Webby was reacquainting herself with McDuck lure. She'd snuck into the Money Bin and then, from there, into the library, despite the austere librarian attempting to kill her. When she was five, she'd known all of these random facts and figures about the McDuck family. Now she knew next to nothing. Her mind was packed with FOWL secrets and techniques, which she had yet to completely divulge to SHUSH. Her grandmother vouched for her and Webby had given them something, just not the extent that they wanted.

Besides, turning traitor had left a sour taste in her mouth. She knew she wasn't evil, but she still felt a long way from "good". At the moment, perched atop a library stack where the librarian couldn't reach her, Webby considered herself neutral. She didn't think, after everything that she'd endured, that she could ever be light and free the way the triplets were. The darkness would always burden her.

It was the first time in years that she could choose her own reading material without fear of it being ripped out of her hands. The librarian blew a silent whistle to obtain backup and Webby rolled her eyes. Chances were that Scrooge McDuck and Louie would materialize as "backup" and then what? Neither of them stood a chance against her.

A falcon snarled, entering the library, and Webby placed him immediately. Taurus Bulba sometimes enlisted Falcon Graves' assistance; it seemed Graves was a freelancer, working for whoever paid the most. Webby smirked. Did he really think he was going to oust her from here?

A blade whipped at her head, but Webby was gone in a flash, ducking it and whipping beneath his arm with her prize. She made it out of the library in one piece, with a book entitled The Life and Times of Scrooge McDuck tucked under her arm. Figuring she might as well check in on Scrooge, she headed up to the office and ignored Falcon Graves reprimanding her. It was so odd to see someone from FOWL around here; her life in Duckburg felt like a complete disconnect from her previous life with FOWL.

Although her grandmother had vouched for her, other than Dewey and Lena, no one trusted her very much. If Scrooge McDuck found out she'd been hunting through his archives, he'd be less pleased with her than he already was. She didn't have a handy hat to store the book under, not like Huey with his JWG, which she already knew was a huge thing with him despite having only spent a week in the manor so far.

It turned out that Scrooge (and Louie) was in a meeting and Webby was told to cool her heels. Unwilling to heed that advice, she pulled out the new cell phone her grandmother had given her. The lock screen was a picture of her and Dewey and the home background was of Lena, Dewey, and her grandmother. It tightened her chest to look at it, to remember how she'd acted and what had become of it. Love wasn't about manipulation. She knew that now, even if she didn't feel it yet.

She hadn't gotten the hang of texting yet; Dewey texted her a lot when they were apart, but for every five he sent, she sent back one. Texting required dexterity that, despite her training, she didn't quite have. It was muscle memory and since her muscles didn't remember, she had to type things out manually. It was a pain.

What was far worse was that Steelbeak and Black Heron lingered in Duckburg. True, they were under maximum security, but Webby would have slept better had they been shipped out elsewhere, even Cape Suzette. Knowing they were here made her worry they'd break out and, once they did, they'd target her. SHUSH had promised repeatedly that she was safe, but she had her doubts.

She was careful not to voice them. Her grandmother hated letting Webby out of her sight, which was understandable but also annoying. Webby was fifteen now; the time for caution was long gone. Moreover, with Steelbeak and Black Heron out of the picture, albeit temporarily, no one else in FOWL had an interest in her. She hadn't thought they would, but it still stung to know that she'd spent ten years in a place where no one cared for her as anything but a tool.

Her phone vibrated (according to Louie, no one had their phone on ringer anymore-everyone used the vibrate feature or silence, nothing in between). It was Dewey. With a groan, she looked at her phone. In the last half hour, he'd sent her no fewer than twenty text messages, including links to his Instagram page (she barely knew what the internet was, much less Instagram) and clips of his late-night v-cast, Dewey Dew-night. Of the videocast, she had even less of a sense.

From experience, she knew if she didn't respond to her text messages or answer the phone call, he'd leave her a voicemail. She didn't savor the voicemails as she had under FOWL's custody/imprisonment, because she could hear Dewey whenever she wanted in the manor. As a result, she regarded the voicemails with a combination of cheer and mild irritation. She still hadn't gotten over that he was leaving messages for her. That he wanted to talk to her. It might take some getting used to.

Seeing as she wasn't supposed to be here in the first place, she declined the call. With her contraband under her arm, she hurried down the stairs toward the tunnels that linked McDuck Manor with the Money Bin. It would be a long walk, but once she was down there, assuming she had service, she could talk to Dewey. Security was tight around the Money Bin and she had memorized the guards' routines prior to this expedition, lest she end up wrong-footed.

