"Oh, my son," the monster in the cell coos, "you always find a way to return to me."

Val sets his lantern down in front of the bars of the cell. He stares inside, greeted with the sickeningly familiar sight of his own father sitting on the floor. His coarse black beard is tangled by time, his black hair matted and long. His black eyes track every small movement that Val makes, and the shadows in his cell don't scurry away at the light from the lantern.

"I want to ask you some questions," Val informs him, reaching into his pocket for his handkerchief. He realizes his pocket is empty the moment his fingers brush nothing but air; he tossed his handkerchief to the girl in his room without a thought last night.

Arturo notices his hesitation. "I saw you fall into the Dividir," he murmurs. "It was cold, wasn't it?"

Val breathes in through his mouth. "It was."

"She almost died," Arturo continues, setting his elbow on his knee, leaning onto it with a devious smirk. "Was that your first kiss?"

His lips tingle at the memory of it. "Of course not. It was-"

"Yes, yes. I see it now." His eyes briefly go unfocused. "It was with that Borja girl nine years ago. Your birthday." When his eyes focus again, his smirk grows. "It doesn't count when you're a child, Valentine."

Val looks away. "I forgot what it felt like," he admits. "It wasn't a real kiss, anyway. I was trying to save her life."

"Why did you do it?" asks Arturo.

He shakes his head. "I don't know. I felt..." He clenches his fists. "Seeing her lying there, motionless, made my chest ache. It was like I was losing something I would never have again."

"There are others you can touch. People like me. People like you."

"But there are so few of us that are disconnected from the weave," Val says. "Do you even know what it's like to resign yourself away from human contact? To become a hermit in the skin and bones of your own body? Sometimes I... I feel like I can't even breathe, and that's the closest to feeling anything I ever get. There might not even be anyone else like me on this continent. If I could despair, I would. But I can't even do that." He draws away, chest heaving. "I can't even hate you anymore. There's barely anything in me that can."

Arturo's smirk slides away. "Valentine," he begins. "What do you want to know from me?"

Val collects himself, reining in his breathing until it's placid once more. He lets his hands relax. He swallows down what feels like bile at the back of his throat.

"What is she, really? My maestro spoke of people like her, once, but I'm not sure I truly understood."

To his surprise, his father answers him. "She's a Weaver. Her powers are some of the most ancient in this world. You've seen how the weave becomes tangible for her. Everything could bow for her if she wished it."

"But not me?"

"No. People with the Sight- you, me, and others like us- won't move to her. We're not part of the weave any longer. We walk uninhibited of it. She pulls strings, but we don't have much for her to control."

So that's why he tensed up when she touched that vestigial part of him connecting to the weave. She found no purchase on him. "Then why doesn't she just weave the whole world into submission?"

"Your substitute saw her bleeding. So have you. It's because she's human."

Val's lips part in understanding. "Then what's her aim? Why would she want to be queen?"

At this, his father falls silent.

Val tries again. "She told me she couldn't do anything for this country. Why does she want it?"

No answer. Val grasps the bars, leaning forward, sighing. "Please, just tell me something."

"Ask me another question," says Arturo finally.

Val closes his eyes. "Why does she look familiar?"

Arturo scoffs. "Why would I tell you that when you could figure it out for yourself?"

"How could I possibly-"

"Maybe you've seen someone that looks like her before. Use your brain."

"I've not met many Tondans."

His father leans back and snickers behind one of his grimy hands. Val squints at him.

"What are you laughing at?"

"You."

"I'm funny?"

The snickers continue, echoing off the walls of the cell. "Incredibly."

"Listen," Val says, gripping the bars so hard that his knuckles whiten. "I just... I need you to tell me my place in all of this. What do the gods want with me? With her?"

Arturo glances to his nails, caked and ringed with dirt. "What the gods want right now is irrelevant." He looks up, the set of his jaw grave. "Valentine, ask yourself what it is that you want with her."

Val lets go of the bars. "Nothing," he breathes.

"Liar," his father breathes back. "You said it yourself: you have resigned yourself away from human contact. You live like a hermit within the shell of your skin. You saw her close to death and you feared-"

"I don't fear," whispers Val.

Arturo pins him with that relentlessly surging gaze, continuing as if Val never even spoke. "You feared that you were losing something you would never have again. You feared that if you let her slip away, you would be resigning yourself to that torture all over again. So, ask yourself what you want with her. There is no answer I can give you."

Val takes in a hasty breath. "Stop."

"Stop what? Telling you to stop lying to yourself? To others? Have you even told your friend Eden Tudor that seeing the shadows is how it always starts?" He pauses, staring into nothingness. "Ah. See? You haven't."

"It would only frighten him."

"The boy's already frightened. He doesn't know why he sees shadows. He doesn't know why he heard voices the night he murdered his own father. He doesn't know why he has visions. You have the power to change that, but you stay silent."

"It wouldn't change anything."

"It would change everything." Arturo looks to the side, working his jaw, before he turns back to face Val again. "You say you don't feel fear, but you're afraid that he won't like what's happening to him. You're afraid that once he knows, he won't want to become another being entirely, another being like us."

Suddenly, Val finds it difficult to breathe. "If he knew he was becoming an Arbiter, he would try to end it all. Don't you know that he's tried before? I can't lose him. If there is any possibility that he could separate from the weave- that he could be like me- I must take it. The gods don't throw chances like this to people every moment."

"You're not even giving him a choice!" his father roars. "Do you know what I would have given to have had a choice? Nobody warned me. I thought I was going mad. I heard voices all the time, could determine when people would die, could suddenly walk in the shadows and know a person's fate just by looking at them. Do you even know what that did to me? To my life?!"

"Stop pretending like I'm the villain. I help people. I keep to the laws. I do what I must. I swore an oath. But you..." Something tears and rips at the inside of Val's chest, straining to get free. It claws its way up his throat and he screams, "You killed my mother! The only person in this world that I ever loved! Your life means nothing to me- nothing, do you understand? If you didn't serve a purpose to me, I would have killed you a long time ago. You took my future from me. You ruined me!" His voice breaks. "If there is anyone who didn't have a choice, it was me. Me, a boy who loved his mother with all his heart. Who had hopes of marrying a Borja girl. Who dreamed of becoming Head Sentinel of Migos, but not like this. Never like this. The gods have dealt me this hand of fate, and now I must live with it as best I can. I can't afford to give people choices when I myself had none."

He stoops to pick up his lantern, barely able to think. His feet move too fast to get him away from this place, to forget.

As he leaves, his father rattles the bars of his cell, letting out a shout that seems to make the walls tremble.

"Don't you see?" Arturo bellows. "I once thought that I was their puppet, but we are all their slaves! We live to serve! Every- single- one of us! None of our fates are kind. None of them!"

Val races up the steps, determined to put as much distance between himself and his father as possible. His words echo over and over in Val's head, as loud as his own heartbeat in his ears.

None of our fates are kind.

None of them.