Numbness anesthetized the world, leaving it bleak and colorless. Sound was muted. Sensation, too. Silas stared at the skeletal remains of the Arboretum. He felt nothing. Nothing at all.

  Except for the cold. Inside the Arboretum it had been warm. Hot, even. The Southern Quadrant had no such luxury. Silas wore only a thin shirt and trousers. Without his coat or gloves, there was nothing to protect him from the bitterness. His skin was ice, his bones close to snapping. Shivering did nothing to ward away the gelid wind. The cold hurt, burning like frozen fire, charring Silas's fingertips and toes. Already, they were white, his humors fleeing to warmer regions of his body. Soon, his skin would blacken with frostbite. Silas didn't care. He knew one thing with absolute certainty: Vera was dead. And it was his fault.

  Voices. A conversation. Oscar and Quirin were talking. Arguing, rather. Their disagreement colored the world a shade brighter. Silas listened in, forcing himself to look away from the Arboretum—from Vera's grave.

  "We need to go back," Oscar asserted. "Vera could still be in there!"

  "Be sensible, Mr. Brenn," Quirin said. "No one could have survived that."

  Oscar's breath hitched. He didn't respond right away. When he did, his words were strained like his throat was clenched tight. "Then we must at least recover what remains of her."

  Ravelin held her tongue. The conversation happened behind Silas, and he didn't feel like turning around to watch. He assumed she was participating in the discussion by gesturing and nodding. Or perhaps she was like Silas, mourning silently, not wishing to be bothered.

  "No. Listen to me." Quirin's voice shook, but not with emotion. His teeth were chattering. "We're going to freeze to death out here. We left our warm clothes there” —Quirin probably pointed at the ravaged Arboretum— “where they were destroyed. We need to return to the SCU. At the minimum, we must don warmer garments before we search."

  Ravelin finally spoke. She whispered to Quirin and Oscar. She must have thought Silas couldn't hear her, but the wind carried her words to him. "Silas didn't drink any Powder yet today. I think he left some on the SCU. If he doesn't have any soon, we're all in danger. I agree with Machinist Quirin."

  Silas nearly laughed. Of course Ravelin didn't know he could no longer weaponize his mind. The cruel irony twisted a smile onto his face.

  Useless. I'm useless.

  Silas stood. Nobody said anything. They didn't respond when he walked away, either. They must have had their backs to him, huddled close while they conversed in low tones. Silas didn't look back to confirm. He kept going. Slowly, unsteadily, he lurched toward the debris, slipping on sand turned to glass, slick as ice beneath his boots.

  Silas didn't have to wait for Quirin to unlock the door this time. There was no door, not anymore. The dome had been reduced to a jagged mass of shattered glass. Silas climbed around the shards, slicing his trousers against the razor-sharp edges. If he cut his skin too, he didn't feel it.

  The air stank of smoke. Silas clamped his mouth shut to block out the pungent taste, but still it clung the back of his throat. He swallowed to wash it away, but that only made it stronger.

  The grass was no longer green. What remained of it was now ash. White-grey powder coated everything, and it fell from above in thick clumps. Silas was quickly covered in the stuff. Sneezing and snuffling, he continued, tripping over the carbonized remains of trees. His boot crunched over brittle bone. He looked down. Something dead lay at his feet, incinerated beyond recognition. It could have been human for all Silas knew. He dropped to his knees, running his fingers along the corpse's leathery skin. Bits of black flaked away, crumbling between his fingers.

  This might be Vera.

  Tears came. Silas didn't think he had any left; their arrival surprised him. His vision swam as fat droplets leaked from his eyes. His sobs were quiet, but heavy. Everything was heavy. The weight of the world dragged Silas down. He pressed his cheek to the ground, the ash a soft pillow.

  A voice called his name. Silas ignored it. He was dreaming, after all. There was no point in responding to voices in dreams.

  The dream curdled into a nightmare. The voice belonged to Vera. Maybe it wasn't a dream.

  It's a delusion.

  Ravelin was right. Silas needed to take a dose of Powder. He was hearing things. Next, he'd begin to see—

  Something crashed into him. Silas gasped. He was lifted off the ground and smothered in a warm embrace.

  The person holding him was shaking, holding on so fiercely their arms trembled. Silas's nose twitched. Their scent was familiar. Sweet and fruity, like cactus flower. When they finally loosened their grip, the person pulled away and regarded Silas with wide, disbelieving eyes.

  Vera looked like a ghost. Her skin and hair were smudged with ash, pale and haunted. Dark brown eyes glistened, the skin around them red and puffy. Had she been crying? Were her eyes irritated by the smoke? Silas shook his head. This vision wasn't real. But how desperately he wanted it to be! He didn't move—his arms hung limply at his sides. If he gave in to this delusion, it would break him. Silas refused to let it.

