Silas struggled with the zipper of his rucksack, grunting as it snagged in the fabric. Perhaps packing every article of clothing he owned hadn't been the best idea. Including several bottles of Powder, two extra notepads, three styluses, and a small army of ink bottles may have been excessive. Silas backed up the zipper, patted the rucksack a few times to flatten it, and tried again. This time, the zipper got stuck in a different spot, but a bit of teasing and tugging got it past the obstacle. Silas slung the bursting rucksack over his shoulder, stumbling under its weight as he exited his dormitory.

  His nose guided him to the kitchen, where Pa was brewing coffee and frying eggs. The kitchen knife Silas stole after the meeting bounced against his leg with every step. He'd wrapped the sharp implement in a pillowcase and tucked it into a trouser pocket. Silas forced his gait steady, assuring himself the knife was secure. He hoped he didn't need to use it, but felt safer carrying it.

  Silas burst into the kitchen, plopping his heavy burden onto a stool. Pa's shadowed eyes and tremulous fingers betrayed his lack of sleep. Despite his nerves, Silas had slept like a log, only waking when Oscar said something in the corridor that caused Vera to collapse into a fit of laughter. Oscar had shushed her, his attempts to usher silence louder than Vera's chortles. Silas was glad for it; their clamor allowed him to take his morning dose of Powder on time.

  "You're up early, my lad!" Pa said, setting a full plate in front of Silas. "Did sleep evade you too?"

  "Something like that," Silas signed after inhaling a slice of buttery toast. "Can I have some coffee?" He yawned, trying to rub the sleep from his eyes.

  Pa regarded him with suspicion. "I don't like you drinking so much caffeine. It's not good for you."

  "You're drinking it right now," Silas pointed out. "And you're fine."

  "W-well, yes. That is true. However—"

  The door was kicked in. Vera barged inside before it swung closed. The door hit Oscar in the face. Swearing, Oscar fumbled on the other side for a moment before attempting to enter again, this time holding his nose.

  "Trying to break my schnozz a second time, are you?" he grumbled, glaring at Vera's back. She ignored him.

  "Be downstairs in five," Vera said to Silas, grabbing a coffee to go. "Machinist Quirin is in rare form today."

  As quickly as she came, she left. Oscar shuffled to the stove, grabbed a slice of toast, and hurried after her. Silas and Pa stared at each other. Then Silas shoveled food into his mouth, washing it down with piping mouthfuls of coffee. He barely tasted it.

  "Goodbye, Pa," Silas signed, crouching to engulf his grandfather in a hug.

  Breath hitching, Pa wrapped his arms around Silas's shoulders. "Be safe, Silas," he whispered. "Please."

  Silas straightened. Tears pricked his eyes, but he blinked them away before they could fall. "I will. I promise."

  "Remember to take your Powder," Pa reminded in a tight voice. "Get enough sleep. Don't forget to eat."

  Silas smiled weakly. "I'll be fine. Don't worry. I'll be back before you know it."

  He hovered in the doorway, watching Pa over his shoulder. Pa's fierce grip on the arms of his wheelchair turned his knuckles white. Silas ran back for one last hug before leaving. Pa held on for a second longer after Silas let go.

  Silas got lost in the corridors, doubling back more than once before stumbling on the stairwell. He took the steps two at a time, tripping over his feet in his haste. The others waited for him on the platform beside the SCU, Quirin pacing up and down the neon yellow line.

  "Where have you been?" he growled when Silas stopped before him, huffing and puffing with exertion.

  Silas slid the rucksack off his shoulder and arched his back to relieve the pressure. In response to Quirin's question, he shrugged. Any other excuse would have to wait until he could free one of his notepads from his rucksack. Given Quirin's mood, he would rather not risk such a perilous feat until safely on the road.

  "We're already behind schedule," Quirin spat, sliding open one of the SCU's many doors. When nobody moved, he cocked his head and said, "In. All of you. What are you standing around gawking for?"

  Silas raised his eyebrows. Gone was Quirin's usual calm demeanor. Silas peered up at Vera, who walked beside him.

  "Told you," she said with a smirk and stepped inside the gigantic vehicle.

  There was plenty of space inside the compartment for their small group. Ravelin sat alone near the back, examining her crossbow. It looked different than it had before. Kessara must have made changes to it, but what they were Silas couldn't identify. He looked away when she glanced up. He was still getting used to seeing Ravelin without her mask.