Unfortunately, while guards' activities were regulated and observable, other people within the building were not. They were unpredictable and Webby, attempting to avoid the guards on the fifth floor, instead collided with Gyro. She grimaced. She'd met Gyro once before this week and his officious attitude reminded her of FOWL scientists who were determined to prove their superiority. He rubbed her the wrong way.

Gyro brushed himself off, scanning his surroundings to determine who had walked into him. Webby wished, not for the first time, that she had an invisibility cloak. In the past, when she'd been younger and smaller, she would have rolled away under a table. She'd tried that once and it'd worked. The second time, however, she'd stared into Taurus Bulba's cybernetic face and wilted, petrified. True, Gyro was nowhere near as frightening as Taurus Bulba. He was unpleasant but not evil.

"You're...Webbigail Vanderquack, aren't you?" Gyro said, frowning. "You're Mrs. Beakley's granddaughter."

Of course. They must have briefed him on her, although so many people knowing her real name made her prickly. It wasn't a secret within FOWL who she was, but most people didn't refer to her by her name. They used derogatory nicknames or "hey, you, girl". Getting respect in FOWL was an uphill battle. That didn't stop her from stiffening at Gyro identifying her.

"You used to be a FOWL agent," he said and scowled, as though FOWL had left a bad taste in his mouth. Then again, he'd hardly be the first one.

She wasn't in the mood for a prolonged conversation. Offering him a fake smile, she scurried around him and had almost reached the doorway when he called out to her.

"What are you doing here? Did you come here with Mr. McDuck and his green nephew?"

Webby's beak twitched. That was how she was referring to Huey, Dewey, and Louie too, by their colors. Well, more Huey and Louie, because she had that strange connection with Dewey regardless. But the color coordination was the only way she could keep them straight, that and their hairstyles. They had the same faces and same tail shapes. Their voices were different, but she didn't have enough experience telling them apart based on that.

"Yes," she lied. One of the skills Steelbeak had instilled in her was to fabricate, along with coming up with a decent cover story. You never knew when you might find yourself in a tricky situation, one that you probably shouldn't have been in to begin with.

"What are you holding?" he asked and she stifled a groan.

"Research," she said. That was true, after all. The best lies were sprinkled with truth. "I wanted to know more about Mr. McDuck and his family since I'll be living with them and I should have grown up in McDuck Manor."

Gyro studied her and sweat trickled down her back. Was this the moment he'd call her bluff? She wasn't prevaricating about the research, just that she didn't have permission to take the book. The worst thing, however, would be to ramble and expose herself. Regardless of how anxious he was making her, she must not succumb to temptation.

"Well, it's never a bad thing to learn more about your surroundings," Gyro said brightly and Webby's shoulders slackened. Oh, that was close.

"You do have permission to be here, don't you?" he pressed.

"Yes," she lied. Mr. McDuck had never forbidden her from entering the Money Bin. He'd just never told her she couldn't be here. It was a loophole, to be fair, but she had experience with toying with those too. Mrs. Beakley would probably be alarmed to find out how loose her morals could be.

"All right," he said, taking her response at face value. For a pompous scientist, he was remarkably naive.

"Sorry about running into you literally," she said and offered another vacuous smile. Gyro shrugged, waving her off.

"I was just getting coffee," he said. "And hoping that that idiot isn't wandering around making things worse."

"Which idiot?" she asked idly, feigning indifference. Knowledge was power, no matter what the context.

"Fenton," he huffed. "Fenton Crackshell-Cabrera, my intern. He's always been a thorn in my side. You must have met him by now."

She shook her head and he scoffed.

"Consider yourself fortunate. He's a walking disaster," Gyro sneered. "Why Mr. McDuck trusts him so much, I'll never know."

Whoever Fenton was, he wasn't important enough to interest FOWL. Still, if it was someone she might encounter, she would do well to remember him. (Why did it still feel like she was spying on SHUSH for FOWL? She wasn't a part of FOWL anymore, damn it. How long would it take for those habits to break? She'd made her choice. She'd chosen love and affection over cruelty and malice. Was it the ten years of training that had warped her?)

"I'm going to get coffee now," Gyro said, ending the conversation. "If you see him, tell him that if he puts one more dent in that suit, it's coming out of his salary."

"What suit?" she asked, baffled.

