With a military vehicle going top speed, Laura had no chance of jumping out. She had enough trouble avoiding cargo in the truck bed. Clae, Anselm, and the Gin slid at every turn, scraping across the floor and smacking into what boxes were tied down. She tried to steady them at first, but after a few near misses clung to a stack of boxes and gripped the rope, lifting her feet out of the way whenever a loose piece skidded over. As far as she could see the crystals were nigh indestructible: they didn’t gain so much as a scratch during the bumpy ride.
She could see nothing outside during their escape, only a few glimpses of fading daylight through the flapping canvas in the back, but she could tell when the shouting quieted, when the car began to slow. A few bullet holes let in light, but Okane had been enough of a distraction. The Sweepers’ gunfire had been delayed while Zelda drove through the carport. They’d escaped unharmed. Whether Okane had slipped away, she had no idea. The more Laura wondered the worse she felt.
“If he gets caught, this is all your fault,” she growled, kicking halfheartedly at Clae as he slid past.
The crystals rattled to a stop as the truck’s engine cut out. Silence pressed in, bizarre after so long. After a moment’s hesitation, Laura picked her way to the back and pulled the canvas aside. Zelda had parked the truck in an alleyway, cast in shadow by tall buildings on either side. The sound of shoes on pavement grew closer and Zelda walked into sight. She paused, stared at her. Laura looked right back.
“Why did you leave him behind?”
Zelda’s lip curled. “He took the attention, why else? Made it harder to relocate us when my magic kicked back in.”
“That’s the only reason? He could be a prisoner right now, but it won’t matter because it was a little harder to notice a racing truck?”
Zelda folded her arms, eyes narrowing. “Don’t act all high-and-mighty. We all could’ve gotten caught back there.”
“And we all could’ve made it out!”
“There’s no way of knowing that.”
Laura knew that. Escaping at all in the middle of Rex was a wonder; everything had gone remarkably well up to this point. Even losing someone now counted as lucky: one instead of two or three lost, escaping with everything they’d come for. Logically, they’d succeeded. It didn’t feel like a victory.
Laura pressed hands against her eyes. “I told him I wouldn’t let anything like the Sullivans happen to him again. I can’t—I didn’t—”
Zelda didn’t reply immediately, and when she did, her tone softened. “I told him to meet us at the clothes store we were at earlier. That shop is right around the corner. If he’s still free, he’ll come find us.”
Doubtful, as far as Laura could tell.
Zelda returned to the cab; the seat there must be more comfortable. Laura dragged Clae closer to the canvas flap and sat next to him, holding one of his crystal wrists in one hand. She hoped this would ground her, give her a sense of purpose. It worked well enough, she supposed, and here she could keep an eye on the end of the alley while Zelda presumably watched the other side.
What now? Is there any way we can help him? she thought, trying to prompt something from Clae the way she had with the Gin. If he had passed on his will to Eggs, and picked and chose who could touch him, surely he could reply like that? But he didn’t. No ghost of words, no implication or shared mental image. Magic hummed under her fingers like a mock pulse, but it was muddled. Incomprehensible. She might as well be looking for meaning in a patch of mud. She hung her head with a flat laugh.
“I miss you.”
The gold flickered some, but there was no other response.
One thought hung over her with awful clarity. What if Okane never comes back? What if that’s the last time I’ll ever see him?
It hadn’t been so bad with Clae—his death had been so sudden, so lost in other events, there hadn’t been time to agonize over possibilities. This was awful. She gripped Clae’s hand, trying to draw some kind of comfort. Magic shivered under her fingers. She inhaled deep, remembering Gustave’s Moon. Clae, so present and alive it seemed he could never be erased.
Still going back for other people.
Her eyes snapped open again.
Thank you, Laura Kramer.
Was this communication with Clae? Gin made its own words and plucked at multiple memories on the rare occasion it had a point to make. This had been one solid impression, less a conversation than a recollection. Did she imagine support because she wanted it? The more she looked at Clae, the more she realized it didn’t matter. She couldn’t just sit there and wait if Okane was in danger. She jumped out of the truck and circled to the cab. Zelda sulked in the driver’s seat, and raised a brow at the sight of her.
“Did - - - see something?”
“I need you to watch Clae and the Gin,” said Laura.
“To watch—Wait, where do - - - think - - -’re going?”
“To find Okane.”
“Oh, no,” Zelda snarled, kicking open the door. “I didn’t risk my life smuggling a set of idiots through high security and get shot at just so some ingrate can skip back into danger!”
“Okane’s already in danger.”
“Forget him! He knows where to find us—”
“He knows the store name. That’s like finding a needle in a haystack,” said Laura. “How many people and stores are in this city? And how many people are actively looking for him? There aren’t any maps, and it’s not like he can ask for directions.”
“Just trust him to find his way!” said Zelda.
“It’s not about trust! This is about being there to help, because he shouldn’t have to do this alone!”
“Well, I’ve stuck my neck out far enough,” said Zelda. “If - - - want to go running off into Rex, it’ll be alone.”
“You don’t have go with me,” said Laura.
Zelda faltered. “What?”
“I can’t go back to Amicae without Okane, but I can’t risk having Clae or the Gin falling back into their hands. If I don’t come back, I want you to get them out of here.”
Zelda blinked at her. Her lips tipped up, her head ducked, and she laughed. It wasn’t a kind sound. Her head stayed down even after she’d finished.
“I kept thinking I’d escaped them, but I’m not that different from a Rexian Sweeper after all, am I?” she murmured. “I didn’t think twice about letting him go. When it comes down to it, I thought he was expendable, too.” Laura didn’t know how to respond to that, so stayed quiet until Zelda finally looked up at her. “What are we planning here, exactly?”
“I’m going to try finding Okane.”
“- - -’ve mentioned.”
“The city’s huge, and even if I knew where I was going, Okane didn’t. I can’t plan on where to find him. I want to have enough time to properly look and try getting back here, but we can’t wait forever. How long would you give us, before it’s too late to escape?”
“They’re not about to stop unloading Sweepers,” said Zelda, drumming her fingers on the car door. “They might close down a few exits, but it’ll be easy enough to find the operating one. If only one’s operating, the line will be longer and it’ll stay open longer. If they just bump up security on all gates, it’ll be over fast and we’ll miss our window of opportunity. I’d give us five hours at most.”
“Honestly, I expected less,” Laura chuckled. “Okay, if I’m not back before five hours are up, leave the city and bring these back to Amicae.”
