, Enne,” she said carefully, trying not to feel guilty by the look of hurt that crossed Enne’s face. “But...about the story. Is there anything you’d like me to change?”
Enne shook her head numbly. “No, I think you told the story well.”
The Crimes & The Timesdid, too, when Lola presented it to them. They paid her two hundred volts to publish it—a small fortune, and the first honest voltage that Lola had earned in months. She hardly knew what to do with it. She could buy a thousand copies of the newspaper, just to cover her walls with her name in print.
But as she shared as much with her brother at Madame Fausting’s, Justin handed her a fresh orb, sparkling with volts. She furrowed her eyebrows. “Where did you get this?” she asked. Justin had never been the sort for legitimate employment.
“I want you to go to university,” he told her seriously. “That’s what you always wanted, isn’t it?”
“It is...” she said slowly. “But you know that two hundred and...” She glanced at the orb. “Twelve volts aren’t enough to pay tuition.”
“What if I brought in eighty volts a week?” he asked.
“I’d still say you’re bad at math,” she said. “And I’d ask where you were getting the volts.”
“I took a job at the Catacombs as a musician. Tock put in a good word for me.”
Lola’s heart swelled. A job at the Catacombs sounded permanent. Like he wasn’t going anywhere. “That’s still barely enough to pay rent.”
“Why can’t we stay here?” he asked.
“Because Marcy would pass out nearly every day if another new boy lived here.” Lola smirked. “And because I’m not sure Enne and I...” Just because Enne had liked her story didn’t mean they were back to being friends.
“You know, it’s not easy to go back to the way things used to be,” Justin told her. “But I’m glad I did. And you spent so long looking for me—wasn’t Enne the only reason you stopped?”
Lola nodded. Enne had once hurt her, but that was when Enne had been the worst version of herself. And Lola knew what it felt like to be reduced to nothing but anger and fear, and Enne had forgiven her for it. Tock had forgiven her for it. Lola needed to learn how to move past Enne’s mistakes, too.
“I’m the one who rejected her offer,” Lola murmured. “What would I even say to her?”
“You start with the obvious—that you’re sorry.”
Enne had apologized, over and over again. Lola was the one who hadn’t. Because even when she knew she was wrong, she hated to admit it.
She sighed. Enne wasn’t here right now—she had an inauguration to attend. But Justin was right; Lola didn’t want to leave this place, her home.
Lola walked into the headmistress’s office and found a notebook resting on the edge of the desk. She opened it, uncapped a pen with her mouth, and scribbled across a blank page.
I’m sorry.
And, in larger letters:
I’m back.
SOPHIA
“Do I have to wear this?” Sophia asked, tugging at the gold filigree medal around her neck. It was heavy and ceremonial, and it looked terrible with her outfit.
“Semper’s and Fenice’s families wore them,” Harrison told her, adjusting his necktie for the twelfth time. They, along with a small militia of secret service officers, Enne, and Levi, were sequestered in a conference room in the Capitol. A makeshift prep room, with stale coffee, baked goods, and stylists who’d fussed for thirty minutes with the knots in Sophia’s long black curls. “They’re tradition.”
“There’s only been two Chancellors before you,” Sophia muttered. “That’s not a tradition. That’s coincidence.”
Harrison let out an exasperated sigh. “Then don’t wear it.”
“But the families wear them,” Sophia repeated stubbornly.
Harrison gave her a small smile. “They do.”
Sophia had thought she’d feel different, once she had her memories back. That maybe, locked in her past, she’d been a different person. For so long, she’d been driven by what felt like insurmountable goals: to destroy her Family’s empire, to regain her memories. And she’d made so many sacrifices—terrible sacrifice—to achieve that.
