Silas's bare feet padded along the cold tile, his trailing trouser legs snagging beneath his soles. His attempts to roll the trousers up failed—the legs so long and bulky they refused to stay in place. Silas would have struggled to keep pace with Halven Quirin even if his garments fit properly. The Prime Machinist marched confidently down the corridors, his strides long and purposeful. Beside Silas, Pa fared no better. His arms pumped vigorously, the wheels of his chair creaking their dissent.

  "I can push you," Silas offered, moving toward the back of Pa's chair.

  Panting and sweating, Pa shook his head and forged ahead, leaving Silas stumbling after him.

  Quirin either didn't notice their plight or didn't care. Onward he went without a backward glance. Silas lagged behind, distracted by the ceiling above.

  This was his first time noticing the lack of starbloom lanterns in the Covenant's underground sanctuary. The stone ceiling glistened, but not with water. A dull brown algae camouflaged itself against the rock backdrop. Silas only noticed it because an especially long stalactite pointed so far down he had to weave out of the way to avoid collision. As he passed, he touched the surface, surprised by its fuzzy texture. Silas rubbed his fingers together, smearing something oily into his skin. When he separated his fingers, they glowed.

  "So you've noticed," Quirin said, his voice echoing down the corridor. Far in the distance the machinist paused, glancing over his shoulder.

  Silas jogged to catch up. As he did, Quirin explained, "This cave system is one of many throughout the Empire that naturally produces starbloom algae. The oil you feel is what remains when the algae dies. It doesn't bioluminesce as brilliantly or colorfully as the oil made for starbloom lanterns, but it provides enough light to see by down here."

  Explanation finished, Quirin turned and resumed his march. Silas huffed and continued, already fatigued.

  After Silas was inducted as a member of the Covenant of Fallen Stars, Quirin decided to take him on an "official tour" of the headquarters. Pa had already received the tour but tagged along to act as the boy's interpreter. So far, it had been nothing but endless walking. The starbloom algae explanation was the closest Quirin had come to being a proper guide. Silas's head swiveled constantly, trying to memorize the layout. It was no use—he didn't think he'd ever remember the twisting corridors no matter how long he lived here. The complete lack of landmarks didn't help either.

  The Covenant couldn't have gotten an interior designer? Silas grumbled internally, trudging on.

  The only time Silas caught a break was when Quirin stopped to open a door. Nearly every corridor ended in a heavy slab of metal. Quirin would hunch before each one, fiddling with something Silas couldn't see. The way Quirin moved made Silas suspect the machinist was hiding something from him. After a moment of secretive fumbling, Quirin would step aside, holding the door for Silas and Pa to pass through. His body blocked whatever mechanism unlocked the door.

  "What's he doing?" Silas asked Pa while waiting for Quirin to unlock another door.

  This door was different from the others. A red and white striped symbol was painted on its surface. A placard above read MEDICAL BAY in bold, protruding letters.

  "He'll show you at the end of the tour," Pa signed, watching Quirin's back. "I think he does this to satisfy his pride. He's a rather performative man, I'll admit, but I'll allow him his fun and keep it a secret from you."

  Pa winked. Silas rolled his eyes.

  The door opened with a click. Irritated by Quirin's haughty production, Silas pushed ahead without waiting to be beckoned inside. He glanced at the machinist from the corner of his eye. Quirin regarded him with an amused smirk.

  Unlike the corridors, the medical bay was brightly lit, the lanterns harsh and unrelenting. Blinking against the glare, Silas stepped inside, his heart fluttering. The lights, the shiny surfaces, the sharp tang of disinfectant—too reminiscent of the Garrison Mordant for comfort. Dr. Veyl's presence didn't help. The physick stood with his back to the door, muttering as he flipped through files. Anxiously, Silas scanned the room. He knew Dr. Korrel was dead—the memory of a crossbow bolt bursting his eyeball rang clear. Yet he couldn't shake the feeling that the logister lingered nearby, preparing another round of cruel experiments.

  Dr. Veyl startled at the sound of Pa's rickety wheelchair. Clutching a manila folder to his chest like a shield, he whipped around.

  "O-oh, it's just you," Dr. Veyl stammered. Bowing, he added, "Good afternoon, Machinist Quirin. Are you showing the lad around the Underhalo?"

  Silas frowned. Underhalo? He peered up at Quirin questioningly.

  Quirin shook his head, tutting in disappointment. "You've spoiled the grand reveal." Ignoring Dr. Veyl's sputtered apology, he said, "But yes, I am. Silas, I trust you're familiar with what a medical bay is?"