"Never mind," he said, waving his hand. "I'll tell him myself."

Walking off, oblivious to Webby's confusion, he went in search of coffee. The rest of her trip was thankfully uneventful. She supposed she had tacit permission to be here after all or the security cameras she must have been taped on would have alerted security to stop her. That took some of the fun out of it, but it did mean no tense confrontations when she reached home..

Home. The manor still didn't entirely feel like home, even after a week. It was too new and everyone was too friendly and open. It made her uneasy like she was waiting for the second shoe to drop or for the rug to be pulled out from under her.

Underground, she had no service. It wasn't until she reached the manor that her phone vibrated again and she rolled her eyes. Dewey was like a lovesick puppy. To be fair, Webby wasn't sure how to react to him, so that might've been partially her doing. She might have encouraged him too much. Or not enough. How could you even tell?

Rather than chance meeting him, she went straight to her room with the pilfered book. It was written by someone named Don Rosa, whom she had never heard of, and was about 400 pages long. She put it on her desk and surveyed her room. She'd had her new bed delivered, so she wasn't sleeping in cramped children's quarters anymore, but she had to redecorate. At least she had the option of doing that. At FOWL HQ, she wasn't allowed to put up personal mementos.

Once in her room, she steadied her breathing. She hadn't really done anything wrong, just stolen something that she intended to return when she was done. Considering what she'd done before, poisoning her grandmother and shooting at Dewey, not to mention battering his brothers around and kidnapping Lena, stealing a book was low on the list. She didn't even feel guilty about it, just worried that someone might discover her theft.

She stared at the hardbound book and traced her fingers over the embossed title. It shouldn't surprise her that Scrooge had books dedicated to himself. He was egocentric enough. Webby glanced around to ensure there was no one lying in wait for her-not that there would be, but old habits died hard. She locked the door, curled up on her bed with the book, and started reading.

Her phone kept vibrating, breaking her concentration. Scowling, she picked it up. Dewey was desperate to talk to her. No, wait. She didn't recognize the number, though it was also a local exchange. It wasn't SHUSH calling her, Dewey borrowing Huey's phone, or Dewey himself.

Hesitant but feeling like she ought to answer regardless, she picked up the phone.

"Hello?" she said, cautious. Steelbeak and Black Heron were still incarcerated, right? They wouldn't be contacting her from the prison or using a proxy, right? Her heart kicked up a notch. They certainly wouldn't be able to find her cell phone number. They'd disconnected the FOWL burner phone and Scrooge had demanded Gyro go through a lot of hoops to prevent her phone number from being discerned. FOWL couldn't track her without a device installed on her phone, which required them to physically access it.

"Webbigail?" a cautious adult female voice said. Wait, Webby knew that voice.

"You're...you're Della Duck, right?" she said. "Dewey's mom. Why are you calling me?"

"Well, for one thing, Dewey tried to call you twenty times and you didn't pick up," Della said dryly. "For another, I thought maybe we should chat."

"We live in the same manor," Webby pointed out, feeling like stating it was redundant.

"I know we do," Della said. "But I also know you're not very social and you're hiding out in your room."

"Wait, how do you know that?"

A knock came at the door and Webby startled, jumping and catching the phone as it flew out of her hands. Suspicious, she crept toward the door and scowled when the person at the other side shook the knob.

"You locked the door?" Della called through the door. "No one does that here."

"I didn't want to be disturbed," Webby said and hung up the phone call. There was no point in speaking with her on the phone if she was on the other side of her bedroom door.

Reluctantly, she unlocked the door. Della smiled at her.

"That's better," she said. "Now, c'mon, let's have a girl chat. And you'd better at least text Dewey back before he freaks out further. He doesn't like being ignored-middle child syndrome."

Webby rolled her eyes but did as Della suggested. She ignored the dread in the pit of her stomach over a "girl chat". One on ones were discomfiting for her. She was always expecting to be put on trial. "Chats" had entailed grilling.

"Calm down," Della said and squeezed her shoulder. Webby startled again. "I'm not here to attack you. It's a friendly chat."

She shook her head. "Sometimes I don't know which was worse, being stranded on the moon or what happened to you."

What the hell was she talking about? "I'm fine."

Why did no one believe her when she said that?

Della scowled. "Definitely the latter."

They walked in silence for a minute, Webby fuming, when Della spoke again.

"I knew your mother."

Webby halted, her heart skipping a beat. "Did you?"

