Psy families were meant to work the same way. The Mercants did. But not even in her own family would anyone have cleaned her boots. They’d have checked her health status, made certain she had any and all medical help she needed, but this small touch of care wouldn’t be on even Arwen’s radar.

It was simply the way they’d been raised.

Pulling on the boot, Silver had to accept the realization that even her tightly knit family had lost something in Silence. But what had been lost could be regained. All it would take was a change in how Mercants raised their young. Making a mental note to speak to her grandmother about that, she got up to locate the kitchen. She would strip the bed after she’d eaten and caught up on the messages crowding her brain.

As for the ones stacked up on her e-mail, she began to download them onto her phone to see if there was anything urgent. While that was in progress, she scanned the telepathic messages.

Kaleb’s psychic imprint caught her eye.

Silver, he’d telepathed, Selenka’s team informs me that cleanup at the site will be complete in thirty-six hours. Autopsies are in progress, and Enforcement forensic teams are working double shifts to process as much material as they can. They have recovered parts of the individual believed to be the bomber—a human local to the area. DNA verified.

The date and time stamp showed the telepathic message had been routed to her about two hours earlier. He hadn’t sent her any further updates. Neither had her grandmother or Arwen.

Deciding to follow up after she was fed and at full strength, Silver glanced at her phone as she exited the room. Valentin’s name jumped out. The message was untitled.

He’d never before e-mailed her. She tapped his message open:

You’re right! This e-mail invention is amazing. You can even send photos!

He’d included a photo of two bear cubs in bear form, tidily eating ice cream from cones held carefully between their paws. Below the image were the words:

It’s really good ice cream.

Closing—but not deleting—the message that continued their long-running ice cream conversation, she realized she’d reached the Cavern.

The den was quiet this early in the morning, and she hadn’t run into anyone else. But now she found herself on the receiving end of a brilliant smile from Devi, the young woman fresh-faced and with her hair in a ponytail. She was dressed in black running shorts and a blue athletic tee with white stripes on the sides, her feet bare.

“You must be hungry,” Devi said. “Come on, I’ll show you to the kitchen. Did you have a good rest?”

“Yes, thank you.”

“Here you go.” Devi pointed out a wide internal entrance. “Sorry to show and take off, but I’m meeting a friend for a run.” A pause, her smile fading. “Thank you for letting me help at the site. I needed to help.”

“You were an asset.” The young woman hadn’t stopped until Silver did. “I hope you rested as well.”

“Oh, sure, but I’m a bear. We’re tough.” She left with a smile and a wave.

Silver watched her go before walking into the huge communal kitchen to which Devi had led her. It was nearly empty, holding just a few people preparing what appeared to be items for breakfast. The youngest looked to be about six years old. Wearing pajamas of pale blue fleece, his hair sticking up in light brown tufts, he was sitting on a counter carefully peeling mandarin oranges and putting them into a bowl.

“Ms. Mercant.”

Turning at the sound of that deep male voice, Silver found herself facing a tall, square-jawed male with skin of ebony. If Valentin was all rough edges and crags, this man could’ve walked out of a modeling catalog or from the files of those families who aimed for not only psychic power in their bloodline, but also physical beauty.

“Please take a seat here, and I’ll bring you something to eat.” Unlike all the other bears she’d met to date, he didn’t smile at her.

Chapter 19

Food is to a bear what a hug is to a human.

—Author unknown

“THANK YOU.” SILVER took a seat on one of the stools at the counter nearest the door. Bowls of fruit, snack bars, and a clear jar of cookies sat on one end.

The model-beautiful man brought her a tall glass filled with a familiar liquid. “I was able to source a jar of nutrient drink for you.”

Having not expected that courtesy after his cool greeting, Silver said, “Thank you. I appreciate it.” Nutrient drinks were the fastest way to beat psychic fatigue.

“Not a problem.” Still no smile, his face all smooth skin and flawless symmetry, his shaved head only serving to bring the perfect lines of his face into sharper focus. “I’ll bring you a plate of solid food, too.”

From his curt manner, Silver came to the conclusion that this changeling was unhappy about her presence in Denhome. Then he brought her the plate of food; it held high-energy items, all of which she knew were naturally light on flavor.

As if correctly reading her response, though she’d made no betraying movements or sounds, the man—who she guessed to be the cook—said, “I did a little research. Recipes are creeping online now, with Psy starting to step out of their comfort zone.”

“You took extra time out of your day. I appreciate that.”

The faintest thawing of his features, his light brown eyes wrinkling at the corners. “You’re welcome.”

After he moved back to supervise the other workers in the kitchen—who were shooting Silver curious looks but, oddly for bears, keeping their distance—Silver watched him without appearing to watch him.

He was calm and competent and clearly respected. Pair those traits with his symmetrical good looks and, if anyone should’ve provoked a reaction in Silver, it was this man. Yet she couldn’t stop herself from keeping an eye—and ear—open for Valentin’s booming laugh, his overwhelming, uncivilized presence.

“Hey, if you have a thing for Chaos, you’d better tell Mishka now.”

Silver glanced at Nova as the healer took a seat beside her at the counter. The other woman was wearing a scoop-necked and wide-skirted dress in leaf green with small white flowers dotted randomly over the fabric. It had three-quarter-length sleeves that exposed the tattoo on her forearm, which Silver had already noted. Two letters, one big, one small, circled by a pattern of hearts and stars. Neither initial was Nova’s.

“What,” she said, focusing on the most pertinent matter, “is a ‘thing’?”

“Aw, come on, Seelichka.” Nova reached up to fix the jaunty ponytail she’d tied with a white ribbon. “You know exactly what I mean, so don’t pull that ‘I am a Psy robot’ stuff with me.”

Silver returned to her meal, considered her answer in between keeping an eye on her steady stream of phone and telepathic messages. “I’m Silent, Nova. I choose to be Silent.”

“You sure?”

“Quite sure.”

“Hmm . . . Then why were you checking out Chaos?”

“I wanted to see if he wasn’t smiling at me because he doesn’t like Psy, or if he simply doesn’t smile at anyone.”

“Weirdly, that makes sense.” Nova sighed and, propping her elbows on the counter, cupped her chin in her hands and turned huge dark eyes in the direction of the cook. “That hunk of a man does smile, but he doles it out like it’s a rare spice, and he’s only got a limited supply.”