  Oscar kneeled on the floor, adjusting an impressive assortment of boxes and bags. One box Silas recognized by its white and red striped symbol—the apothecary box Dr. Veyl promised. Silas sat in the same spot he did during his tour yesterday, bracing himself for the bright lights that were soon to flash.

  All was still for several minutes. Quirin fiddled around in the front of the SCU, talking to himself in low tones. Silas craned his neck, trying to sneak a peek at his work through the narrow vertical window. It was too dark.

  Silas was prepared for the lights this time, but they still seared his retinas. As he blinked away black spots, he became aware of a rumble beneath his seat. The entire compartment was vibrating. Silas whipped his head around, eyes wide and fearful. Beside him, Vera chuckled.

  "It's alright, mouse boy," she said. "It's just turning on." Her gaze drifted to a pole at the end of the row of seats. "Although I suggest you hold on to something since this is your first ride."

  Hold on? Silas edged toward the pole. Why? What's going to—

  Before he could finish that thought, the world lurched sideways. Gravity tilted until it pushed from in front, yanking Silas backward, crashing into Vera. A shrill, hissing squeal assaulted his ears. He clamped his hands over them to block it out. His eyes were squeezed shut too. When he opened them, he found his head resting on Vera's lap. She looked down at him, her laughter muted by that horrible, grating noise.

  Silas jolted upright and looked around. Oscar appeared bored. He lounged in his seat, knees spread wide, lazy gaze trained on the ceiling. Ravelin's mouth hung open and her fingers curled around the bottom of her seat. It must have been her first ride on the SCU as well.

  "Look out the window," Vera shouted above the racket. Silas followed where her finger pointed.

  Silas couldn't comprehend what he was seeing. Outside, lights from the SCU's interior shone against the walls of the tunnel. The lights flew past at such speed they blurred, impossible to track. Silas tried. His eyes danced from one flicker to the next—but he only gave himself eyestrain. The speed of the SCU was impossible. Nothing could travel that quickly. But Silas's eyes weren't deceiving him, and neither was the steady hum beneath his feet. If the ancients could travel this fast underground, where else could they go?

  Now that the SCU had settled at a constant speed, it was safe to get up and walk. Silas meandered around the compartment, observing the view from each window. The tunnel walls looked the same everywhere he looked, but still he paced. If he didn't, he'd fall asleep. The gentle rocking motion and soft buzzing drone tugged his eyelids down. After a while of restless movement, Oscar urged Silas to sit.

  "You're making me nervous," he claimed.

  Silas suspected Oscar wasn't fond of how many times he'd tripped over his splayed feet during his rounds. Silas reclaimed his seat beside Vera and bounced his legs. Anything to stay awake.

  Vera sat sideways across the seats, her elbow resting on the window pane, chin cupped in her hand. Amusement softened her features while she watched Silas. He decided it was time to crack into his rucksack for a notepad and stylus. This was his first opportunity to speak with Vera after their reunion. There was much he wanted to say.

  Yet when he finally had writing implements in hand, he failed to find the words. Where did he start? So much had happened since the public address. Heavy awkwardness filled the space where conversation could have been. Silas frowned at his opened notepad, tapping his stylus nib to the page.

  "How are you doing, Silas?"

  Her whisper forced Silas to look up. Vera's grin was gone, and with it her amusement. Her brows were drawn together, her lips pressed into a tight line. Silas stared back, unsure how to address her obvious concern.

  She sighed and turned to face forward, crossing her right leg over her left. She thought for a moment, deliberating with her chin tucked toward her chest. Then she tried again, speaking over her shoulder.

  "Are you adjusting to life in the Underhalo? I imagine it's a rather abrupt change to… to what you experienced at the Garrison Mordant."

  Silas inhaled sharply. She doesn't blame herself for my capture, does she?

  Furiously, Silas scratched a reply. He wouldn't allow Vera to feel guilty over something that was the byproduct of his own weakness. If he'd been stronger, he could have gotten away from Sorne and Ilyra. Vera had been severely wounded at the time of his capture. Wounded protecting him, at that. She was still healing. Guilt would only slow her recovery.

  "I'm doing really well," Silas wrote, scooting over so Vera could read. Swiftly changing the topic, he added, "I noticed that you've gotten better at sign language. Did Pa teach you?"

  Vera opened her mouth to respond to Silas's answer, then snapped it shut as he continued to write. When he was finished she searched his face before saying anything. Silas tried on a bright smile and nodded eagerly, encouraging her to speak.