"Yes," Della said. "Not very well, but I did know her. Wren, right? She was a spitfire. She and her mother always clashed."

Webby's heart rate picked up another few beats. "Could you tell me more?"

Speaking about SHUSH agents, particularly her mother, had been taboo. Anything she heard about her mother was tossed her way like scraps and was always denigrating.

"Have I piqued your interest?" Della teased and Webby glowered.

She pulled her into a study, where she discovered Scrooge McDuck sitting. The study consisted of three bookshelves on three walls with large windows out on the last wall. There were a desk and chairs, behind which Scrooge was sitting. In addition, there were a couple couches for reading. The floor was carpeted in Oriental rugs and curios sat in cases scattered throughout the room.

"I know about the book, lass," he said and she grimaced. "There are security cameras in the archives, you know."

"Sorry," she said, but she didn't mean it. She was sorry she'd gotten caught.

"It's all right," he said. "Just don't do it again. Now, there are a few people who want to talk to you, but I'll let Della do it first. I'll be back later."

He smiled affectionately at his niece and hugged her briefly before leaving the room. Webby didn't understand what the full story was there, only that Della had been missing for years and then returned from the moon. The details beyond that were sketchy.

Della waited until Scrooge left the room before turning to Webby. "Make yourself comfortable. Mrs. Beakley will be in here with refreshments. And yes, your grandmother wants to talk to you too."

Webby stifled a groan. She might have known.

"Relax," Della said and smiled at her. "This isn't the Inquisition. After all, no one ever expects the Spanish Inquisition."

Webby stared blankly.

"Monty Python? No? Really? FOWL has no sense of humor," Della said, shaking her head. "No Ministry of Silly Walks for you either, huh?"

Bewildered, she shook her head.

"All right, let's talk. And I give you permission to ignore Dewey for the time being. Unless he comes in here, which I doubt because I don't think he's ever been in this part of the manor before. This is the room next to where Louie conducts his business."

Louie Inc. Webby's beak twitched toward a smile at the reminder.

"I'm not here to make you uncomfortable," Della continued as Mrs. Beakley arrived with lemonade and cookies. Webby couldn't help the broader smile that crossed her beak. Lemonade and cookies had been in short supply at FOWL. Any sweets were quickly devoured by assholes and she was left to scrounge for the remains.

"She doesn't know about the Spanish Inquisition," Della said conversationally to Mrs. Beakley and Mrs. Beakley groaned, facepalming.

"Never mind that," Della said. "Let's talk about something you actually know about."

"Like what?" Webby asked.

"Eventually, we'd like to know what happened to you," Mrs. Beakley said and, after placing the lemonade pitcher, glasses, and cookies down on a table, reached across to hug her again. Webby had the sense she was making up for ten years without hugs. Oddly, when her grandmother moved away, Webby reached out to hug her back. There was a lump in her throat.

"But there's plenty of time for that," Mrs. Beakley said. "You're not going anywhere."

Steelbeak and Black Heron might, though. Steelbeak was the head of FOWL. How could he remain incarcerated? Someone was going to break him out and when that happened, Webby was in deep shit.

"So, what did you want to talk about, then?" Webby asked.

"Boys," Della said brightly and Mrs. Beakley groaned, facepalming again.

"Not now," Mrs. Beakley huffed. She rolled her eyes at her. "How are you? I know this has been a rather big change for you."

"I'm okay," she said, not sure if she meant it or if she was answering that way to get them off her back.

"Hmm," said her grandmother, not sounding like she bought it.

"We're not rushing you into anything," Della added. Webby's phone went off again and Webby groaned, wondering whether she ought to even pick it up. It had to be Dewey. Who else would be calling her? Well, Lena, possibly, but Lena was in the manor too. She picked it up anyway and Dewey had sent her ten sad face emojis. Oh jeez.

"That boy is nothing if not persistent," Mrs. Beakley said, rolling her eyes.

"What?" Webby texted back.

"Finally!" Dewey said. "I was beginning to think you were dead."

Webby facepalmed. Mrs. Beakley could read the screen from where she was and sighed.

"Yes, him," she said, rolling her eyes. "We need to discuss him and how you fit into the house. Everything will be fine. I'm not scolding you."

She scowled and Webby realized that someone must have told her the extent of the abuse Webby had endured at FOWL's hands.

She stepped back and held her granddaughter's hands. "Let's focus on one thing at a time, shall we? And, as Della said, ignore Dewey for now. He'll survive...no matter how much he pretends otherwise."