Pushing away from the main workstation, Canto rolled back the wheels of the chair designed for his long and solid frame. It had a hover function for those times when access was otherwise impossible—but as he’d wanted a streamlined chair devoid of armrests, those controls, as well as his backup computronic brake controls, were on a small side panel on the right-hand side of his seat.

Black on black, the panel mimicked the curve of his wheel and looked at first glance to be nothing more than a design feature. As it was, Canto rarely used the hover mode, far preferring to manually operate the chair.

The constant physical motion helped keep his upper body strong. Not that he relied only on that. He’d set up a full gym in another section of his home, complete with a robotic physiotherapy device that helped him exercise the legs that were a part of his body, but that he couldn’t feel.

He had, however, long ago rejected the full-body robotic brace designed for bipedal motion. Of a far more streamlined design than in its original iterations, the brace worked well for many. Canto wasn’t one of those people. The few times he’d tried it, he’d felt as if he had insects dancing on his spine and buzzing in his brain.

“Electro-biogen-feedback loop,” the robotics expert had muttered. “Might be caused by the innovative wiring in your spine.”

Whatever the cause, Canto far preferred his sleek black chair with its highly maneuverable wheels. Heading to another area of his large, windowless, and temperature-controlled office area—a place Arwen had termed his “computronic dungeon”—he picked up his phone and sent a message to Silver: You were brilliant.

Pride was a conflagration inside him.

Canto had said “fuck it” to Silence long before its official fall. That was what happened when a child empath lived inside your airtight anchor shields, and the PsyNet flowed through your mind in an endless river, bringing with it the flotsam and jetsam of the lives of millions of people, powerful and weak, brave and cowardly, good and bad.

Then there’d been his childhood—the school had been the final part of a play that had run since his birth, and it had nearly broken him. Without 3K, without the example of her stubborn fury and refusal to surrender, he might have given up. But if she, so small and physically far weaker, could fight on, he had no excuse. But the fight had burned any hope of Silence right out of him—he’d run on pure rage.

Sometimes, in his dreams, he still heard 3K laugh, though he’d only ever heard it once in real life. In a moment when their teacher had turned his back and Canto had made a face mimicking the man’s bulging eyes and puffed-out cheeks when he laid down the rules.

Bright, brilliant laughter, unafraid and wild.

She’d been the strongest of them all. And the people in charge had hurt her for it.

Not expecting a quick response from Silver, he was turning his attention to one of his multiple screens when his phone chimed. He glanced at it to see: Zdravstvuyte, Canto. Silver’s talking to the brains. She was dazzling, wasn’t she? My magnificent Starlight who takes no prisoners.

Temperamentally, Valentin was at the opposite end of the spectrum from Canto. “You now hold permanent grump status,” Arwen had declared of Canto a month ago. “Silence falls, no more threat of psychic rehabilitation hanging over us for daring to feel, and instead of choosing sunshine, you decide to ramp up the surly. Repent now or I’ll never visit again.”

Canto had scowled. Arwen had groaned. And continued to drop by with ferocious regularity. Empaths. Once they decided you were one of their people, it was like trying to shake off a tick.

Arwen had grinned when Canto muttered that, then returned to opening up the box of new shirts he’d bought as a gift: “Because your definition of acceptable clothing offends my eyes, Canto. That shirt isn’t frayed—it’s a sorry bunch of threads held together by nothing but fear of your bad mood.”

Yet Canto and Valentin got along fine. More than fine. Strange as it was, they were becoming friends. Yes, he replied to the bear. It’s good you’re with her. There are problematic ripples in the PsyNet. Eyes looking her way.

Silver wasn’t the only target of those eyes, either, and he’d received the vague impression that she and the others being watched were in the way of some larger goal. But it was all foggy and without edges, much like the fortunes peddled by weak F-Psy who set themselves up as high-Gradients in order to scam the gullible.

That was the trouble with having so much of the PsyNet running through his mind; he didn’t always catch anything but the merest wisp of information. Even then, he had to fight hard to hold on to it, the rush of the Net a massive waterfall that pounded at the back of his brain every instant of every day.

He dreamed of thunder in his sleep and woke to an avalanche.

We have her protected on all sides, Valentin reassured him. Physical and psychic. Now I have to go and remind two idiots that she is mated and they should stop making cow eyes at her. We will talk again soon.

Had Valentin not known Canto so well, that last line might as well have been a threat—the bear version of “talk again soon” was “we’re throwing a party and you’re invited!” Canto had survived one bear party so far—the one the StoneWater clan had thrown to celebrate their alpha’s mating to Silver. It had been … an experience.

At one point, he’d ended up with a drunk bear changeling in human form on his lap. Dressed in sequined shorts and an equally dazzling top, she’d regaled him with stories of how she’d “slapped the smug” out of two bear males who’d thought they could beat her in a fight. She’d then fallen asleep with her head against his shoulder.

Canto had taken her to one of Valentin’s sisters.

Stasya had laughed and thrown her snoring packmate over her shoulder. “Sorry, Canto. You’re cute, no? Many of my packmates want to take you to bed, and they think they’re being subtle and flirtatious.”

A subtle bear?

Canto snorted.

Not that he minded the bear tendency toward openness. For a man whose work was to trawl the darkest shadows, it was refreshing to interact with people who wore their hearts on their sleeves and made no bones about showing anger or fury, either.

As for the rest—well, his hair was currently in a brutally neat cut, but given that he only shaved when his scruff got itchy, and his face was all hard angles, he’d never before been described as “cute.” But he accepted that there was a lot he’d never understand about bears and left it at that.