  Silas nodded. Too familiar by far.

  "Then we shouldn't waste time on a comprehensive visit." Quirin stepped back into the corridor. "Let's continue."

  "One moment, lad," Dr. Veyl said, setting down his files.

  Silas hesitated in the doorway, his hand poised over the knob.

  "Return here after your tour is complete. I'd like to discuss your Powder administration schedule."

  Silas sighed but nodded once in understanding. Then he exited, shutting the door gently behind him.

  "What did the physick say?" Pa whispered, his voice nearly smothered by his creaking chair.

  Somebody really ought to oil that thing, Silas thought. "Nothing important," he signed in response and sped up to avoid any more intrusive questions and worried looks.

  The next stop was only a short jaunt down the same corridor. The laboratory was similarly labeled with a bold overhead placard. But unlike the medical bay, this chamber was empty. No logisters weaved between the narrow, black benchtops. Equipment hid beneath wrinkled drapes. Unused beakers, flasks, and alchemical tubes sat neglected behind fume hoods. Unopened boxes were stacked in a storage closet—extra gloves and disposable tools long forgotten. By the thick layer of dust coating every surface, Silas surmised this laboratory hadn't been touched in syzygies.

  "Why is this place so vacant?" Silas signed. "Where is everybody?"

  While Pa translated, Silas reviewed what he'd seen so far. The kitchen, dining hall, corridors, medical bay, and now laboratory. Everything was bare and lifeless. It seemed the Covenant of Fallen Stars' only members were Silas and his allies.

  "Prudent question, child," Quirin said. "That is one of the topics I will broach at this evening's meeting. Hold that thought until then."

  Silas willed his face to remain impassive until Quirin turned and exited the chamber. How much longer would this tour take? He was quickly running out of patience for the Prime Machinist's evasive responses.

  What's the point in Pa being here if my questions won't be answered seriously?

  Next, Silas was shown back to the corridor with his new room. Similar dormitories lined the hallway. Vera and Oscar's rooms were beside each other at the end near the kitchen. Silas was jealous of them. Every morning, they'd wake to the smell of Pa's delicious breakfasts. Silas missed his home in Droswick. He'd give anything to return there one day.

  Here, there was evidence of previous inhabitants. A locker room at the opposite end of the dormitory corridor distracted Silas. He was more interested in the names written on the lockers than whatever Quirin was droning on about. Some names were scratched into the metal with something sharp, like a knife blade. Others were printed in fading ink, so faint the letters couldn't be discerned. Magnetic nameplates stuck to a few, drawing Silas's attention. Maura Bellweather. Tamsin Greve. Perrin Locke. Kethryn Solace. Halven Quirin. Elias Harrow. Silas stared at Pa's name, surrounded by those of strangers. Did Pa know the people whose lockers were next to his? He must have. Silas decided to ask him about them later.

  "... is where we'll be going next. What are you doing, child?"

  Silas froze at Quirin's question, his hand reaching for a locker's rusted handle. He shrugged, dropping his hand. Curiosity got the better of him—he wanted to see what was inside Pa's locker.

  Pa smiled warmly. With a metallic groan, he opened the locker, flakes of rust falling into his lap. Inside was a single white coat hanging from a hook. Pa's name was embroidered into the fabric above the left breast pocket, along with his title and qualifications.

  Silas stared, trying to imagine Pa as the logister he once was. Vera's investigation after Coldspire Depot revealed Pa's impressive intellectual achievements in neuralchistry. He disappeared soon after completing his dissertation on neural grafting to join the Covenant. No matter how hard Silas tried, he couldn't imagine Pa wearing that coat, mingling with the likes of Dr. Veyl and Dr. Korrel. Performing experiments on living things with detached calculation. Creating Silas in a test tube. Pa's smile wilted at his grandson's expression. Before he could say anything, Quirin began to walk. Silas followed at his heels, unable to meet Pa's gaze.

  The door Quirin unlocked opened into a stairwell. Silas leaned over the railing. Unlike the corridors, the stairwell was not built up with white tile and paneling. The metal steps spiraled into a chasm, the cave walls illuminated by dull starbloom algae. Silas assumed it was easier to allow the cave's natural lighting to prevail. Covering it up with paneling and adding artificial lighting would be wasteful.

  Pa, of course, had to wait on the landing. Before following Quirin, Silas double-checked that his chair's wheel brakes were engaged. The last thing he wanted was Pa injuring himself further. Silas treaded carefully down the steps, his long pajamas making the descent precarious.

