It felt like I had barely slept before Mom was waking me up again. I glanced at the clock, 6 a.m. Two hours. I just stared at the ceiling for a second.

  “You coming, Trina?” Mom asked.

  I groaned, but pulled myself out of bed, grabbing my phone and earbuds. The living room was dark, except for the flickering glow from Syrin.

  Mom waved me into the kitchen, shutting the door momentarily.

  “Has he been asleep long?” I asked.

  Mom let out a long breath. “Maybe an hour.” She pursed her lips as she looked me over. “You sure you can stay awake?”

  I must have looked super out of it. “Yeah. I’ll be fine. I’ll listen to music or something,” I said, pulling out my earbuds. “You find anything?”

  Mom rubbed at her eyes, as if she could press the exhaustion away. “Not yet. Maybe I can untangle things tomorrow when I can ask Syrin some more questions. I’m still trying to figure out how they are leveraging his connection.”

  “We could wake him now,” I said. If that would fix the problem, now would be better, right?

  Mom shook her head. “I’m still thinking through the portal things. Let him sleep. Whatever it is, it’s going to require some delicate magic. I don’t want him to make a mistake because he’s tired.”

  “Fine. You need sleep too. I’ll wake you if something happens.”

  Mom nodded and trudged back to her own room.

  I turned the kitchen lights off and crept back into the living room, curling up in the armchair, and turning on one of my you-must-stay-awake playlists.

  It was weird just sitting there in the dark with the music. Eventually, Syrin shifted in his sleep, one arm slipping free of the cocoon of blankets, and the glow became more obvious. Gold glimmered across his skin, flickering slightly. Slowly, it shifted, turning more coppery. It moved in little waves, gold and copper mixing. It was sort of beautiful.

  I just watched the colors for a while, like some living screensaver to go with the music.

  I was almost nodding off, music or no, when the color shifted again, turning more silvery, then there was a flash of white light.

  I froze. There was another flash, and I slipped my earbuds out. Syrin’s breathing was uneven, but he still seemed to be asleep. Another flash. A nightmare. He was having a nightmare. Should I wake him? He was supposed to sleep, but what if his magic activated or something because he was stressed? That would be a disaster.

  Was he dreaming about the drakelings or something worse? I still hadn’t asked him about the lies he told me, about whatever scared him enough to lie about not having another heir that night on the beach.

  The light flared again, and Syrin’s breath hissed through his teeth.

  I padded over, careful to avoid the side table. My hand hovered over his shoulder for half a second, then I shook him gently.

  “Syrin.”

  His light turned an absolutely blinding white, and I flinched back. His breath hitched, sharp, panicked. Then he jerked, thrashing against the blankets like he was fighting something I couldn’t see.

  “Syrin,” I whispered, louder this time. “Hey, it’s just a dream. You’re safe. Wake up.”

  He didn’t. His limbs kicked under the blankets, his hands clenching into tight fists. A small, broken sound escaped his throat, not quite a word, more like a terrified whimper. His glow flickered wildly, stuttering in uneven flashes like some frantic Morse code.

  I grabbed his shoulder again, squeezing a little. He barely reacted, his breathing ragged and uneven. His glow veered toward copper again, and my breath caught. What if I was standing too close and his magic went wild?

  He sucked in a sharp breath like someone surfacing after being pulled under by a riptide, but his eyes stayed shut. His whole body trembled.

  I shook him again, both hands on his shoulders now. “Syrin!”

  Finally, his eyes snapped open, unfocused and wild, as if he still couldn’t tell whether he’d actually escaped whatever nightmare had its claws in him. He gasped again, chest heaving, and the light under his skin sputtered before settling into one dim, confused shimmer.

  I flipped on the lamp next to the couch, and his eyes darted around the room like he didn’t recognize any of it—the couch, the walls, the TV that he’d been so amazed by earlier. Then they found me.

  “Trina?” His voice cracked on my name.

  “I’m here,” I said softly, finally releasing him. “You had a bad dream. You’re safe.”

  He blinked hard, once, twice, like he was trying to drag himself all the way into waking. His chest rose and fell in sharp, uneven breaths. He pressed the heel of his hand to his eyes, swallowing hard.

  Something twisted in my stomach. “Do you want to talk about it?”

  He shook his head, a tiny movement. His glow was barely a shimmer now, the faintest gold threading under his skin.

  “I didn’t mean to wake you,” he whispered. “I didn’t realize I—” His breath hitched. “That I was making noise.”

  “Syrin,” I said, a little too forcefully. “I was on watch. You didn’t wake me. Drakelings, remember?”

  “Right,” he murmured. “Guess you can sleep now. I’ll take the watch.”