  "He did," she finally said, still scrutinizing his expression. "I asked him to give me an abbreviated lesson whenever we had the chance. I haven't learned much, but slowly I'm improving." Her gaze lingered on Silas's notepad. "Perhaps you could pick up where Elias left off? Oscar has certainly been lagging behind, so he should stop pretending to be asleep and come over here to learn as well."

  "Huh?" Oscar mumbled, blinking slowly at Vera. "Did you say something to me?"

  Relieved his diversion worked, Silas leapt at the opportunity to teach more sign language. He enjoyed teaching. He considered himself rather skilled at it, too.

  Vera patted the seat between herself and Silas. "I did. Get over here so you can listen in."

  "Listen in on what?" Oscar reluctantly obeyed Vera's summons. Silas slid down to give him space.

  "I hear you've been slacking in your sign lessons," Silas wrote. Oscar scowled at his notepad but said nothing. "So I have decided to give you a remedial lecture."

  Oscar groaned. Vera tittered. Silas flipped to a new page and got to work.

  The lesson carried them through several hours. Oscar had forgotten most of what Silas initially taught him and Vera, so he started again from the beginning. He expected Vera to sit out the first part and jump in when new content entered the discussion, but she was attentive the entire time. She had been humble, too. Pa taught her a lot in such a short amount of time. She was now familiar with many simple phrases and sentences, and her vocabulary had grown tremendously. Silas wouldn't need all the notepads and ink he packed after all.

  Ravelin grew interested and began to pay attention after the first hour. Over Vera's shoulder, he saw her practicing the signs, trying to be secretive about it. When she saw him looking, he waved her over, and she joined the lesson.

  "You should be a teacher," Ravelin said at the end, showing off her new skills to Oscar, who was struggling to form the sign for "Unspoken" beside her. "For someone who doesn't speak, you're incredibly engaging. I look forward to learning more from you."

  Silas ducked his head shyly. She's just saying that to be nice, he thought.

  "Learning a new language is challenging," Oscar said, relaxing his fingers, placing them in his lap. "But you make it intuitive, even for me. Elsbeth is right. Have you ever considered teaching as a career?"

  Silas blinked. He hadn't given much thought to what he wanted to be when he became an adult. His grades were always above average, but that wouldn't get him far. Who would hire a mute? Graduates of the Foundry School were typically taken on as apprentices for tradesmen and women. Silas assumed he'd wind up a blue-collar worker somewhere—like the mills or foundries. Higher education always seemed far beyond his reach. And now he was a fugitive from the Empire. University was a dream that would never come true.

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  Before Silas could answer, Quirin entered the compartment. Up until now, the machinist had hidden himself away in the frontmost section—driving the vehicle, Silas assumed. With him back here, who was conducting this giant heap of metal?

  Quirin noted Silas's alarm and said, "It's on autopilot," as if that was self-explanatory.

  The prefix -auto means self, Silas knew. So the SCU is piloting itself? How does that work? He remembered that Vera and Oscar had taken the SCU to Farrow's End yesterday while he was touring the Underhalo with Quirin. This "autopilot" feature must be how they'd gotten there and back.

  Silas began scrawling a question when Quirin started to speak. He closed his stylus in his notepad to mark the page for later.

  "It will take about two days to reach the Arboretum," Quirin said. "But we will not be traveling the entire time. Along the way we will make a few stops to refresh, get supplies, and…" He didn't finish the thought. Whatever he meant to say was stopped behind his clenched teeth.

  Quirin cleared his throat and continued. "In a few hours we will pass below a quaint little village by the name of Redreach. We'll leave the SCU, climb up top, stretch our legs, grab a bite to eat, and return down here by nightfall."

  Silas narrowed his eyes on Quirin. Earlier, he'd acted like they were crunched for time. Now he wanted to stop for a break? Quirin was hiding something. By the expressions around him, it was clear the others suspected so as well but were unwilling to press Quirin for answers. This unnerved Silas. If their leader was hiding things, how could this mission be expected to succeed? How could they trust one another when secrets were so casually ignored?

  You're keeping secrets, too, Silas chastised himself. He sagged in his seat, anger giving way to shame.

  "I will entertain any questions you may have."

  Silas perked up, flipped his notepad open. Quirin watched his frantic scribbling, one eyebrow arched while he waited.

  "How is the SCU powered?" Silas wrote and turned his notepad around for Quirin to read.

