“Shouldn’t that be impossible?” Sarah asked late one evening, tucked into her private quarters in a top floor of the palace. She shared a room with Ocellus and James, where they were protected every moment by Thorax’s guards. Those guards had needed to protect them from assassins on at least one occasion—the dangers of living in a world where everyone knew they were immortal. The changelings seemed to treat death and the constant infighting between their factions as an economic duel, not one that was costing lives and blood. “What about all the feral changelings? If anyone who wasn’t you came down here, wouldn’t they just kill them? That’s why we had to change James, right?”