  "How are you alive?" Vera whispered, holding Silas by the shoulders. "Th-the others. Are they with you?" She glanced around, her shoulders falling lower the longer she searched.

  Bottom lip quivering, Vera regarded Silas, eyes peered upward while she thought. She was about to say something, but an abrupt noise cut her off.

  "SILAS!"

  It sounded like Oscar, screaming at the top of his lungs. Vera's mouth fell open. She rose to her feet, letting go of Silas. He remained where he was, crouched on the ground beside the mystery corpse. His gaze trailed upward, staring at Vera. Perhaps she was real after all.

  Oscar must have spotted Vera, because he made a sound like he was choking and then broke into a run. Behind him trailed Ravelin and Quirin who sported matching displays of shock and awe.

  "You're alive?" Oscar panted, bent over with hands pressed to thighs. Breathlessly, he said, "How?"

  "That's what I want to know!" Vera frowned down at Silas, who still hadn't moved.

  "Explanations can come later," Quirin said. "Let's get back to the SCU before we all die of hypothermia."

  Vera nodded. "Come now, Silas," she said, offering him her hand. "Let's go."

  Silas stared at it, but didn't take it. He feared that if he did Vera would disappear. The thought was too horrible to bear. Vera sucked in her cheeks and clasped her fingers around his wrist—pulling him to his feet. When she didn't fade away, Silas gaped at her, profoundly confused.

  Vera and Ravelin murmured to each other. Silas didn't catch the entire conversation, but the word "Powder" was definitely mentioned at least once.

  Silas's feet dragged in the ash, then the sand as he was led by the arm away from the destruction. Exhaustion settled in like a poison, soaking deep into his muscles. He told himself that the faster he walked, the faster he would get to the SCU and the faster he could go to sleep. The motivational monologue did not help. Thinking only made it worse, so Silas stopped doing that. Eyes glassy, he stared straight ahead, concentrating fully on putting one foot in front of the other.

  "Silas, what's the matter?" Vera still held his wrist. Her gentle tugging was the only thing spurring him on. "You don't look well."

  Silas didn't respond. Nodding or shaking his head would have thrown off his concentration.

  Left. Right. Left. Right.

  Silas just had to keep walking. Each step brought him closer. He was almost there. Vera didn't ask any other questions, but her fingers pressed so tightly into his skin it hurt.

  Quirin took out his device with the red dots and guided them to the manhole cover. Climbing down the ladder was hard—it sapped all of Silas's energy. Oscar went down first, then hovered at the bottom to catch him if he fell. Luckily, he did not.

  A short stroll down the tunnel revealed the SCU. Seeing it nearly made Silas's knees give out. So close! He was so close now.

  Then he was there. The lights came on. Heat blasted from hidden vents. Everyone sighed in relief, blowing on their hands and slipping into warmer clothes. Vera prepared Silas's Powder and handed it to him. He blinked at it—then at her. What if he drank it, and Vera went away?

  She wasn't going anywhere until he drank. Reluctantly, he downed the dose, shuddering at the taste. Several minutes went by. Vera didn't leave. Silas's heart swelled. Happiness gave him a little burst of energy. Just a tiny bit.

  Quirin entered the compartment after he set the SCU on its course back to the Underhalo. Ravelin helped dress the burn wounds on his neck. Blisters bubbled from his jawline to collarbone. The wounds must have stung horribly, but the machinist gritted his teeth and made not a sound as Ravelin dabbed the blisters with disinfectant and applied a creamy salve.

  The others explained to Vera how they survived, and then it was her turn to speak. Silas didn't want to miss this. He got up and paced to keep himself awake. Although his back-and-forth patrol was more of an inebriated stumble than it was a confident stride.

  "After Silas ran, I was alone with two Guards," Vera said. She spoke to everyone, but her eyes were on Silas. "I kept trying to convince them to work together with us, but my words passed right through those thick skulls of theirs. It wasn't until the ground exploded at their feet that they finally decided that I was telling the truth.

  "A temporary truce was agreed upon—just until we escaped the burning facility. The Guards told me of a nearer escape route than the way we entered through last night. It was the tropical biome." She smiled. "I wish you all could have seen it. The air was hot, warmer even than the deciduous biome. Birds of every color circled overhead. Exotic fruit trees grew everywhere. If I wasn't running for my life, I would have stopped to sample them. The insects, however, I could have done without seeing.

  This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  "One of the Guards died as we fled. A nearby explosion shot a spear of wood right through his head." Vera grimaced. "I also could have done without seeing that. Anyway, I safely emerged from the tropical biome just in time to watch the Arboretum burn to the ground. The remaining Guardswoman ran away. At least, I think she did. Maybe she died. I don't particularly care."