“What if Okane returns and - - - don’t?” said Zelda. “He’ll try to pull this exact same maneuver.”
“Remind him that Rex doesn’t have any incentive to keep me alive,” said Laura.
What little mirth Zelda had drained from her face. “- - - realize that’s a valid argument, right? If they figure out who - - - are, they’ll kill - - -.”
“I knew that when I left Amicae.”
Zelda shook her head but didn’t argue. “And what am I supposed to do when I reach Amicae? They won’t let a Rexian through the gate, let alone let me bring these to wherever I need to. They might just shoot me there.”
“See if you can send word ahead,” said Laura. “Directly to the police chief, but even better, if you can reach Byron Rhodes, they’ll hear you out. Byron’s been following the Sweeper situation ever since the Falling Infestation, and he knew something weird was going on with our new boss. I told him everything I knew before we got chased out of Amicae. If you share your side of the story, and if you bring back what Juliana sold, he’ll support you.”
“He’ll support me,” Zelda murmured. “That makes it sound as if I’d be there a while.”
“Isn’t that what you want?” said Laura. “You’d be out of Rex’s reach.”
“Ha! Maybe. I’ve got to say, that wasn’t the reward I was expecting.” Zelda swung her leg, tapping Laura with her toe. “Fine, I’ll go with that. - - -’ve got five hours. Best get going while - - - can.”
“Thank you,” said Laura.
Zelda simply waved her off. Laura took the hint and ran.
The identical streets of Rex flashed by as she tore through with amulet-enhanced speed. Left, right, left, up the ramp to the Quarter they’d left, and she kept on into the maze with no clue whether she was even going the right way. The street names meant nothing if she didn’t know where they led. Few people walked the streets to ask (nightly curfew, she remembered from the Carmen film), not that she would’ve. If she asked too many suspicious questions, she could bring the Black Guard down on her head. Of course, the sight of a strange girl running around after curfew might bring them down on her anyway.
She paused at a corner, the streetlight glowing overhead as she tried to calm herself down. Panic would just give her tunnel vision. Calm. Calm, Laura, for the love of god. Would there be any clues to Okane’s location? None came to mind. She couldn’t listen in on any chatter from whoever currently chased him. She didn’t know how to find them any easier, and she doubted they’d allow anyone to follow them, citizen or not. She wished she had something like the statue in the Amicae banks: a single touch, to signal I’m here to someone else. But something else gave a similar signal, didn’t it? The armory had sent a signal to their rings. If all the Sinclair rings were rigged in a single system for the armory, surely there must be a connection from ring to ring?
She pulled off her glove, pressed the ring to her lips, and tried to focus. She thought of Okane, of his ring, of the way those Gin amulets had remembered Clae.
Take me to him.
For the longest time there was nothing. And then, miraculously, she felt pressure at her heels. The amulets pushed her. She choked out a startled, wondrous laugh, and followed.
As she ran, the amulets plucked out implications in the back of her mind. They came more vaguely than usual, not words but the distinct sense of being closer, closer—STOP!
On a stab of instinct Laura changed course, darting down an alley and stopping short. The amulets’ push had stopped. Wary, she looked around the corner.
She’d reached the outer edge of the Quarter. It wasn’t unlike Amicae’s terrace: a wide space beyond the line of buildings, the edge a sheer drop over stone sides. If Rex had Underyear fireworks, this little plaza would’ve made a good viewing platform; even in the evening gloom she could make out the shadow of mountains unsettlingly dark along the horizon. Five people occupied the open plaza. A tall, striking man in a black overcoat, with the medals on his chest and the gun at his belt, had to be a member of the Black Guard. Three Sweepers flanked him. They all looked at a man crouched on the ground, dressed in the ragged garb of the slaves she’d passed in the fields. His wide-spread arms shielded the last person from view, and Laura realized with a jolt that this last person was Okane. He lay on his side as if he’d fallen; he’d drawn the Amicae gun at one point, but it now rested a foot away from him. He wasn’t moving. She couldn’t see his face. Fear rose in her throat, so overwhelming she hardly heard them speak at first.
“Stay back!” cried the man in rags. “Leave this man alone! He’s not a Sweeper!”
The guard laughed, icier than the January air. “Do you think you can order me around? And here I thought they’d already declawed you.” He stepped forward, slow and steady like a beast sure of its kill. “I’ll have to reiterate your earlier lesson, with a bit more insistence. So long as we preserve the most vital parts, the program won’t care if there’s damage. You two, pin him down.”
The Sweepers circled in obediently, drawing their blades. The man shook.
“No Rexian hand will touch him,” he hissed. “Not while I draw breath!”
That was their only warning.
The man tackled a Sweeper to the ground before they could react. They rolled, snarling, the Sweeper’s magic popping. The man grabbed blindly at the Sweeper’s belt and snatched up a red Egg, held it overhead like a rock.
“Get him immobilized,” the guard snapped, pulling out his gun.
The second Sweeper swung her blade but the man saw it coming. He rolled himself and his victim so the blade missed and wrought sparks from the pavement. Even before the sparks died, he’d smashed the Egg into his victim’s face. The Sweeper screamed.
Laura wouldn’t get a better distraction.
She ran out from under cover, rolled Okane onto his back, put her fingers down his collar, and felt a pulse. He wasn’t dead yet, thank god. A shout made her look up. While all Sweepers had gathered by the man in rags, the guard had spotted her. He stepped toward them, face twisted in rage. Laura lunged for the dropped gun. She had no idea if it held any bullets, but the gun still hummed gold when she pulled back the hammer; probably a good sign. The guard was at nearly point-blank range. She pulled the trigger. The pictographs flared as the hammer pitched forward, but there was no flash of kin. The gun simply clacked and wheezed. She barely had time to feel betrayed before the guard descended on her. He yanked the gun from her grip, but rather than threaten her with it, he tackled her. The breath whooshed out of her lungs and her head knocked against the pavement so hard she saw stars. The guard pinned her there.
“Stop right there!” he bellowed at the Sweepers. “Paragon, if you dare—”
The man in rags rose on his feet, eyes flicking for an escape route. His victim floundered up. With the Egg inactive it hadn’t torn very deep into his skin, but glass shards and the metal casing had left their mark, and he blinked madly to try washing crimson kin from his eyes. He wrenched a gun from its holster.
“Stop!” the guard barked, but it was too late.
The gun fired, but it didn’t hit its mark. Maybe the partial blindness ruined his aim, maybe it was because the man ducked, but a red flash exploded from one of the other Sweepers. She doubled over with a horrible wheeze, and the other two froze.