  At the bottom, Silas could do nothing but stare in wonder. The ground was hard but unnaturally smooth, like pedestrian paths in cities. Concrete. It ended at a drop-off, a thick band of yellow paint lining the edge. The noxious neon color was so conspicuous it had to serve a purpose. Bordering the edge, Silas reasoned it screamed out a warning.

  Silas stepped closer, his toes hanging off the edge. The ground below the drop-off was crisscrossed with steel. Two thick parallel bars lined either side of the trench. Evenly spaced bars lay perpendicular to these, running down the entire length of the tunnel. It extended far into the darkness beyond his line of sight.

  "Oh, but there's more." Quirin chuckled, enjoying Silas's boyish amazement. "Let me show you."

  Eagerly, Silas heeded the machinist, skipping at his side as he walked along the yellow edge.

  Finally, something interesting!

  Silas didn't know what he was looking at. An enormous, boxy metal thing—some kind of vehicle—sat snugly in the trench. Many windows and doors interspersed its external surface. There were no lights on inside the contraption, but Silas could vaguely make out what looked like seats lining the walls. And metal poles that extended from the strange vehicle's ceiling to floor. Silas knew this wasn't a boiler, nor was it a barge that could traverse the Great Canals. He looked to the machinist for an answer.

  "I was able to bring her back to life," Quirin said, patting the behemoth contraption's surface. "I dabble in the revival of ancient technology, you see. To date, this is my proudest achievement. Would you like a demonstration?"

  Ancient technology? Silas thought back to Coldspire and the vessel in the Western Quadrant. He nodded enthusiastically.

  The machinist slid open the nearest door, holding it for Silas. The boy hesitated, fear curdling his excitement. He wanted to see how this alien thing worked, but go inside? Silas curled his hands into fists and reluctantly followed Quirin, feeling like he was being swallowed by a giant beast.

  In the darkness, Silas took a seat. With his fingers, he examined the material of the chair. It was soft like cloth, but with a firm, malleable give. Not particularly comfortable, but it held his weight.

  Quirin disappeared into a separate compartment. Silas stayed where he was; the machinist hadn't told him to follow. He waited in the shadows, swinging his legs back and forth. Without warning, he was blinded by searing lights that ignited from the ceiling. Mirroring the steel bars beneath, parallel lines of light ran down the entire length of the compartment. Silas wondered what Quirin had done to turn them on. He hadn't seen him crank a starbloom lantern.

  This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.

  The machinist emerged from wherever he had gone, looking proud. "As you've probably guessed, this is a vehicle. A vehicle designed to carry many people at once. The Covenant uses it to covertly transport its members here for meetings. It travels far and wide across the Empire, and seems to be unknown by the Crown. I don't know who left it here, or what it was once called. So I've taken it upon myself to give it a name: the Subterranean Conveyance Unit, or SCU for short."

  Silas raised his eyebrows. Quirin may be a brilliant machinist, but his semantic creativity failed to impress Silas.

  Questions Silas had would have to wait until he was reunited with Pa. The machinist evidently had the same thought. He disappeared again into the front compartment to turn off the bright lights. It took Silas's eyes a moment to readjust to the dimness.

  The climb back up the staircase was unpleasant. Quirin—usually indifferent to Silas and Pa's sluggish pace—was concerned enough to stop and wait. Several times, Silas was forced to hang onto the railing, struggling to catch his breath. At one point, he plopped onto his rear to rest on a step. It seemed his damaged aether affected more than just his mental stamina. How long could he keep this act up?

  "Are you alright?" Quirin asked, looming a few steps above. "You're rather pale."

  Silas huffed and swatted away Quirin's offered hand. On wobbly legs he continued, fighting to appear energetic before he ascended the landing where Pa waited. Lightheaded and unsteady, Silas eventually made it to the top. By Pa's reaction, his act was less than convincing.

  Silas staggered through the door into the corridor before Pa could say anything. He needed to come up with excuses, and fast. Could he argue that he was still recovering from his ordeal before his rescue? He had only woken up that morning, after all. Yes, that explanation would suffice. He tested it on Pa when he wheeled himself to Silas's side. It worked.

  "Let's wrap this up quickly, then, so you can return to your dormitory," Quirin said. "Can you manage one last stop?"

  Silas answered with a thumbs-up.

  "Excellent. You wouldn't want to miss this last part."