  The machinist hesitated, eyes rolled to the ceiling. "I'm not entirely sure."

  Silas tilted his head, then wrote, "But you said that you were the one who got this thing up and running. Surely, you must understand how it works!"

  Quirin shook his head. "It's not that simple, child. When I was restoring it, I found a metal framework mounted to its top." Quirin held out both hands, miming what he described. "This framework has attachments that pass through lines—or perhaps channels would be a better word—embedded in the tunnel ceiling. It seems that this construct harvests ambient static-electric charge. Not stored fuel. Not water. Electricity, like the static that forms during a dust storm. Fascinating, isn't it?"

  Silas's arm hairs stood on end as if he'd been shocked by the static Quirin described. Electricity was a force of nature—raw and impossible to tame. How did the ancients harness something as feral as the weather itself?

  "Where does it come from, this static-electric charge?" Silas wrote, then scratched his head with his stylus. "Is it stored somehow after lightning strikes the ground during a dust storm?"

  Quirin pursed his lips. "Maybe. I honestly haven't given it much thought. You might be on to something with that theory. Like I said—the charge was ambient, already present. I have no idea where it came from, only that it was already there. It also never seems to run out. Highly convenient, wouldn't you say?"

  Silas nodded. Extremely convenient. So much so that it smells fishy.

  "Well then." Quirin turned. "If you need me, you know where I am." He then disappeared into the front, sliding the door shut behind him.

  The rest of the ride was shrouded in monotony. With nothing left to do, Silas fell asleep, dozing with his cheek pressed against the window. Before he did, he remembered to take his second dose of Powder. He measured the correct amount and poured water into his glass as indiscreetly as he could. Needing to rely on Powder to function would never not be embarrassing to Silas. It had been embarrassing when he thought the Voices were psychosis. It was worse now, knowing real delusions existed. Vera pretended she wasn't watching, but Silas could feel her eyes on him as he chugged the vile concoction down. The inside of his drinking glass was now coated in a thin white film. At Redreach, he'd rinse it out in the washroom.

  Silas was jolted awake by a loud screech. This time, gravity pushed from behind, throwing Silas to the left across the seats. The metal pole caught him. As the SCU slowed, Silas massaged the throbbing bump on his temple.

  Vera rubbed her hands together excitedly. "Disguise time. Oscar?"

  Oscar grunted. "Already on it." He began opening the boxes stashed under his line of seats. When he found Vera's ginger wig, he tossed it at her. She caught it and flipped her head upside down to put it on, tucking wisps of her real hair under the cap.

  Ravelin came forward to help Oscar. Silas stared at the assortment of faux hair before him. He screwed up his face. It felt like he was looking at a selection of severed heads.

  "You will be curly and blond," Vera said, holding out a wig as described for Silas.

  He took it and stared at it incredulously. How did he put this thing on?

  "Your hair has gotten a tad longer. Take this." Vera removed a stretchy black band from around her wrist and gave it to him.

  He gathered his tresses at the nape of his neck and secured it in a small bun like Vera wore. And Corin. Silas froze, staring at his feet. During his escape from the Garrison Mordant, he vaguely remembered finding a corpse who looked a lot like Corin in a puddle of blood. Silas felt like he had been the one to kill him.

  "That's not how you do it. Here." Vera reclaimed the black band and styled his hair for him. She didn't even yank. When Silas was little, Pa always ripped through knots in his hair without warning. Silas liked Vera's gentler approach much better.

  "You should get that cut soon," Oscar suggested. His wavy brown locks were now straight and black. A subtle change, but enough to mask Oscar's already unassuming appearance. "You're starting to look like a girl."

  Silas shrugged, unbothered. He usually wore his hair at chin-length, but he didn't mind how it now fell to his shoulders. If anything, he liked it better this way.

  With his hair secured, the wig was easy to put on. He stared at his reflection in the mirror, shocked at the difference. He hardly recognized himself now. When Vera added a hat to the ensemble—an accessory he never wore—he fully believed he was looking at someone else through the shiny window.

  Quirin entered the compartment to put on his disguise too. Like Silas, he was blonde now. A fake beard was also applied to his chin. The way Quirin scratched at it made Silas assume it was itchy. Or maybe his skin didn't agree with the adhesive.

  Ravelin struggled the most with her disguise. Her long, cornrowed hair refused to fit into a wig. She tried several times before giving up. Oscar suggested she crop her hair short, which she refused. She ended up tying it into a tail and hiding it beneath a headscarf.

