“Do you love him?” she asks me.

“I do.” The words sit like a lump in my throat. “It doesn’t matter, though.”

The excitement fades from Amie’s face. “What about Cormac? Do you love him?”

There are things I’m willing to lie to Amie about, but this isn’t one of them. “I don’t. But my arrangement with Cormac was never about love, Ames. It’s about what’s best for Arras.”

“Even if you aren’t happy?” Her eyes are wide and earnest as she asks.

I wish it were that simple. I wish I could tell Amie that love and happiness win in the end, but that would only be another lie. “Arras is more important.”

“And that scar on your wrist? What does it mean?” she asks one more time.

I recall the words my father said to me the night I was taken: Remember who you are. I try to remember who I am, but I’ve discovered too many things about myself since that night. I’m not even sure I’m the same person anymore. I’ve evolved in many ways from who I was in that cellar.

“Decide who you are,” I say to her. “That’s what it means now.”

“Who are you?” she asks in a soft voice.

“I’m still deciding,” I admit. My eyes search my sister’s face and I’m amazed—despite the lost time, all I see is young Amie, as though she’s always been this age to me. “Who are you?”

“I want to be a Spinster,” she admits. Her eyes flash briefly at me but then she looks away.

Her confession is bitter as I swallow it, but I’ll never win her back by belittling her dreams. “And why can’t you be?”

“Cormac has let me try to use the looms already,” Amie admits, making my chest constrict. She shouldn’t be on the looms yet. She isn’t even sixteen years old.

“And?” I ask.

“I keep trying to see it,” she says in a sad voice, “but I can’t. And he’s so disappointed. He’s had me examined by doctors and everything.”

I know Cormac has had Amie’s memory altered, but this sends a chill shivering down my neck. I wouldn’t put it past him to try to alter her to have my skills. It’s a terrifying possibility given how much control he already exerts over her. Perhaps this is why he hasn’t pushed for me to be altered yet. He already has a test subject.

“I’ve been going down to a private studio,” she continues. “Cormac gave me permission, but I had to promise I would inform him if I saw anything.”

“Let me help you,” I suggest. “Cormac can’t see the weave himself, so he isn’t a good person to advise you.” I hate using her like this, but I need to get on a loom. I’m curious about what Cormac has shown her of the looms.

“Would you?” For a moment, Amie is the adoring sister looking up to me for wisdom, and I almost break.

Instead I push back against my guilt and tack a smile onto my lips. “Of course.”

ELEVEN

“HERE IT IS.” AMIE RUNS HER HAND over one of the new security panels and the door creaks open. She pushes her way into the stone room as the lights automatically turn on, flooding the small studio. There’s an empty loom directly in front of us, but I force myself not to run toward it. Amie enters her access code and the loom whirs to life. I could see so much with the loom, not to mention change those things, but I have to tread carefully with my sister.

I look at Amie, whose eyes bore into the empty work space on the loom.

“There’s nothing on it,” I tell her in a soft voice.

“Oh!” She’s embarrassed but she manages a giggle.

I reach over and set the loom to pull up her most recent coordinates. Unfortunately, the last place she looked was an ordinary metro in the Western Sector. I can make out the entire metro—neighborhoods, the metro center, parks, academies. Try as I might I can’t get it to pull anything else up, except for security warnings. I shouldn’t be surprised that the looms are so carefully controlled and monitored now. I’d hoped to find a hole in Cormac’s tight-knit security system, thinking he might have a blind spot when it comes to Amie. I revert to the original coordinates and sit back so Amie can look at the loom.

“Do you see anything?” I ask her.

She shakes her head. I zoom in to take a closer look at the outlying neighborhoods and ask again.

This time her lip trembles as she says no.

“It’s okay if you can’t do this,” I say, putting a hand over hers. It’s more than okay, I add silently.

“It is not! What use will I be to anyone?” she says.

“I thought you wanted to design dresses.”

“I do! But Cormac will be disappointed in me. He has faith in me and I’m going to prove him wrong.” Amie wipes at the tears dribbling down her cheek and turns wide, tearstained eyes on me, looking for comfort.

“I will take care of Cormac,” I say. “Let’s try one more time.”

I zoom in as close as I can to the weave, allowing the machine to default to a surveillance feed. We are looking at someone’s living room. Amie sucks in a breath and I’m certain she can see this, but when I turn there are tears glistening in her eyes.

“Nothing,” she whispers.

I drop my arm over her shoulder and hug her close to me, shushing her as she sobs against my shoulder. How can I ever tell her this is something she doesn’t want? Especially when it’s the last bit of the old Amie left after Cormac’s alterations?