“Gansey,” Henry said. “Breathe.”

Little lights moved at the corner of Gansey’s vision. He was breathing, just not enough. He couldn’t risk moving.

Henry touched the back of Gansey’s hand, and then he cupped his other hand over the top of Gansey’s. The insect was trapped against Gansey and Henry, inside a globe of fingers.

“Here is what I have learned,” Henry said. “If you cannot be unafraid —”

There was a place where terror stopped and became nothingness. But today, in this hole, with an insect on his skin, with a promise that he was to die soon, the nothingness never came.

Henry finished, “— be afraid and happy. Think of your child bride, Gansey, and the times we had last night. Think about what you are afraid of. That weight that tells you it is a bee? Does it have to be something that kills you? No. It is just a little thing. It could be anything. It could be something beautiful instead.”

Gansey could not hold his breath any longer; he had to pass out or take a proper breath. He released a ragged stream of worthless air and sucked in another. The dark became just the dark again; the dancing lights were gone. His heart was still making a racket in his chest, but it was slowing.

“There he is,” Henry said, same as he had at Raven Day. “It is a terrible thing to see someone else scared, isn’t it?”

“What is in my hand?”

“A secret. I am going to trust you with this secret,” Henry said. Now he sounded a little uncertain himself. “Because I want you to trust me. But to do that, if we are to be friends, you have to know the truth.”

Henry took a deep breath, and then he took his hand off the top of Gansey’s palm to reveal a bee of extraordinary size.

Gansey barely had time to react when Henry touched his fingers again.

“Easy, Mr Gansey. Look again.”

Now that Gansey had settled, he could see that it wasn’t an ordinary bee at all; it was a beautiful robotic insect. Beautiful was perhaps not the best word, but Gansey couldn’t immediately think of another. The wings, antennae, and legs were clearly fashioned of metal, with fine articulated joints and thin wire wings, but it was as delicately and elegantly coloured as a flower petal everywhere else. It was not alive, but it looked vital. He could see it in this darkness because it had a tiny heart that emitted an amber glow.

Gansey knew that Henry’s family was in the business of robotic bees, but he had not thought of this when he considered robotic bees. He felt fairly certain that he had seen images of robotic bees, and while they had been impressive bits of nanorobotics, they were nothing like actual bees, having more in common with tiny helicopters than with living insects. Henry’s bee, though, was fearfully and impossibly constructed. It reminded him so strongly of Ronan’s dream objects that it was hard to shake the idea once it had occurred to him.

Henry dug his phone out of his pocket. Tapping rapidly, he brought up a rainbow-slicked screen that was somehow just as strange to look at. “RoboBee interfaces with ChengPhone via this app. It’s fingerprint specific, so you see I press my finger here and tell it what I want it to find – RoboBee, find great hair! – oh and look, there it goes.”

Gansey startled violently as the bee took flight with the same sound as before, lifting into the air and alighting upon his hair. The weight of it there was even worse than having it in his palm. Stiffly, he said, “Could you remove that? It makes me very uncomfortable.”

Henry pressed his finger to the screen again, and the bee lifted back into the air, buzzing on to his shoulder.

Gansey said, “You didn’t say anything that time.”

“No, I don’t have to say anything. It reads my thoughts through my fingerprint,” Henry said. He didn’t look up from the screen as he said this, but Gansey could see in the light that he was gauging Gansey’s reaction. “So I just tell it what to do and – whoosh! – off it goes, thank you, thank you, little bee.”

Henry held his hand out and the bee whirred into it like a mobile blossom; the light extinguished. He tucked it back into his pocket. It was impossible, of course, and Henry was waiting for Gansey to say it was impossible. This was why it was secret, because it couldn’t exist.

The net looped down around Gansey; he felt it.

“Your parents make robotic bees,” he started carefully.

“My father. My father’s company, yes.” There was a line drawn there, though Gansey didn’t understand it.

“And it makes bees like this.” Gansey did not try to make it sound like he believed it.

“Gansey Boy, I think we have to decide if we trust each other or not,” Henry said. “I think this is the moment in our young friendship.”

Gansey considered his words, “But trusting someone and confiding in them are not the same thing.”

Henry laughed approvingly. “No. But I have already both trusted in you and confided in you. I have kept the secret of what you had in the back of your SUV and the secret of Adam Parrish not getting killed by those roof tiles. That is trust. And I have confided in you: I showed you RoboBee.”

All of this was true. But Gansey knew enough people with secrets to not be dazzled into easily using them as currency. And so much of what Gansey lived with now put other people’s lives on the line, not just his own. That was a lot of trust for a toga party and a hole in the ground. He said, “There’s a psychological principle that car salesmen use. They buy you a drink from a Coke machine with their own money, and then you feel obligated to buy a car from them.”

There was humour in Henry’s voice. “Are you saying your secrets are to my secrets as an automobile is to a carbonated beverage?”

Now there was humour in Gansey’s. “Your father’s company didn’t build that bee, did it?”

“No.”

He might as well get it over with. “What do you want me to say? The word magic?”

“You’ve seen magic like my RoboBee before,” Henry said. “That’s not the same sort of magic as watching Parrish deflect a ton of slate. Where have you seen this kind of magic?”

Gansey couldn’t. “That’s not my secret.”

Henry said, “I’ll spare you the agony; I know it. Declan Lynch. He sold my mother two of them.”

This was so unexpected that Gansey was glad they were in total dark again; he was sure the shock had made it to his face. He struggled to piece this information together. Declan – so this bee was Niall’s work. If Henry’s mother was a client, did that mean Declan was selling to people at the school? Surely Declan wasn’t that stupid. “How did your mother know to buy them? Did you tell her about them?”