“I told all of you to stop,” the guard snapped. “Paragon, if you want this woman alive, you won’t resist.”
The man in rags looked at her. He stilled, and she could see the numbers sloping, red and distorted, on his left cheekbone. His gray eyes flicked again, from her to Okane, and slowly he raised his hands. The uninjured Sweeper moved in, wrenching his arms behind his back. Now that all seemed under control, the guard smiled again. He shoved Laura’s head harder against the pavement and stood, the Amicae gun gripped tight in one hand.
“That’s a good pet. All of you, such good pets.”
The wounded Sweeper straightened. The bullet had scorched clothing even now staining red, but she looked at them with an impassive, if pale, expression. “It is our honor to serve Rex.”
“On to the four corners,” the other two chorused. “Raise pure blood.”
“Only the purest, and only the most loyal.” The guard gestured the gun at the Sweeper who’d been blinded. “Is loyalty the act of ruining our tools?”
“No, sir,” said the Sweeper. “I will carry out the punishment to redeem my failure.”
“See that you do.”
With that, the Sweeper raised the gun and pressed its barrel against his head. Laura closed her eyes as soon as she realized what was happening, but she couldn’t close her ears to the gunshot, the spatter, the thud. When she dared open them, the angle only gave her a look at his boots. She was glad she couldn’t see more. The Sweepers looked on this as commonplace, and the man in rags had his mouth pressed into a thin, morbid line.
“So many tools defective these days,” the guard sighed. “We only want the optimal pieces in our machine. Anything that threatens Rex’s advance must be eradicated. Remember that lesson, paragon. Escape your cage again and you won’t be considered necessary.”
Laura sucked in a harsh breath. The guard had turned on her, and she found herself looking down the barrel of Clae’s old gun. Something Puer-green glimmered in its depths as the man in rags began to struggle.
“- - - said - - -’d keep her alive!”
“And let her help you a second time? I think not,” said the guard. “That’s a weakness of yours, paragon. Rex would never breed such gullibility.”
“Only Rex would breed such perfidy,” the man spat.
“Words,” said the guard, and pulled back the hammer.
The sides of the gun glowed still brighter, and with it the insides. No. The insides weren’t supposed to be that luster, and certainly not green. A bullet sparkled in the barrel, stuck from her earlier misfire. Regular gun failures could be disastrous. She didn’t want to think what would happen with extra firepower. She glanced at Okane.
Away, she thought, and her amulets hummed in anticipation. On my mark, away.
“You can’t escape so easily,” said the guard, guessing her intentions. “You run, I follow. There’s nowhere to hide.” He looked at the man in rags again, bared his teeth savagely. “Maybe this will be lesson enough for you, paragon. You err, and others suffer.”
His finger tightened. Laura’s amulets squalled. She skidded across the ground as if flung, and only barely managed to bring Okane with her. As they tumbled toward the Quarter’s edge, the gun exploded. Shrapnel shrieked out with a shower of blinding green and gold. The initial explosion was bad, but the heat and magic caught the other bullets and the din quadrupled. Sparks shot thirty feet in the air and skidded along the ground, hot enough to scorch pavement in its wake. In the midst of it all, the guard screamed. The man in rags bucked. His captor scrambled to subdue him, snapping, “Rectify this!”
The other Sweeper lunged. Laura rolled out of the way just in time. The machete clanged down where she’d been. She sprang to her feet and slammed her shoulder into the Sweeper. She caught the Sweeper in the midsection, pinning the other’s arm between them. The impact jarred her enough to drop the blade, made her stagger, but she didn’t back down. Her eyes flashed vivid, verdant green as she shoved back. They grappled, stumbling and clawing at each other. If Laura saw such a scene in a film she’d scoff at such childish behavior, but now she was scared out of her wits. Her hands were already slick with her opponent’s blood but the Sweeper kept on undaunted. Was it a Magi trait? Rexian training?
The Sweeper pulled her off balance, tried to twist her arm for painful leverage. Laura lashed out desperately with her free hand. She caught the injury with full force, and this time the Sweeper balked. Laura bared her teeth and kept punching. The Sweeper’s composure cracked fast. Laura could see a switch even without words: the Sweeper’s eyes narrowed, from panicked pain to something resolute and beyond it. She pushed Laura further off balance and kept pushing, stumbling faster and faster. They headed toward the Quarter’s edge. Neither could survive the fall, but the Sweeper knew that. She’d kill herself as easily as her teammate had.
Laura kicked out and tripped them both. They came down hard, barely inches from the edge. But the Sweeper hadn’t given up. She pushed all the harder. Laura tore the skin of her hand as she scrabbled for a handhold. She grabbed at the Sweeper for lack of anything else, and her stomach dropped as her body tipped. Halfway over already, and vertigo hit her. The Sweeper bared her teeth in macabre victory, shoved an arm under Laura’s back, and sent them both reeling over the Quarter’s edge.
The spires and rooftops of the outer wall whirled, wrenching up and then sharply down in her vision before something snagged at her coat. She spun the right way up with a violent jerk, whatever hook sliding from her shoulder to sleeve before finally catching her cuff. The jolt made her screech in surprise. Whatever had caught her didn’t catch the Sweeper. Too late the Sweeper tried to adjust her spin to double her grip and haul Laura with her. The last Laura saw, the Sweeper plummeted, eyes like acid and face more monstrous than an infestation. For a moment Laura felt separate from the earth entirely, buffeted by the wind and suspended by one stinging arm hundreds of feet above the closest building.
“Are - - - all right?”
Reality rushed back in. Her head jerked back up. The man in rags looked back at her. His eyes were as gray as the Sweeper’s had been green, and the telltale crackling of magic echoed from him. He swung another arm down and grabbed her just above the elbow.
“Let’s get - - - back on solid ground.”
Laura’s voice didn’t seem to work, so she simply nodded and grabbed on to him. In her awkward ascent, she had to twist around, and even with magic on his side the man needed to lie on his stomach to keep from being pulled down himself. She rose inch by torturous inch, finally coming close enough to swing a leg up and over the edge. She rolled onto the pavement with a shuddering sigh of relief.
“Thank you,” she wheezed.
“It’s lucky I got to - - - in time,” said the man.
How had he—Laura raised her head to look at the plaza, and quickly decided that, no, she didn’t want to know. The last Rexian Sweeper must’ve been put out of commission somehow. Hopefully less violently than his fellows, but considering their determination that was unlikely. Wait. Determination. Rex knew full well that thieves and Magi had escaped into the city, and with all that noise this location couldn’t stay secret long; they wouldn’t stop chasing until they caught or killed him. She had no time to lie here. She had to get Okane out of here now. She pushed herself up.