  "My lad, are you sure you're okay?" Pa whispered. "The tour can be finished at any point. Believe me, your health is not worth the conclusion. I myself had to have an… abbreviated finale due to my physical limitations."

  "I'm fine, just a bit tired," Silas signed. Now he was curious. What did the last leg of the tour entail that Pa couldn't appreciate in full?

  Quirin was more than happy to reveal the answer, but not without his usual theatrics. Once again, Pa stayed behind. Quirin opened an innocuous door no different from the plethora Silas had already encountered. Then he was ushered into a tiny cavern with no exit other than the door he'd just walked through. Silas studied the rock wall he faced, searching for an explanation. Clearly, Quirin wanted to drag out the moment. He paced the small space, smiling while Silas glared. After a sufficient amount of time had passed, Quirin stopped with his hand pressed to the rock. At first, nothing happened. Then the rock caved in.

  Silas retreated until his back slammed into the door, staring in horror. The rock wall shook violently, shooting out dust and sharp points of stone. Silas crouched and ducked, convinced he was about to be crushed under a deluge of falling rock. With his arms covering his head and his eyes squeezed shut, he didn't notice the small cavern steadily growing brighter. He remained crouched and covered until there were no more shaking or harsh grinding sounds. Then he risked a peek through his folded arms.

  Halven Quirin beamed before a perfectly rectangular hole in the rock. Silas blinked at the hole. It didn't make sense. Where had the rock gone? It couldn't have just disappeared! Cautiously, Silas stood and tiptoed closer, careful to avoid treading over jagged stones.

  The rock wall had been repurposed into a door. Somehow, Quirin pressing his hand to the rugged surface had prompted a section of rock to drag outward. Silas shivered at the blast of frigid air that pummeled him from the doorway. Slack-jawed and wide-eyed, he followed Quirin outside.

  Did Vera and I come this way when we got here? Silas rotated his head, taking in his surroundings. We couldn't have. I was half-asleep, but surely I would have remembered this.

  "As Dr. Veyl so unfortunately spoiled for you," Quirin began, perched atop a sand dune shifting in the blustery wind, "this is the Underhalo—the underground sanctuary of the Covenant of Fallen Stars."

  Arms hugged close for warmth, Silas spun around, noting the lack of vegetation or landmarks. The middle of nowhere is as apt a place as any for a secretive hideout.

  The landscape was identical to that of the Western Quadrant, but Silas knew that couldn't be where they were. Vera had driven at least six hours from where the Garrison Mordant was located. Surely they'd left the region. Plus, Silas heard no Voices. The lack of Unspoken was evidence enough.

  As if he could read Silas's mind, Quirin said, "You currently stand in the westernmost region of the Northern Quadrant. The closest hub of human civilization is a small city located about ten miles north." He smiled proudly. "Ms. Stroud and Oscar are there now."

  How did they get there so quickly without boilers? Silas asked himself before remembering the strange vehicle Quirin just showed him. Also, Ms. Stroud? Before, Quirin had called Vera by her first name or title—Arbiter of Aberrations. Silas's shoulders drooped. Now that she was a traitor, she could no longer go by that title.

  Silas studied the unassuming slab of rock that marked the entrance to the Underhalo, his mind swirling with questions. He wished Pa was able to join him to translate his queries. At the very least, Silas should have brought his notepad, but he'd left it on the nightstand in his room. Quirin didn't mind—he had no issue filling the silence with his own chatter. Silas tuned it out until the machinist returned to the doorway, motioning for him to follow.

  "Now for the real reason why I brought you out here." Quirin pulled a screwdriver from his pocket.

  Silas leaned close, squinting at the rock. The camouflage was impeccable—no matter how hard Silas stared, he couldn't see what Quirin was screwing at. Silas shuffled to the side for a better angle. Now he could see it—a rock-colored screw was being twisted from its place. Quirin dropped the screw into Silas's palm for the boy to hold, with stern orders not to drop it in the sand. Silas rolled the screw between his fingers. The screw didn't just look like rock. It was rock.

  Removing four screws revealed a square panel. Behind it was a startling contrast to the surrounding rock. The surface was metal. At the top of the square indentation was a narrow rectangular mirror. Silas had seen similar mirrors before on devices at the Garrison Mordant. Below the mirror was a series of square buttons with numbers printed on them. They looked similar to the buttons in the elevator at the Imperial Crownhold. Quirin pressed the buttons in a certain order, so fast Silas missed the sequence. When he was done, the mirror glowed green. With a snapping sound, a needle emerged from a pinpoint hole.