  Vera's lips drooped, her mood darkening. "I thought you were all still inside. When the blaze simmered down to smolders, I went back to look. 'Surely, they're all dead,' I told myself, but I couldn't give up until I knew for certain. That's when I ran into Silas and the rest of you soon after."

  Vera's words hung in the air—a tense hush befalling the compartment. Silas's staggering bootsteps were the only noise besides the rumbling hum of the SCU.

  Quirin cleared his throat. "We are not safe yet. The information network is compromised. The Underhalo probably is too. It might not be," he said to everyone's glum expressions. "But I can't promise your safety or the safety of those back at headquarters. We return knowing the risks so that we're prepared for the worst if it comes."

  Vera hummed. "Perhaps we should—"

  Silas collapsed. He tried to brace his fall with his arms, but they had gone as slack as his legs. Hitting chest-first sucked all the air out of his lungs. He lay there, stunned, staring at the underside of the seats.

  Vera hefted him up and placed him in a seat. Silas's neck wasn't working either. His head tilted back. The ceiling looked peculiar from this angle.

  Vera's face moved to block it. Silas flinched under her glare. That anger—was it directed at him?

  "Is he injured?" Oscar came to stand beside Vera. He narrowed his eyes. "Are those humors I see under his mask?"

  Vera sighed. She tore the mask from Silas's face. Silas licked his lips. They still tasted like blood.

  "Silas, enough of your lies and excuses." Vera was definitely angry. "You need to tell us what's wrong so we can help you."

  "You know something about this?" Quirin wasn't in Silas's line of sight, but the boy could hear him just fine.

  Vera addressed the machinist over her shoulder. "Not really, no. But between his drowsiness and the nosebleeds that happen when he tries to speak to the Unspoken, I know something isn't right."

  Ravelin hovered at the edge of Silas's vision. She said nothing, but screwed up her face in contemplation.

  "When he tries to speak to the Unspoken?" Quirin sounded troubled. "Is this what you were trying to tell me—"

  "Yes," Vera snapped. "Yes it was." Now Vera was seated beside Silas. More gently, she said, "Please, Silas. It's alright. I can't fathom why you're lying about this, but know that there's no reason to do so. Just tell…"

  She continued to speak, but her voice faded away. Silas's eyelids slid closed, as heavy as the rest of him. Finally, he slept.

  He slept for a long time.

  The SCU stopped suddenly, flinging Silas down the row of seats. The crown of his head bonked against a metal pole. He did not mind.

  He would have gone back to sleep if he wasn't rudely shaken by someone. Silas turned his head and swatted away the annoyance. It was persistent. And it was talking to him.

  "Powder. Now."

  Silas cracked his eyes open. A woman with sharp green eyes and a long black braid glared at him while brandishing a drinking glass. By her stern expression, Silas figured she wouldn't leave him alone until he drank whatever was in the glass.

  When he was finished, he handed the empty container back and rolled over to return to slumber.

  "Nope. You've slept enough, Silas. Get up."

  The woman looked different as the fog over his mind thinned. Her hair was brown like her eyes, which were still sharp. For some reason, they hurt to look at—piercing deep into Silas's heart.

  Vera. Silas knew her name. The others were familiar too. Oscar. Ravelin. Quirin. Why were they all staring at him? Silas brushed away the thought. Whatever the reason, it wasn't worth wasting energy over.

  "Up. Up." Vera tugged on Silas's arm until he lumbered to his feet. She didn't let him sit back down again.

  They were in the tunnel below the Underhalo. Silas recognized the thick yellow strip of paint and the stairwell leading up. Looking at the flight of stairs nearly made him cry. Such a climb was far too daunting. He'd never make it.

  "Draw your weapons," Quirin said, standing before the stairwell. "I have a bad feeling."

  Silas fumbled with his pocket, finding it empty. At one point, he had a weapon. Yes—Silas remembered now. He'd taken a bread knife from the kitchen and stabbed someone with it. Somehow Silas lost it. When did that happen?

  "We stick together," Quirin said from the first landing.

  Silas stared dumbly. How had he gotten up there so fast?

  "That's fine with me," Vera said beside Silas, her hand rested on his shoulder. "But we're taking him straight to the physick."

  Quirin looked like he wanted to argue but decided against it. Silas blinked and the machinist was gone, the echo of his bootsteps chasing him up the stairwell. The others must have followed; Silas was alone at the bottom with Vera. Hadn't Quirin just said he wanted to stick together?

  What a hypocrite.

  "Up we go," Vera said and gave his shoulder a little push.

  Silas stumbled until his toes hit the bottom step. He shook his head. It was impossible. He might as well have been attempting to scale a steamstack. Such a feat was beyond his capabilities.

  "One step at a time," Vera urged. "On the way up, perhaps you'll finally elucidate what's afflicting you?"