“I’m really thankful for the help, but I have to leave,” she said, crawling for Okane. “If they find us again I don’t think I can fight them off.”
Okane hadn’t moved. She shook him lightly, but his eyelids didn’t so much as flicker.
“He’ll recover in time,” the man in rags said grimly.
“Do you know what happened?” she asked.
“Rex employs a special brand of crowd control,” said the man. “Think of it like a felin’s influence. One grenade drains the energy of twenty people.”
“No wonder he’s out cold.” Laura pulled Okane’s arm over her shoulders and tried to lift him. Maybe it was her own jitters or maybe he was just heavy, but she had to drop back to her knees. “Um, any idea when he’ll wake up?”
“It depends on the victim.” The man in rags helped lift Okane. He looked at her again, eyes like quicksilver, and Laura’s stomach dropped. “But he will recover. Let’s move him before anyone else shows up.”
Laura started walking, and quickly realized that she had no idea how to get back to the truck. She’d tracked Okane through the Sweeper ring, but as far as she knew, the larger Gin pieces hadn’t been incorporated into the armory network; how could they, when at least one of them rotated away from Amicae every year? Perhaps she could try linking to Clae’s ring, but hadn’t that crystallized beyond all hope?
“Are you a Sweeper?” she asked.
The man didn’t answer but gave her a supremely dark look and she decided that no, he was not.
“I know you’re not like those people, that’s obvious! I’m just trying to figure out whether you’re familiar with the city or only the fields.”
His brow rose. “- - - believe I am a farmer?”
“You’re dressed like the people outside. I mean…” She looked pointedly at his clothes.
“Rex doesn’t care about presenting me to anyone,” said the man. “What is - - -r escape route? How many others are here for infiltration? Is this Eos’s work?”
“Eos?” Laura repeated, baffled.
The man looked crestfallen. He looked ahead rather than at her.
“How many?” he said again.
Laura’s first instinct was to say nothing, but this man had already thrown himself into danger for them. Who would he rat them out to, the very people he’d attacked?
“Just the two of us. The only other person we’ve been working with we found in the city.”
“And where is she?”
“In the getaway truck.” For the life of her Laura didn’t know where to find it, but elaborated, “In the alley by Gregory’s Garments. I don’t suppose you know where that is?”
“I do,” he said, and towed them away.
It took forever to reach the shop. The man walked with purpose, but he kept leading her down alleys and side streets. She learned the reason after a trash can behind them overturned and a Rexian handler ranted at his Sweepers for his own clumsiness. The Sweepers looked at him with vacant, lifeless expressions that made Laura shudder. She’d almost met her death at that kind of face. To make matters worse, it began to rain. Cold, wet, and tired, Laura refused to complain; she at least had a coat to warm her, and the man had nothing. She was so turned around, she almost didn’t recognize it when the truck came into view, the windows of Gregory’s Garments shining dully beyond it.
“Zelda!” she called.
A figure moved at the truck’s side, and Zelda cried, “What the hell? How did - - - get out?”
“It doesn’t matter,” said the man.
He and Laura heaved Okane into the vehicle. Laura climbed in to lay him down beside Clae. As far as she could see he had no injuries, so she turned back to the man—652, according to that scrawled tattoo—who watched with a hopeless expression.
“Hell yes it matters!” Zelda snapped, coming alongside them. “If one of the paragons gets out and snaps a Sweeper’s neck, they’re going to take serious action!”
“They had already taken serious action,” the man defended.
“But why?” Zelda hissed. “The most well-behaved of all the paragons? Why break out now?”
“Because.” He clenched his fists, looked back at the truck. Zelda frowned at Laura a moment before understanding dawned.
“No.”
652 ignored this. “Get out of Rex, quickly. Staying so long already means their forces have spread out, so be careful not to be seen.”
“We can do it,” Zelda said quietly. She paused, then said, “Don’t get in too much trouble.”
“Of course not.” The man in rags turned away, heading toward the alley’s mouth again.
“Wait,” said Laura, “aren’t you coming too?”
The man paused but didn’t turn around, as if by looking at them he’d seal his fate and come along despite his best wishes. “It’s best that I don’t.”
“Rex doesn’t treat traitors well,” said Zelda. “Traitors die.”
“Everyone dies, Zelda.” He tipped his head back, closed his eyes against the rain. “I doubt Rex will see fit to execute me. They have no proof, after all, whether or not I killed any Sweepers. The witnesses are dead.”
“They’ll find out,” Zelda hissed.
“They’ll find out too late to convince the organization of anything. No. I will simply be a paragon who escaped his cage and yearned for freedom. Any rumor of a renegade Magi man will be tied to me. I will be the focus, so - - - can escape.”
“That’s the same kind of bullshit he spouted before he ran off.” Laura flung an arm in Okane’s direction. “We can escape this way. We have a truck, we have Zelda’s magic—”
“Rex doesn’t let their prizes go easily. If - - - want to escape, - - - must first beguile them. Don’t worry, foreigner. I’ve lived many years here. I will live many more. Take care of him. Please.”
He ran from the alley before Laura could protest any more.
“Don’t bother chasing him,” said Zelda, watching his disappearance with grim features. “He knows the consequences far more than Okane did. He’s strong. If he says he’ll survive, he will.”
“But—”
“But nothing. If we want to get out of Rex, we have to do it now. Five hours was a generous estimate, and we’ve already used most of it.”
Laura glanced from Okane to the alleyway, still torn, but she wasn’t about to risk it now. Zelda got the idea and doubled back to the front of the truck.
The vehicle moved much slower now, blending into traffic instead of racing, so Laura sat on the floor without trouble. She pulled off her coat and tucked it under Okane’s head, hoping it would work for a pillow. He stirred at the movement.
“Okane?” Laura leaned closer. “Hey, can you hear me?”
His eyes flickered open. He blinked blearily at her before groaning and reaching up to his face. He rubbed at his head, face screwed up in pain before something occurred to him and he tried to sit up. Between the movement of the car and his own instability, he didn’t make it. He flopped back down, and she reached out to steady him.
“Don’t worry, you’re okay. You’re with me and Zelda. We’re going to escape. You’re okay now.”
“Laura,” he rasped, “where’s that man?”
“The one with the red numbers?”
“Yes! He was just … Where did he go?”