  "We need to key-in new members so they don't get locked out," Quirin explained. "Everyone else has already done so; now it's your turn. Go on, prick your finger on that there needle."

  Silas balked. He had been poked and prodded too many times. How much of his blood did the Empire own? Why did Quirin need his blood to—what had he said? Something about keys?

  "Only a drop is needed." Quirin's hand on Silas's shoulder made the boy jump. "Come now, it won't even hurt."

  Quirin lifted Silas's quivering pointer finger. Silas struggled feebly. This was the finger that was still sore! The sand underfoot offered no leverage. Silas was dragged—slipping and sliding—to the panel. He hissed when his finger was poked. Immediately, the needle retracted. Silas stuck his finger into his mouth, licking up his humors as he watched Quirin punch in a new string of numbers. Then Quirin screwed the panel back on and returned to the small cavern.

  "The system now has your DNA," Quirin said, the heavy stone door grinding back into place. "It knows who you are. All you must do when you encounter a locked door is press your hand to its surface. It doesn't matter where, but it works faster the closer your touch is to the knob or handle. The DNA in the oils of your skin will register, and you will be permitted access."

  Silas was lost as to how that could possibly work. Ancient technology seemed to be the topic of the day, so he brushed it aside as that. Yet the more Silas learned about the technology of the ancients, the more questions he had. Who built these devices? Why had they been abandoned for so long? Why was the Empire hiding them?

  Silas was about to press his hand to the door leading to the corridor when Quirin stopped him, grabbing his wrist. Silas froze at Quirin's suddenly chilly mood.

  "There's one last thing you must be aware of," he whispered. "Think back to our discussion in my office at the Foundry School. Do you recall what I said about Vera and Elias?"

  Silas did; he remembered clear as ice. Quirin had said Vera and Pa were too soft on him, that their gentleness was dangerous. He'd said something else, too. Silas closed his eyes, trying to hear the exact words replay in his mind.

  You must get away from them—away from her. She will only hold you back. I see it in her eyes. She is like Elias—too soft. You need to be with someone like me. Someone who will push you until you succeed.

  The cavern was warm with the rock door closed, but Silas shivered. He pulled at Quirin's grip, attempting to squeeze through his fingers. The machinist held firm.

  "There's no need to fear, child." Quirin released Silas's wrist. "I will not harm you. Far from it. I will nurture you. You must grow into your full potential. Yet you cannot grow sheltered, surrounded by kindness. The road ahead is arduous, and you must face it alone. Vera and Elias will only hold you back. I will keep them at bay, starting now. Elias is of little consequence with his condition, so I will not trouble myself with him. Vera, on the other hand…" He trailed off.

  Silas made a break for the door. Quirin barricaded it with his body.

  "Whenever possible, you and Vera will be separated on missions. She must join us on this first jaunt to the Verdancy Array, but later, I will send her elsewhere."

  Silas didn't want this. He missed his adventures with Vera, however fraught with danger they had been. They had just been reunited and now they were to be separated again? Anger rose, dissolving his fear. Perhaps he could convince Quirin of an alternative solution?

  Silas reached for the dwindling power in his mind. Merely nudging it sent a bolt of pain through the base of his skull. He staggered back a step. Something dripped off his chin. Silas sniffed and wiped. The back of his hand came away red.

  Silas had grown so used to using his power—to controlling people—that it had become a part of him. Without it, Silas felt empty, unbalanced, like he'd lost a limb. He was disgusted at how quickly he'd reached for mind control as an option, but was terrified to find himself unable to wield it. How was Silas going to grow into his purpose if he couldn't use the power he was created for?

  Quirin's brows furrowed. "Go back to your room and rest, child. And don't be late for the meeting this eve."

  Quirin pressed his hand to the door and exited. Silas stayed where he was, pinching his nostrils shut until the bleeding stopped. Wiping his bloodied hands on his trousers, he hurriedly attempted to make himself look presentable for Pa.

  Pressing his hand to the door did what Quirin said it would. Magic, Silas thought, swinging the door wide, allowing it to slam shut behind him.

  To his relief, Pa was no longer waiting in the corridor. Perhaps Quirin had said something to him to coax him away? Now Silas didn't have to answer questions such as, My lad, why is there blood on your face? and, What did you and Machinist Quirin talk about?

  Stumbling like a drunkard, Silas somehow made it back to his room. His new bed had never looked so comfortable. Just for a moment, Silas told himself. I'll lie down just for a moment to rest my eyes.