  Vera decided to do her makeup as well. It probably wasn't necessary—her wig was convincing enough—but she really wanted to do it. She hummed contentedly while she painted her lips and rouged her cheeks. The more product she applied to her skin, the less Silas recognized her. Her signature crooked grin and boisterous laugh was the only thing that remained. Silas clung to those features.

  "Just because you look different, doesn't mean you don't need to be careful," Vera said when everyone was ready. Silas thought she was speaking to the group, but then she turned to address him directly. "You especially, Silas. You're the most at risk. Your face has been known to the Empire for weeks. But your physical features aren't your most distinguishing trait—your silence is."

  Silas's heart skipped a beat.

  "You can't fake being able to talk. Instead, you need to avoid social interaction at all costs. Don't make eye contact. Hide behind our backs. And keep your notepad and stylus here. No sign language, either, got it?"

  Silas nodded. He was good at blending into the shadows. He slipped his notepad from his pocket and placed it on his seat. He held onto the stylus, just in case.

  "Put this on, too," Vera said, thrusting something into his hands. It was a mask.

  Silas put it on, adjusting the straps behind his ears. Silas never liked wearing these things, but Pa frequently encouraged him to do so. At least this one favored comfort over style. The exterior was simple leather, with no rigid metallic filigree or bumpy gemstones, which were still in fashion.

  "Here's what's going to happen," Quirin began, stepping to one of the compartment's doors and sliding it open. "When you go outside, move to the platform as quickly as you can. Don't touch anything—doing so risks electrocution." He stared at Silas sternly as he said this. Silas extended a thumbs-up to show his understanding.

  "Wait for me on the platform. I will follow after I turn the SCU off."

  "Such drama for a rest stop," Vera whispered. Quirin didn't notice. Silas did and smiled, pressing his lips together to hold in his laughter.

  When Quirin left the compartment, Oscar cranked a starbloom lantern and jumped down to the track below, the rest following behind. Silas sat and slid off the SCU's floor to protect his ankles from the tall drop. His foot still rolled on the uneven rock below. Between the metal tracks were lots of little stones. They were too large to be gravel, but served the same purpose.

  There was a ladder conveniently placed on the wall leading from the rocky ground to the platform. Did Quirin know this would be here? Silas squinted into the darkness and saw similar metal rungs farther down, evenly spaced along the tunnel.

  By design, then, not convenience. Silas climbed up, accepting Ravelin's offered hand at the top.

  When Quirin turned the SCU off, the tunnel was plunged into total darkness. The blackness was so relentless that Oscar's weak lantern light hardly warded it away. Quirin quickly found his way to the group, guided by wavering starbloom illumination. Then he took the lead, striding briskly down the tunnel.

  A bit of walking revealed another ladder. This one was longer—extending high beyond the range of Oscar's lantern.

  "This ladder leads to a manhole cover," Quirin said, one foot planted on the lowest rung. "But it's covered in sand. I'll go first. Wait until the sand stops falling before following."

  Silas listened to Quirin climb, the song of his ascent reverberating down the metal rungs. Quirin spoke like he'd been here before. Or maybe other members of the Covenant had, and their experience had been passed along the "information network" Quirin refused to elaborate on.

  There was a heavy grating noise, followed by the promised sand rain. Then the tunnel was bathed in Dysol's scarlet shine. Oscar cranked his lantern off and left it at the bottom of the ladder before following Quirin up.

  Are we climbing into the middle of Redreach? Silas wondered while he ascended. Won't five people materializing in the middle of the street look suspicious? But Silas needn't have worried. All he saw when he emerged from the dark shaft was sand in every direction.

  Quirin pulled the heavy disc of metal back over the hole. Sand was tossed over it to obscure its location. Before it was buried beneath the grains, Silas inspected it. An insignia was engraved into the metal. The design depicted numerous stars with arrows pointing off in all directions. There were words, too. They stretched across the disc's diameter, but were so worn Silas couldn't read them.

  Quirin procured a compass from his breast pocket. He swiveled around, staring at the compass until he found the right direction. "Redreach is a little less than a mile northwest from here. Let's be off."

  "How will we find the tunnel again?" Vera asked. "It's not marked, and you've covered it with sand."

  Quirin stopped. "I have the means to find the way," he said mysteriously and continued, not waiting for the others to catch up.