“He helped carry you here and went back into the city. Why, did something happen?”
His eyes were wide, maybe panicked or maybe just disoriented.
“He called me Valens,” he breathed.
“What does Valens mean?”
“That’s my name. I haven’t told—No one should know that name!” He covered his face in his hands and whispered, “My name, my name,” with increasing horror.
The truck rolled on through the streets of Rex, darkened shops and packs of Sweepers and soldiers. Laura caught glimpses of them out the back, but no one stopped the truck as it ambled its way into a line of other military vehicles. As soon as they joined the procession, people stopped looking at them entirely. They might as well have been invisible, all the way down to the outermost wall.
A group of soldiers stood at the main gate, making a show of inspecting everything going through. The line must’ve gone for hours when finally a pair of guards moved toward them. They barely took in any detail of this particular truck’s appearance (the bullet holes should’ve been a giveaway) before declaring it acceptable and waving it through. Laura almost laughed as they drove through the gateway and out of the city entirely.
Enormous lamps fixed atop metal fences lit the surrounding farmland as bright as daytime. It took what seemed like an eternity to leave its halo, and the line of trucks began to drift, leaving more and more space between the vehicles. This was cover enough. While passing through a darker section, Zelda broke away to follow one of the farm roads. She went without headlights for a long while. The glow of the agricultural lamps grew small behind them and the road uneven beneath them before the truck came to a stop. There came a rapping sound against the back of the cab. Zelda was calling her up.
“I’ll be right back,” she told Okane. He only groaned.
She climbed out and circled to the front, where Zelda leaned out the window.
“This is as far as I’m going,” she announced.
“Only here?”
“I only said I’d get the happy couple in and out, right? Good luck from here on.”
It took a minute for this to really sink in. Laura had to swallow a lump in her throat. “Are you sure? I meant it, when I said you could go to Amicae. With us in tow, it’ll be even easier to get you in safely.”
“Tempting, but no. Not now, anyway,” said Zelda. She looked to the distance, where the other trucks had gone. “I’ve got unfinished business here. I’ve had plans in the works for a while, but - - - two made me consider them seriously.”
Laura didn’t understand, but she nodded anyway. “Will you leave us the truck?”
“I’m not that heartless! Go on and take it.”
“I don’t suppose you could tell me how it works?”
Zelda sighed and leaned back, gesturing at the equipment. “It’s just a less comfortable version of the usual car. Steering wheel, ignition, brake. Simple. It’s got a big gas tank, so just keep driving down this road here and it’ll get you to the satellite town, no problem. Just don’t push too hard on the gas or brake and it’ll be smooth sailing.”
Laura doubted this, but didn’t argue. She stood aside as Zelda clambered out of the cab, sighed, and stretched.
“So what do you want from us? The payment?”
Zelda hummed, swinging her arms. “I went through a lot of trouble for a pair of idiots. Betrayal of my own city, the horror! I need a big reward to make up for it.”
“Unless you’re accepting whatever supplies they were hauling, I don’t have anything to pay you with.”
“I’ll come up with something eventually. Keep an eye out, all right? This isn’t the last - - -’ve seen of me.”
“Thank you for all the help.”
Laura held out a hand. Zelda eyed it before breaking into a grin and shaking it in a tight grip. “Ugh, stop being so sentimental. Save it for the invalid.”
Speaking of which … “Could I ask one more question before you go?” Laura asked.
“Oh? What’s that?”
“What’s a paragon?”
The smile slipped off Zelda’s face. “‘Paragon’ is what they call the purebloods, real Magi like dream boy. Hot commodity.”
She turned and walked away, following the edge of the road. “See - - - later, dream team. Try not to get caught without me!”
Laura pushed aside the canvas on the back of the truck, heaving herself up to see Okane and tell him what was going on. He remained sprawled on the floor, shaky and mostly unintelligible.
“He knew my name, who here could know? Who—?”
Okane had been afraid of recognizing someone in Rex, but he’d obviously never considered being recognized himself. When the man in rags had helped lift Okane, when he’d looked at her with his face so close to Okane’s, the resemblance had been painfully obvious. No one could look that similar without being related by blood.
Laura went back to the cab, settled herself in the driver’s seat, gripped the wheel, and looked out into the night, black as an infestation, no stars or moon to light her path. Laura felt, for a moment, adrift from the world again. Suspended. Unreal. Lost.
“I’ve done worse,” she told herself, flexing her grip. “I’ve been out in the wilds at night without even a car, and I did just fine there. It’s not like there’s a knuckerhole in the middle of the road. I can do this. I can totally do this.”
Only somewhat reassured, she started the engine and flipped on the headlights.
The road out of Rex led due east, toward the Malamare. It took a while for Laura to get used to the car, the steering and the pedals, but eventually she settled into a constant speed. The terrain was moderately hilly and undergrowth crept in on the roadside, at some points stretching out onto the pavement. The shape of Rex in the side mirror preoccupied her more. She didn’t think she’d relax until it was well out of sight. As she made a turn and dipped downhill, the city’s light vanished and she let out a long sigh. Finally. She pulled over to the side of the road, hitting the brake pedal and pulling back on the lever to her right. The truck shuddered and jolted, but eventually slowed to a stop. With the engine off, she closed her eyes and took her hands off the wheel. She’d been gripping it so hard her hands ached. She flexed them, hissing at the feeling.
“That satellite better not be much further,” she mumbled.
She jumped at the sound of a door opening. Dozens of terrible possibilities ran through her mind—wilds monster, Rexian follower, infestation—but the culprit was none of them. The door creaked on its hinges as Okane climbed up, settled himself, and pulled it shut behind him.
“Hi,” he said.
“Hello. Uh, nice to see you. It’s been—” She did a quick calculation. “—an hour now?”
“Sorry I didn’t come up earlier. By the time I pulled myself together, - - - were already driving.”
“Don’t worry about it. Are you doing okay?”
“Fine.”
She kept looking at him, and after a moment he averted his gaze.
“I think that was the least-fine reaction I’ve ever seen from you,” she said.
“I was a little confused,” he defended. “I mean, I wasn’t expecting that.”
“You’re the one who told me other survivors may have been caught,” she reminded him gently. “I mean, maybe he didn’t say it directly, but Clae hinted at this possibility, didn’t he?”
“Yes, but I never—” He stopped, bit his lip. “My father traveled outside the haven before it fell, so he couldn’t be with the survivors. Mama always thought he was still out there somewhere, but for me … I never expected to see him again. Especially not after she died. I don’t even know if that man was him. Maybe I made a mistake, heard wrong.”