  The pillow was plush and soft and warm. Silas thought he pulled his covers to his chin but only got halfway there before sinking into emptiness.

  Someone was calling his name. Silas ignored it. He was far too comfortable to concern himself with whatever the person wanted. It was probably a trifle, anyway.

  He wasn't comfortable anymore. The warmth was gone. Something stung his cheek. A light flashed. Silas lashed out, swinging his arm. The light disappeared. The person on the other side of it cried out.

  Silas dragged his eyes open. It took his vision a moment to snap into focus. When it did, he saw Dr. Veyl lingering in the doorway of his dormitory, cupping his nose. Confused, Silas stared. What was the physick doing there?

  Dr. Veyl removed his hand, a deep frown tugging at his lips. "Lad, are you feeling alright? I told you to stop by the medical bay when your tour was done. I've waited hours. The meeting is going to start soon."

  Silas's mind was still waking up. His bemused expression only deepened Dr. Veyl's frown.

  "Are those humors on your face?" The physick moved closer.

  Silas remembered now. He sprang out of bed, grabbing his notepad. How could he have fallen asleep? He only meant to rest his eyes.

  "I'm ready now," Silas wrote, turning his notepad around. "The medical bay, was it? Let's be on our way."

  Dr. Veyl was still frowning. "Lad, are you still tired? You've slept for so long already. You shouldn't be. Is there anything else wrong?" The physick stepped forward and pressed a hand to the boy's forehead.

  Silas snarled and retreated into the corridor. He glared at Dr. Veyl over his shoulder and stomped down the hallway. He didn't quite remember the way to the medical bay, but he didn't care. As long as he was away from Dr. Veyl's meddling, he was happy.

  Dr. Veyl hurried to catch up. Silently, he guided Silas down the convoluted hallways, occasionally pressing his hand to a door to unlock it. Eventually, the corridors started to look familiar. Silas sped up, wanting to beat Dr. Veyl to the medical bay. He hoped his speed convinced the physick of his vitality.

  The bright chamber looked no different than it had earlier. Silas didn't allow his eyes to linger too long on any one object. Sharp, sterile things made his stomach twist.

  Dr. Veyl had Silas sit on a cot while he gathered a large stack of files.

  Are those all for me? Silas dubiously observed the thick heap of parchment tucked under Dr. Veyl's arm.

  "Tell me lad, when did you last take a dose of Powder?"

  Silas thought about it. "This morning. Vera had me drink it after I woke up," he wrote.

  Muttering to himself, Dr. Veyl disappeared into a side room. Silas heard a lot of tinkling and shuffling before Dr. Veyl returned with a dark-tinted glass bottle. Silas grimaced at the usual container for Powder of Neuroleptic. The physick measured out the dose into a drinking glass and filled it to the top with water. When the Powder dissolved and the water turned a cloudy white, the drinking glass was thrust into Silas's hand.

  "For the time being, I want you taking four doses, once every six hours. Eventually, we'll titrate you down to twice a day, but I'd rather not risk it at this time." While Silas chugged the powerfully bitter liquid, Dr. Veyl added, "It was a long while between doses before you woke up this morning. Had the delusions returned?"

  Shuddering, Silas set the glass down and reached for his notepad. "Yes. I didn't recognize Vera." Shame burned hot in his chest.

  Dr. Veyl bobbed his head in a small, sad little nod. "I figured as much," he sighed, handing Silas the bottle to take to his room.

  Silas leapt off the cot, ready to leave. The atmosphere had grown painfully awkward to the point it made his skin crawl.

  "Wait."

  Teeth clenched, Silas pivoted on his heel.

  "Be honest, lad. Please." Dr. Veyl wrung his hands. "Tell me if there's anything else the matter. Y-you… I-I just. Something in my gut tells me you're not being honest. I just want to make sure that you're alright."

  Silas watched Dr. Veyl's worried hands. His face softened. Dr. Veyl blames himself for what happened, he realized.

  "Really, I'm fine," Silas wrote. "I was napping because I was bored." Smiling, Silas added, "I miss the books you gave me. You'll have to get me some more that I can shelve here at the Underhalo."

  Dr. Veyl's bottom lip quivered. "Right you are, lad. I'll get you some books as soon as I can. This time, you can tell me what you like beforehand."

  Satisfied that Dr. Veyl's emotions were settled, Silas left the medical bay, carrying his new bottle of Powder. He only got lost a few times on the way back to his room.