  I glared at him. “That’s not how this works.”

  His lips parted like he wanted to protest, then closed again. He looked… embarrassed. Not glowing-silver embarrassed, just humanly, painfully embarrassed.

  “I’m sorry,” he said again, quieter this time.

  “You don’t have to apologize for having nightmares,” I said.

  I hesitated, then sank onto the far edge of the couch. He pulled his feet back, giving me space, and I pulled my legs up, sitting cross-legged with my back against the armrest to face him. He was looking up at the ceiling.

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  I nudged his foot with mine, and he looked at me. “Honestly?” I said. “With everything that’s happened the last few days, I’m kind of surprised you’re not having more nightmares.”

  That earned me a faint, humorless huff of breath. “Maybe I do. I usually don’t remember my dreams,” he murmured.

  “Yeah, well…” I adjusted slightly against the armrest. “Seems like that one was pretty upsetting. More so than the drakelings.”

  He didn’t answer. His breathing was slowing though, the edge leaving his posture little by little. His eyes were still too wide, still a little glassy. Shaken.

  “You don’t have to go back to sleep right away,” I said. “We’re on watch duty anyway.”

  We just sat there for a minute, just breathing. This had to be more than the drakelings. Maybe about that other Keeper. Finally, I shifted. “Syrin?”

  He glanced up at me. “What?”

  “I was talking to my mom earlier…” I trailed off, unsure if I should finish.

  “Did she find something to fix the portal?”

  “Not yet; that wasn’t what I was trying to say.” I took a deep breath. “I was talking to her about the Keepers, and she was telling me about how there are usually three.”

  He stiffened and looked away, his glow shifting silver. A second later, the glow was gone.

  “You lied to me,” I said softly.

  “No,” he blurted. “I just…” He finally looked at me again. His eyes were bright silver.

  I just shook my head at him. “Don’t try to hide it. I can literally see that you’re lying.” I let out a laugh. “Maybe you’re half right because if I’d known you better, I probably wouldn’t have believed you on the beach.”

  He flinched. The silver dulled, flickering into almost a slate gray. What did that mean? Silver was embarrassment, but what was this dull, lifeless gray?

  He glanced up at me. “Grief,” Syrin said softly. “I can see you wondering. Gray is grief.”

  The word hit like a punch. “You don’t have to tell—”

  He gave me a wry smile that didn’t at all match his eyes. “You’ll figure it out in a moment anyway.”

  I frowned. He looked down at the couch, pulling his knees towards his chest and hugging them. I hadn’t seen him do that since the beach.

  He took a shuddering breath, then said, “I lied, yes. There are usually three Keepers. More if you count those who choose to retire, though their connection to the Light is quite different. More... limited.”

  I waited, watching. I couldn’t see his eyes. He was still looking down. Finally, “My sister was the heart of the city. She was everything I’m not, wild and free. She was always laughing. Constantly teasing me. A few months ago, she was out in the city, performing her normal duties. A roof collapsed, and… she didn’t make it out.”

  His glow spiked, but it was flickering all over, white streaked with gray.

  “I’m sorry,” I whispered.

  He shrugged. “Nothing to be done.”

  I grimaced. I was so bad at this, he’d had a nightmare and now I was basically forcing him to confess. What was wrong with me?

  His glow flickered again. What was I supposed to do? This was the sort of thing Mom was good at, not me. Mom had hugged him last time. Maybe that was the right thing, but what if he didn’t want that?

  Hesitantly, I shifted from my position on the couch. His eyes flashed toward me, and I froze. “Do you… do you want a hug?” My voice sounded unsure even to me, and heat crawled up my neck. I felt so stupid saying it.

  His lips twitched. “You don’t have to hug me.”

  In Syrin-speak that was a yes. I settled onto the edge of the couch next to him. Then, carefully, I wrapped my arms around him, anchoring a hand on his opposite arm. He didn’t lean in, but he also didn’t pull back, just stayed, silent and trembling slightly.

  He let out a shaky breath, then said, “We thought it was an accident. Roofs fall. Tragic, but an accident, but then when someone tried to kill me…” His breath caught. “It started looking less like an accident and more like an assassination, so after the second attack… that’s when Father sent me away. He had already lost my sister. He was terrified of losing another heir. They were working to train a—” he cut off trembling for a moment, as that grayish glow flickered around him.

  He took another deep breath. “To train a replacement heir. A new heart of the city, but… I don’t know what happened after I left.”

  “How old was your sister?” I asked softly.

  He bit his lip. “Nineteen. She was four years younger than me.”