Laura wanted to butt in, His eyes are just like yours, but convincing him that his father was alive might not be a good idea. Would he wallow in guilt over leaving the man behind? Would he want to go back for him?
“What was your father’s name?” she asked instead.
“I don’t remember. I only called him Papa at that point.”
“How about your mother?”
“Marina,” he sighed, his sadness almost palpable.
“Marina and Valens, huh?” she mused. He nodded mutely and she repeated the names, committing them to memory. “Should I be calling you Valens now?”
“No,” he said immediately. “I don’t want that name anymore.”
“But you said it yourself, it’s your name.”
“I’m Okane now.”
“Why? I mean, I’m sorry, but you’re always offended when people like … say your eyes look like money or associate you with it. ‘Okane’ means money, and it’s something Sullivan slapped on you, isn’t it? Why would you want to keep that instead?”
“Being Valens is what got me into trouble in the first place.”
“I don’t think I follow.”
“Neither did Clae,” Okane muttered. “I just—I haven’t been Valens in a long time. I want to be called Okane now.”
Laura leaned back in the seat, still confused but yielding. “If you ever want to switch, just let me know. Valens isn’t that bad a name, but I’ll call you Okane if that’s what you want.”
“I’d appreciate that.”
The real bump in the road faced them as dawn spread dim across the horizon.
Trains ran along well-maintained tracks that had been cut into the landscape, altering the earth to ensure a level surface, but regular routes had no such care. Roads in the wilds went up and down hills with the roll of the land, helped along by the odd bridge at some points, though those weren’t nearly as well maintained as the train variety.
Or, who knew, maybe this one had been.
The road to the satellite town crossed a river, not a huge one but certainly wider than canals in Amicae. A bridge had once spanned the distance. The ends still sat on either bank, rising for a foot before dead-ending in thin air, the bridge’s rubble strewn in the riverbed and much of it washed away entirely.
“What do you think, Rex or someone else?” said Laura. “Somebody definitely tore that down.”
“Maybe the town? The train routes are one thing, but I don’t see what Rex could gain from this,” said Okane.
“This is the main port with Fatum, isn’t it? Cut supplies to them, and depending on how much Gin they have to help grow crops, they could end up starving. Easy pickings once Rex gets moving and attacking cities.”
“Surely they have enough food, though? It’s on an island.”
“A lot of cities specialize in certain things and trade for others. At least one of the islands focuses on clothes, so they don’t have much in the way of food production. That’s not our problem right now, though. We can worry about them once we’re back in Amicae.”
“How are we supposed to do that when the bridge is out?”
“Maybe there’s another one nearby?” Laura suggested. “If the satellite town knows about this, they might set up temporary crossings. Or maybe there’s a shallower spot. A shorter crossing.”
“I suppose it’s worth checking,” said Okane.
Laura drove off the road, trundling onto the grass and bumping over brush; the vehicle handled well on rough terrain, she decided, as she parked it in the shadow of nearby trees. Even Cherry and Grim hadn’t gotten up this early, so Laura didn’t expect anyone to come across the truck, but better safe than sorry. She and Okane split up, she going one way along the river, he the other. It didn’t look promising. As she walked, the ground rose and became uneven, the banks getting steeper and steeper, the surrounding vegetation thicker. By the time she finally stopped and considered that maybe this wouldn’t work, she’d reached a point fifteen feet above the water’s surface, and the opposite bank towered just as high. Even if she found a better crossing, the sheer number of trees blocked any path the truck could take. She doubled back, and found Okane waiting for her.
“Did you find anything?” she called.
He shook his head, hopeless. “It only gets wider. Another tributary runs into it from the other side, and then it hits a cliff. The drop goes as far as I can see in both directions, and I’m not keen on challenging a waterfall. But I found something worse.”
“Rexians?” Laura guessed.
“Tracks,” said Okane. “Enormous ones. I think there are felin on this side.”
With the amount of Sweepers and corresponding magic outside Rex’s walls, Laura wouldn’t be surprised if felin were closing in from every side; they might see the crusades as a buffet. But felin acted on any opportunity. If any caught wind of their truck, they’d be in trouble fast.
“Can you tell how recent they are?” said Laura, hurrying back to the truck.
“The ground was wet. I’m guessing it’s fresh.” Okane hopped into the passenger seat and heaved the door shut behind him. “I don’t suppose - - - had more luck on - - -r end?”
“None,” said Laura. She gripped the wheel, stared down the river before them. “Not unless you want to drive off a slightly smaller cliff.”
Doubling back and trying to find a different route was madness; they’d land themselves in the middle of pursuing Rexians or attract felin. Besides, there might not be another road to Fatum at all. They had no guide this time. They’d be lost in the wilds all over again.
Okane came to the same conclusion. He frowned at the water and said, “Do - - - think we could make it over in the truck?”
“This is a military vehicle, isn’t it? It’s built for these occasions.” Laura wrenched the wheel around. She didn’t have much confidence in the idea, but as far as she could see it was her best bet. She kept talking, trying to bolster her own confidence again as they approached. “Charlie was over the moon about the ones in Amicae. Interchangeable parts, can drive right over train tracks … The Amicae versions can go through water deeper than the tires. Ours are tough, so we can cross any terrain in any weather when going to defend a satellite town. If Rex is taking these all the way to Kuro no Oukoku, they must be pretty damn special.”
“So it’s actually meant for this sort of situation,” Okane checked.
“Exactly. We’re already at the shallowest part of the river, so it should be easy. Hang on.”
The tires met the bank, churning mud and bending reeds beneath them. The bridge remnants stuck out farther than the rest of the riverside, tiny spits of land that proved ridiculously soft but still stayed above water. Laura kept on it, so close to the bridge that the truck’s side scraped against it. The opposite bank matched this one; if she could make it to that spit, their time in the water would be halved. In the meantime, the truck fared well. Water reached only halfway up its wheels, and they kept a steady pace. They might actually make it. The truck had reached just over the midway point when the tires slipped. The rocks made it hard to steer properly to begin with, but Laura found herself out of control. She stomped on the gas pedal, but the engine only sputtered before cutting out entirely. She kept stomping it to no avail. She hauled on the wheel, but while the tires moved, it wasn’t by much and the only momentum they had now was the current.
“Rexian piece of crap!” she snarled, smacking the wheel and causing the horn to wail one sharp note.
The truck lost traction entirely, skidding downriver until it bumped into a sandbar laden with bridge debris. For a moment Laura sat frozen, convinced they’d be swept away again. When the truck remained still, she started to scramble up.
