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The echoes hadn’t faded. Not even a little.

“They will,” Keefe promised.

Elwin said the same thing.

So did Edaline when she checked on Sophie the next morning.

Biana told her that too, when she hailed with her next round of

updates. Apparently the rest of her friends were adding daggers into

their training now. And Woltzer was planning to work in some handto-hand

combat soon.

Meanwhile Sophie was still stuck in the same place.

She knew it wasn’t her friends’ fault. But . . . she hated everything.

And even though it was the most counterproductive thing ever, she

skipped her lesson with Keefe that day. She just . . . couldn’t.

She told him she needed to rest.

They both knew she needed to sulk.

And sulk she did—a long day of glaring and pouting and generally

feeling sorry for herself.

Which seemed extra childish every time her eyes drifted to Fitz. At

least she wasn’t going to get pulled from a drugged stupor and find

out she’d lost days and days and days.

And really, how much longer were they going to wait?

“One day at a time” could mean weeks—months—years before the

echoes faded.

Terrifying as that thought was, they couldn’t keep ignoring it.

Otherwise, what? Were they just going to leave Fitz unconscious

indefinitely?

Shouldn’t they at least wake him up and tell him what was going

on, see how the echoes actually affected him, and let him decide if he

wanted more sedatives?

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