  A tear rolled down his cheek. He wiped it away with the back of his hand. “I was never good at the defense lessons. At the fire. Father said I needed to practice more, but I never liked it. I made excuses. And he had to send me away. Maybe if I’d worked harder… maybe then I could have stayed.”

  Oh lights. This is what he’d been carrying the whole time. “Syrin,” I said softly.

  “You heard your mother when I first arrived. I’m the first Keeper to leave the kingdom in more than a century. There’s been political unrest before, but the heirs didn’t abandon everyone.”

  I didn’t know what to say, so I just stayed quiet and kept holding on. Syrin didn’t pull away, just cried silently. Maybe there was no right thing to say now. Finally, the tears slowed, and I said, “Seems like all the Keepers were pretty young right now.”

  Syrin sniffed. “So?”

  I pulled back slightly to look at him. “So, in the past, did they have more experience? Longer to learn?”

  Syrin stiffened. “Maybe,” he admitted.

  “And… would fire really have stopped an arrow?” I asked quietly.

  He flinched.

  “Sorry.”

  He let out a long breath. “It… you can, but it’s extremely difficult if you aren’t expecting it.”

  “In that case, do you think maybe your father just sent you away because he lost everyone else, and he couldn’t bear to lose you too? Not because you hadn’t mastered fire?”

  “But he did lose me. I’m here,” Syrin protested.

  I huffed. “But you’ll go back, Syrin. I don’t lose my father every time he leaves on an adventure. I know he’ll come back. It hurts a little every time, but it is different.”

  His glow steadied, still dull, but no longer flickering. “Maybe,” Syrin admitted.

  I hummed. “Definitely, but I get it’s hard to feel that way.”

  “Yeah.”

  I nudged his shoulder playfully. “We can do a dramatic reenactment if you want. Then you can analyze whether it’s protection or abandonment. Very scholarly and analytical.”

  He glared.

  “See? That’s a good start for the ‘furious and abandoned’ angle. We could add costumes too. What does your father usually wear?”

  He rolled his eyes. “You’re ridiculous.”

  “I have a crown or something in my room—”

  “We don’t wear crowns!” Syrin protested.

  “No? Tragic. I’ll just hold a flashlight then. You can pretend I’m glowing.”

  He gave me a very unimpressed look.

  “What do you wear then?”

  “Just… clothes.”

  “Like jeans.”

  His expression twisted into pure horror. “Lights, no. Proper trousers and a tunic, and very occasionally, if someone is feeling dramatic, a cape.”

  “Hmm.” I tapped my chin. “I don’t think I have a cape. We could order one online. This seems like a dramatic moment. Very cape-worthy.”

  He froze, and for a second I thought I’d pushed too far. Then he said, slowly, “Wait. You can… buy clothes with your phone? With the internet gossip chain?”

  I let out a laugh. “We don’t use it only for gossip! You can do more useful stuff too, like buy capes.”

  He blinked, eyes drifting back that gold streaked green. “And then it just… appears here? I thought you didn’t have magic.”

  I grinned. “We don’t. It just triggers a series of events that makes it seem like magic. Someone brings it to your door. So… Earth magic.”

  Syrin stared at me for a long moment, his expression caught somewhere between baffled and amused. The glow beneath his skin shifted again, warm as candlelight.

  “That sounds… comforting,” he admitted quietly. “Predictable magic.”

  I shifted, tucking one knee up on the couch. “Sometimes it is. Sometimes it’s just inconvenient and overpriced. No bargaining. Just fixed prices.”

  A faint smile tugged at his mouth. Silence drifted in, not uncomfortable, just soft. The kind that settles after a storm instead of before one.

  Syrin looked down at his hands. “Thank you,” he murmured.

  “For what?” I asked.

  He hesitated, eyes shifting to a gentle, steady gold that didn’t flicker this time. “For staying. For waking me. For… not laughing at me.”

  I bumped his shoulder lightly. “I mean, I did laugh. Just not at the important parts.”

  He huffed a small breath, almost a laugh of his own. “Still. Thank you.”

  His glow softened again, calm now, steady and warm. Not gray. Just… safe.

  I stood up from the couch and watched the way the lamplight blended with his natural glow from a moment. “Try to sleep a little more,” I said quietly. “You don’t have to, but you can. I’ll be right here.”

  His gaze flicked to mine, uncertain, but grateful. “Alright,” he whispered.

  I padded back to the armchair, and he settled back into the blankets, still facing me this time, eyes half-lidded but watching. The glow under his skin dimmed slowly, not sputtering anymore, just drifting toward rest.

  The room fell quiet, except for his steady breathing and the faint hum of the lamp. Finally, his eyes fluttered closed.

  I stayed awake. This time it didn’t feel like keeping watch. It felt like choosing to stay.