  Vera sucked on her teeth. "If that man gets us lost out here in the desert, I will kill him before we freeze to death," she said and began to march.

  The walk was long and boring. Sand wormed its way into Silas's new boots, exfoliating his heels and soles. He was reminded of his endless treks in the Western Quadrant with Ilyra and her troops. Silas swiveled his head, listening hard for Voices or carrion wolves. He heard nothing. Part of him wished he did. The more he walked, the more fatigue weighed down his limbs. He wanted to find Echo again—needed to. But of course, when he needed her most, she was nowhere to be found.

  "Are there any Unspoken nearby?" Vera asked, noting Silas's searching gaze.

  Everyone watched Silas from the corners of their eyes. Even Quirin looked over his shoulder. Silas shook his head. Reactions to his response were mixed. Ravelin was visibly relieved, exhaling a held breath and unhunching her shoulders. Quirin frowned and turned back around. Perhaps he wanted to question any Unspoken they found along the way so they would know what to expect when they arrived at the Arboretum.

  Eventually, a small settlement came into view. Quirin calling Redreach a village was generous. The infrastructure consisted of a huddle of low buildings. The main street was dusty and dilapidated—paved with bootsteps instead of cobbles. Behind it all was a tall wall of rock capped in a plateau. Everywhere Silas looked, he saw red. Red sand. Red rock. Red rust. Red cheeks.

  The people of Redreach all wore matching rouge—a thick ochre paint dabbed along their cheekbones. Their attire was alien to Silas. Droswick's high society demanded flamboyant displays of wealth. Redreach's inhabitants preferred practicality. Both men and women wore blue trousers of a stiff, sturdy material. Hats were preferred over masks. And they were strange hats indeed. Their brims were wide, similar to fedoras. But they curved upwards on either side. Vera caught Silas goggling and pressed a hand to his head, forcing his eyes down.

  But he couldn't ignore the strange clippity-clop coming toward them. The sound was repetitive—each percussive beat a pair followed by an echo. Silas strained his neck against Vera's hand and peered up.

  A massive beast approached them. Its robust body was supported by four skinny legs that ended in wide, flat-bottomed hooves. A narrow head was situated at the top of a thick, ropy neck. Two moist nostrils sampled the air, snorting against the perpetual haze of dust. A man sat atop the creature, his legs straddling its ribcage.

  A horse! That's a horse!

  Silas had never seen a horse, not even in pictures. But he'd read about them in books. No description he'd read had ever prepared him for the animal's size and presence. Silas was completely awestruck. Vera tried her best to get him to look away. She eventually gave in, leaving Silas to his gawking.

  The stranger surveyed the group from atop his mount, chewing what looked to Silas like a long blade of grass. The man's lazy stare settled on Silas last and lingered. Silas averted his gaze, shuffling his feet in the sand.

  Look away, please look away, he begged. After several more moments, the man did.

  "You folks ain't from around these parts, are you?" he drawled between chews.

  "That we are not." Quirin stepped forward, offering to speak for the group. "We're travelers, just passing through."

  The stranger said nothing, lazily chewing his blade of grass. "Is that so?" he said and spat the blade out. "Well then, welcome to Redreach." With a gap-toothed smile, he added, "I hope our hospitality is enough for you fancy city-folk."

  As the stranger clip-clopped away on his horse, Silas released the breath he'd been holding. Vera relaxed too; the hand that had been hovering above her flarepistol holster slowly slid down to her side. Sweat beaded along her brow despite the frigid wind. Silas was comforted to know he wasn't the only one tense after that encounter.

  Quirin pivoted with a spray of sand. "You all go on ahead," he said, waving at the settlement. "Redreach doesn't have many… amenities, but I'm sure you can find an inn or tavern to rest in for a few hours."

  "And what will you be doing while we laze about?" Vera asked. She crossed her arms and leaned forward. "I fail to see the purpose of this little pit-stop of yours. Would you care to explain why you actually brought us here?"

  "I would not, no."

  Vera stepped forward. Oscar hastily stopped her before she throttled the machinist.

  "We'll go," he said, shoving Vera forward. "Reconvene here in a few hours, Machinist Quirin?"

  Quirin nodded. "As we discussed."

  Silas followed the others past the overhead sign welcoming them into Redreach, population 534. He glanced back often, watching Quirin stand still before beginning his own march in the opposite direction. When the machinist disappeared beyond the horizon, Silas turned back around—and froze.

  Eyes stared at him from all directions.