“Let’s get out of here.”
“What about Clae and the Gin?” said Okane.
“We climb back there and carry them out!”
Laura forced her door open. Water gushed in, flooding the floor as she climbed out. The loose canvas allowed her to find and grab the metal frame, using this and a small ledge on the side to shuffle above the water level. She pulled her pocketknife from her bag and jabbed at the canvas, starting with a bullet hole and ripping it open from there. With a suitable entrance made, she scrambled in. She grabbed Clae first, heaved him off the floor and back to the ripped portion, where Okane waited. He eyed the crystal, then the water below, grimaced, and dropped off the side of the truck. He sucked air as the water splashed up past his knees and plastered himself to the truck.
“You okay down there?” Laura called.
“It’s c-c-cold!”
He shucked off his coat, tossing it aside in the river and shaking all the more. Laura felt bad, but better to be cold than too heavy and dragged under.
“I’m pushing him out now, okay? You ready?”
“Yes!”
Laura gritted her teeth and pulled Clae higher, tipping him so he scraped his way out of the truck. Okane caught him and sloshed backward, giving her room to jump out. She cursed as the water soaked into her clothes, and in no time she shivered as much as her companion. Between the two of them they balanced Clae and waded toward shore. She hadn’t noticed the current before, but she could feel it tugging at her, hard and cold and threatening. If it could take a truck down, surely she wasn’t safe either. She smacked her amulet on one staggering step, and felt some warmth in her shoes as the two there activated as well. Keep me rooted as I walk, she ordered them, and immediately it became easier to keep steady. Okane didn’t think to use his amulets, but judging by the crackling sounds, his magic had kicked in to serve the same purpose. Still, it was slow going. It felt like forever before they made it to the opposite bank. After trudging up the slope and depositing Clae in the tall grass there, they doubled back. The truck tottered, but settled somewhat as Laura climbed in again. She passed one of the boxes of Gin out.
“Give me another one,” said Okane, shifting the box for a better grip.
“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” said Laura. “What if you’re too heavy? What if—”
“I don’t think the truck’s going to be here long, so the faster the better. I can use my amulets.”
“I don’t—”
“I’m lucky, remember? Just hand it over!”
“Ugh, fine!”
She pulled the second Gin out and dropped it onto the box. The wood splintered and Okane staggered, but he kept his balance and, amid a chorus of cracks and pops, made for the bank again. With him gone Laura reached for Anselm. As she set hands on the crystal, the floor lurched beneath her. The bridge debris had dislodged, and now the truck washed downstream. The floor tipped—surely it wasn’t about to roll—and Laura flew into a panic. The magic in her amulets steadied her but also slowed her movement. She dismissed her previous order, grabbed Anselm, and rolled out the back of the truck as fast as she could. She fell feet-first, but hit hard enough for the water to splash up into her face. Her feet scrabbled for a hold on the riverbed, but here the water hit her at hip height, and the undertow tugged hard enough that she slipped entirely. Water closed over her head. She fought her way to the surface, coughing violently, but Anselm’s crystal weight bore her underwater, farther downriver, and her waterlogged clothes became far too heavy. She barely choked out a yelp before she went under again. She kept struggling, but her strength failed quickly. It was a godsend when she bumped into another pile of debris. She dragged herself up so she could breathe and clung to the rock and crystal, trying to figure out how to heave herself out without losing Anselm.
“A little help, here?” she panted, hoping she was loud enough to be heard over the roaring water.
She couldn’t see Okane but heard frantic splashing coming toward her. But it wasn’t Okane who stumbled through the water from her left. Grim’s boots dislodged rocks, impeding his progress. His hat, coat, and gloves were missing, his mouth set in a grimace.
“You people,” he hissed, grabbing Laura by the shirt and hauling her higher on the rock pile. Laura scrambled to keep her grip on Anselm.
“Watch it!” she squeaked.
“Drop that!”
“I can’t!”
“It’ll drag you under again. It’s not worth it.”
“We can’t lose him!”
She didn’t care if Grim saw Clae or Anselm at this point; they couldn’t be lost, no matter what. He tried to pull her up again, but when she kept clinging to her burden, he realized it was a lost cause. He switched position, plunging one arm under to hook the crystal, the other hand lifting her. His skinny frame held more power than she expected. One good yank brought her to better ground, and between the two of them they bore Anselm toward shore.
They were closer to dry land than Laura thought, and relief flooded through her as she saw Okane running down the bank toward them. Grim shifted his grip, from bearing Anselm’s weight on his forearm to taking the crystal in hand. A startled grunt was the only warning before Laura was dragged down by even more weight than before. She scrambled to keep upright, swinging the crystal into her side in an attempt to balance out. Grim’s grip had gone lax, and he plunged into the water.
“Grim!” Laura screeched.
“I’ve got him!”
Okane plowed into the river and lunged after the other man. Laura hesitated; only after he caught Grim did she slog to shore. She stumbled through the mud, teeth chattering like a windup toy. She dumped Anselm unceremoniously amid the grass and turned back to help as Okane waded through the shallows and onto land. He hooked his arms under Grim’s to pull the man out, and the Ranger’s boots dragged troughs in the mud. He dropped to his knees, depositing his load with a little more grace before checking for a pulse. Grim had been limp this whole time, his skin now paler than ever against the grass. Okane sat back on his heels, hands up and eyes wide.
“He’s not breathing! Laura, what do we do?”
Laura felt her own face pale and she dropped to the mud across from him.
“Grim? Hey!” She slapped his cheek lightly, but he didn’t respond. His eyelids didn’t even flicker. “Come on, come on, wake up! You can’t just—” Clearly he wasn’t waking, so she looked hopelessly up at Okane. “Do you know how to do rescue breathing?”
“I don’t even know what that is!”
Laura scooted closer, trying desperately to remember the films she’d seen. She angled her hands over Grim’s chest, but was that the right position?
“What are - - - doing?”
“Chest compressions!”
“What?”
“You have to—”
“Hey!” Laura’s head jerked up. A familiar horse crested the hill, carrying Cherry toward them at a trot. “You two? What are you doing here?”
“Do you know rescue breathing?” Laura shouted.
Cherry drew close enough for confusion to be visible on her face, rapidly draining to horror as she saw what they knelt over. She kicked her horse faster, cantering swiftly to them, swinging wide so she could jump off. She stumbled while the horse wheeled back.
“What happened?” she demanded, checking Grim’s pulse and tilting his head back.
