The next morning, after breakfast, he presented his thoughts to the rest of the group.

By the time he finished, Kallista was nodding. “I bet almost all of those machines were built by humans specifically for the purpose of feeding the dragons.”

“You think the dragons are using people as slaves?” Simoni asked.

“They have to be,” Angus said. “I mean, no one would willingly serve those monsters.

“Order of the Beast did, yeah, yeah,” Plucky said quietly.

Trenton nodded. The Order of the Beast not only willingly served the dragons but actually worshipped them. But the people in Seattle were living in a hole in the ground, looking for any help they could get. The people in San Francisco weren’t that desperate.

“I’ll bet they don’t see a lot of outsiders,” Simoni said. “If we could find a way to talk to them, we could tell them what we know and find out what they know. Maybe we could even help some of them escape.”

Trenton was relieved that they’d come to the same conclusion he had. “If we could get a few people out of the city, we could ask them about the city’s weaknesses. They live with the dragons. They have to have some ideas.”

Angus stripped the sling from his arm and tossed it away. “That sounds exciting and all, but do you think we can just stroll into a city full of dragons and ask the people, ‘Hey, how’s it going?’ without someone noticing?”

“We won’t know for sure until we go back and have a look around,” Trenton said. “It’s better than running away. And it’s much better than launching a full-scale attack.”

“Catch a look, yeah, yeah?” Plucky seemed excited by the idea. “I’ll sneak a peek. See what’s what, won’t I?”

“What do you think, Clyde?” Trenton asked.

“Would this look-see be from a distance or would we actually be going in the city?” Clyde asked.

“Definitely from a distance. I’m thinking we fly by just after twilight when the dragons aren’t so active. Do you think you could draw a map of what you remember of the city’s layout?”

Clyde nodded. “I’ll get on it.”

Trenton took a deep breath. Just like that, they’d agreed to go back to a place where they should have died the day before. It felt like the right thing to do, but he hadn’t been prepared for the weight it put on his shoulders. “All right, then. We get the dragons fixed today and tomorrow morning. Then, tomorrow night, an hour before sunset, we head out.”

That next afternoon, Kallista and Plucky stayed busy cannibalizing materials from nonessential parts of the dragons and using them to repair the wings and legs. It left some odd-looking holes in the dragons’ bodies, but Kallista said they’d be airworthy by that evening.

Simoni was on guard duty, and Angus was out gathering more wood. Realizing no one really needed his help, Trenton wandered down the shoreline to where Clyde was sitting on a rock with a pad of paper on his lap and a pencil in one hand.

He held the pencil poised over the tablet, poked it toward the paper, paused, pulled back, and tried again. When the pencil tip touched the sheet, he winced as if in pain.

“Is everything all right?” Trenton asked.

“What?” Clyde’s head jerked up before he realized it was only Trenton. He set down the pencil and gave a weak smile. “Just trying to make the map. Some days drawing is harder than others.”

“You don’t remember the city?” Trenton asked. “It doesn’t have to be perfect. Do the best you can.”

“It’s not that.” Clyde flexed his fingers before picking up the pencil as though it were a poisonous snake. “I know art isn’t bad, but . . .”

All at once Trenton understood. “The retraining?”

Clyde hesitated before nodding. “Most of the time I’m all right. But every now and then it’s like trying to punch my way through a brick wall.”

Back when creativity had been against the law in Cove, Trenton had constantly found himself risking punishment by building new things, but it was Clyde who had been caught sketching on his chalkboard.

Clyde had returned a day after being seized by the guards and put into retraining. After that, it had been months before he could even look at a piece of chalk without trembling. He’d never discussed what happened that day.

Trenton traced a line in the sand with his foot. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Clyde sighed. “No. I’m fine.”

“Okay. If there’s anything I can do . . .” As Trenton turned away, Clyde spoke up.

“What do you love most in the world?”

“Building things,” Trenton said at once. “I mean, you know, after my parents and all that.”

Clyde nodded. “Imagine if building things made you so sick you felt like you were going to barf. If even the thought of it gave you stomach cramps and cold sweats. You still loved it, but you also hated it.”

Trenton rubbed the back of his neck. “I don’t understand. How can you love something and hate it at the same time?”

“I don’t understand either. Not really. That’s why I’ve never told anyone about it.” He ran a finger down one edge of the tablet and shivered. “The day the guards took me for retraining, they questioned me all afternoon. Why was I drawing? What was I drawing? Did anyone else know? How long had I been drawing? It was the same questions over and over, only asked different ways in different order.”

“What did you say?”

“What could I say?” Clyde gave a shaky laugh. “It was a mistake. I didn’t know what I was thinking. I’d never done it before, and I’d never do it again. I was terrified. When they finally threw me into a cell, it was after midnight. I would have said anything to get some sleep. It must have been an hour or two later when they woke me up and put me in the . . .” He swallowed and nearly gagged. Sweat beaded on his forehead and his upper lip.

Trenton placed a hand on Clyde’s shoulder. “You don’t have do this. Don’t put yourself through it all over again.”

Clyde wiped his forehead. “No. I need to tell someone. Maybe getting it out will help.” He took a long breath and released it with a slow whoosh. “After they woke me up, they put me in this room. They made me put my hands into . . .” He gulped hard. “At the time I thought it was a jar of bees, but they were shiny, like green jewels, and now I know they were—”

“Wasps,” Trenton said. “That’s why you were so terrified of them back at the campsite.” He remembered Clyde’s fingers and hands had been swollen when he returned from the retraining. He’d been stung by wasps. “Why would they do that?”

“I don’t know.” Clyde wiped his face again, his eyes staring out to sea. “Afterwards, they handed me a slate and told me to start drawing. I didn’t want to, you know, because it was wrong. But they made me. At first it was all right. I drew pictures of little things—tools and plants.

“Then something changed. I started to itch, like I was allergic to the chalk. My fingers began to swell, and I had a hard time breathing. The guards were whispering something to me, but I couldn’t hear what they were saying. My head was swimming, and the room kept going in and out of focus. I wanted to stop drawing, but my hand wouldn’t obey. And then it was like my hand was burning. The chalk was on fire, but I couldn’t let go. I couldn’t—” Clyde’s lower lip trembled.

“Stop,” Trenton said. “Don’t relive it.”

Clyde hiccupped and took a gasping breath. His face was scarlet. A tear leaked from one eye. “I could live with the pain. Only it’s like they stole the best part of me and replaced it with something horrible.”

“I’m so sorry. I had no idea,” Trenton said, thinking of how close he’d come to being sent to retraining himself. Would he have come out shaking every time he thought of building something? “You never have to draw anything again.”

“No.” Clyde wiped the tears from his cheeks. “It would be so easy to give up. I’ve thought about it every day since I got out. Each time I start shaking, I ask myself why I’m putting myself through this. Is drawing worth it? But the day I quit drawing is the day I give up that part of me for good. If I stop, it means they won. I won’t let them take my art. I won’t.”

Trenton had never heard his friend speak so forcefully about anything.

Clyde seemed to realize the same thing. He shook his head, the fierce scowl on his face replaced by an embarrassed grin. He looked down at the pencil in his hand. “Get out of here and stop bugging me. I have a map to draw.”

“Sure.” Trenton took one more look at his friend before heading back to the campsite. To think he’d believed Clyde just liked to tell jokes, draw pictures, and cook weird stuff. You never really knew what was inside people.