“He pulled me out of the river,” said Laura, fidgeting as Cherry started with chest compressions. “He was fine, but halfway out he fainted! I don’t know why or how, it just happened!”
Cherry’s response came delayed, she being too busy breathing air into Grim’s lungs. She switched back to chest compressions. “How long?”
“Maybe a minute?” said Okane. “I only just pulled him out.”
Cherry growled something in anger and worry, then pinched Grim’s nose and went back to breathing. Laura settled back, watching with a growing sense of dread as Grim still failed to move.
This gatehouse wasn’t the piece of art the last one had been. This was one of the surviving crusade pieces, made of stone with no latticework, no curved roof, no wood to speak of in its interior. It sat across the tracks like an ugly toad, its gate door gone and lower walls converted to allow trains through. The castle keep was only habitable from the second floor up, ground completely abandoned for walkways that stretched from keep to walls, metallic additions the original owners might’ve pondered at. Three people manned the gatehouse: a telegram operator and two beefy guards, who received no guests for months at a time and had no idea how to react when the motley group crawled in. The keep was equipped for far more than three, though, so Laura found herself in a barracks room on the third floor, sitting on a bunk and staring into space as she listened to Cherry’s voice on the other side of the door.
The woman’s voice sounded hollow, scratchy at points, as she explained their situation. Grim lay cold and motionless on a bed in a different room. Every time Cherry so much as mentioned his name her scratchy tone worsened. It was awful to hear, but Laura listened anyway. Her stomach flip-flopped, and she wondered, Did I sound like that when Clae died? Okane hovered by the door, cringing at her tone, but too restless and too afraid to sit still. The nonliving inhabitants of the room were on the cots farthest from the door, Clae on a mattress all his own while Anselm and the Gin were piled onto the one opposite. Cherry and her extra horses had been able to transport them here safely, with one very obvious change.
During her scramble out of the river she hadn’t paid much attention to Anselm beyond keeping hold of him, but as soon as she went to retrieve him afterward she noticed an immediate difference. Anselm’s body usually curled into itself, covering a face twisted in fear, but he’d shifted so he looked more like he was peacefully sleeping. The crystal’s surface had smoothed out, his arms folded by his chest instead. Even the color of the stone had mellowed out into something brighter yellow. How this had happened she had no idea, and the sight was creepy. Laura watched him, almost ready for him to sit up and say hello, while Cherry continued talking. She said something about transporting the corpse.
Grim’s dead too. How could that have possibly happened?
One minute strong enough to pull two people out of a river, the next, stone dead? He might have had white hair but otherwise seemed far from old. Some inherited condition, perhaps, linked to his strange coloring? But then, how did Anselm change? Had Anselm taken Grim’s life?
“… to Amicae. We want to make sure he has a proper burial,” said Cherry. “Amicae’s been forbidding Rangers entry to the city, but this should be an exception. The only family he had lives in Amicae.”
“I don’t understand,” Okane murmured. “If Grim was a citizen, couldn’t he have gotten through the lines, when they brought us back?”
There was a knock on the door and he leapt back as if scalded.
“Excuse me?” came a reedy voice, much closer than Cherry’s. “May I come in?”
Okane looked back at Laura. She gave a halfhearted shrug. He eyed her a while longer, then opened the door a crack. There was movement beyond, and the sound came clearer.
“Oh, hello! I’m Clarence, the communications operator. I wondered if I could talk to you for a moment.”
The obvious use of “you” put Okane at ease, for some of the tension left his shoulders. A young man, with glasses so thick they blurred his features, shuffled into the room dressed in pseudo-regulation clothing: uniform pants and shoes, and an ugly mustard-yellow sweater and striped tie. He offered a bashful smile and a quick, self-conscious wave.
“I’m sorry, but Miss Cherry said you were Laura Kramer and Okane Sinclair? Is this correct?”
Laura tightened her hold on the blanket. He was a telegram operator. Of course he’d heard of them. They were probably going to be arrested and sent back to Amicae.
“We are,” she said anyway.
“Good! Er, well, not good in this case.” He glanced over his shoulder at the discussion outside, before sitting on one of the beds. “But I’ve got a message for you from Amicae.”
“From Juliana?” Laura growled.
“From a Mr. Byron Rhodes.”
Laura looked up in confusion while Clarence dug through his pockets. He pulled out a scrap of paper with a message on it. “We got this two days ago and we’ve been passing it on to the ERA Sweepers as they go through. Ahem! ‘Regarding Kramer and Sinclair of Amicae Sweepers: No charges filed. Sweepers fired but wanted home. Return alive and unharmed. Framed.’”
Laura stared at him, uncomprehending. Wanted home. Fired. Framed?
“I don’t understand.”
“The first telegram that went out for your arrest was unauthorized,” said Clarence. “As far as we can tell, anyway. Your head Sweeper ordered it, but a message like that should go through the police department first, so it goes to the right destinations. This Sweeper lady just sent it out everywhere she could. It must’ve cost her a fortune! According to this one, sent via your police, the order for your arrest is withdrawn. They want to make sure you don’t get hurt on the way back. Cities really value their Sweepers, and maybe you’re not employed as such anymore, but you did them a great service. They’re not about to forget that.”
“But why would they withdraw our arrest?” Laura pressed.
“It says here you were framed, right? So they figured it out and dropped the charges.”
But Juliana had been dead set on them taking the fall. Lester said she wouldn’t give up, and Laura couldn’t picture her doing so either. Had Byron revealed what he knew? Had someone else come forward? Could this be a trap of some kind?
Okane looked just as confused as she felt. “Seriously?”
“You two are free to go home now. In fact, we’re obligated to get you on the next train.”
“With Cherry?”
“Oh, yes, I suppose so. If you’re not comfortable with it, you can ride in a separate car. I think that might even be better. I’m not sure if it’s the grief, or—” He chuckled uneasily. “She keeps acting as if that dead Ranger will sit up and join the conversation.”
Clarence babbled something about denial. He talked to them a while longer, a brief, clipped kind of conversation, but Laura was thinking.
Most of her security and support network had been ruined in the past few weeks. She had no job to return to, an actively hostile reception waiting for her, and an ex-boss determined to shut her and Okane up for good. But she refused to give up now. She’d infiltrated and escaped Rex, she had all the Gin and the Sinclairs in tow, and she knew where all the pieces connected now. She just needed to contact Byron and Albright, and get the truth out. If she could kick Juliana out of Amicae, then she could finally count this a victory.