  Silas's eyes widened. The fog over his thoughts shifted, heralding memories of the mission. He couldn't afford to act this way else Vera would suspect him. Silas scrambled to the first landing, briefly turning at the top to appraise her. She was frowning. Why was she frowning? She should be pleasantly surprised! Silas hauled himself up to another landing where he stopped to catch his breath. By some feat of sorcery, Vera was now above him, and he was staring up at her. What a nonsensical day this was turning out to be.

  Drenched in a cold sweat, Silas made it to the top where Quirin and the others were waiting. They kept staring at him. Silas glared back to make it stop—even baring his teeth to show how cross he was—but that only made their stares worse. Those expressions they were wearing—they made his skin break out in gooseflesh.

  Vera entered the corridor first, flarepistol drawn. She swiveled, aiming down each direction before nodding. Her wave beckoned the rest to join her.

  Silas's heart thudded loudly in his ears. Jittery anxiety invigorated his limbs, quickening his pace. Why they were sneaking around like this, Silas didn't know, but his body did. It responded to the atmosphere—eerily quiet and tense. They stalked through the corridors like phantoms, hardly making any sound. Was something haunting them, or were they haunting something?

  Silas gasped. Everyone spun at once, weapons raised, eyes darting about. Silas smiled and shook his head, laughing softly. He understood. This was a game—nothing more serious than that. Silas's smile fell. He was the only one not taking it seriously.

  It's not a game. Silas looked around. Who said that?

  You did, idiot. Focus. The information network is compromised, remember?

  Silas grunted indignantly at himself for speaking with such disrespect. Who did he think he was? But this internal monologue did have a point. Silas's behavior was the odd one out. He should at least pretend to play by the rules, even if he didn't believe them.

  "It's empty," Vera said, disappointed. "Dr. Veyl isn't here."

  They were waiting outside a door with the words MEDICAL BAY stamped above it. Silas was glad he didn't have to go in there. He remembered being there before and finding it unpleasant.

  "He could just be enjoying his breakfast in the dining hall," Oscar offered. "Or, you know. He could be dead."

  Silas stomped his foot. No. If Dr. Veyl was dead, his pa was too. That logic seemed strange, but Silas knew it was correct. There was one other person whose name had slipped his mind.

  "Mr. Brenn," Quirin said flatly. "Kessara and the rest are fine. We simply must find them."

  The puzzle pieces were all aligned. Silas put them together to arrange the whole picture. He didn't gasp this time, holding it in since the others didn't appreciate his previous vocalization. Again, the fog shifted, hardly obscuring anything anymore. Silas was afraid now. For Pa. If Pa, Kessara, and Dr. Veyl were dead, their blood was on his hands. Silas chose to continue to the Verdancy Array, where he failed to stop the Unspoken from unleashing their destruction.

  Silas was worse than useless. He was a burden.

  Logic returned, bringing exhaustion back with it. Silas begged it to stay away until he knew Pa was safe. Naturally, it refused to listen.

  "Let's check the dining hall, then," Oscar whispered. "Silas, you'd better stay quiet."

  The boy nodded. Oscar raised his eyebrows. He seemed to release a held breath before turning away.

  That's right, Silas thought, following close behind as they traversed the convoluted corridors. You needn't worry. I won't be a burden any longer.

  The others seemed to realize it too; they were no longer giving him weird looks. Vera still was, but Silas ignored her. One set of suspicious eyes was better than four.

  There were voices ahead. Silas thought they were coming from the others, but their lips were sealed. Weapons were back in their holsters. The voices had dissolved the tension. Silas grinned. Pa was laughing! Silas skipped ahead, the first to enter the dining hall.

  Pa sat in his wheelchair at the end of a bench, Kessara and Dr. Veyl next to him. Silas tilted his head, smile falling away.

  Someone unfamiliar sat beside Kessara. He was a man of middling age. His face was creased with smile lines even though he wasn't smiling. Wavy black hair framed his face, the curl at the ends almost childlike. Yet his eyes were anything but youthful. They regarded Silas with practiced listlessness—betraying nothing. Silas wasn't fooled. This stranger knew exactly who he was. The moment Silas entered the dining hall, he set down the fork he'd been holding and concealed his hands below the table. Silas looked to Vera for reassurance. Her hand rested on her flarepistol, but she didn't draw the weapon.

  Quirin took one look at the newcomer and winced like he'd been struck. Quickly, he composed himself, appearing unfazed. Yet when he spoke, his voice quivered. "It's… a surprise to see you here, Mr. Locke."

  "It shouldn't be," Locke said as he glided away from the bench. Silas saw no weapons on the newcomer, but his hands were clasped behind his back. "I received your message and came right away. Is that not why you sent that communication? I apologize if I misinterpreted your intent."

  Silas focused over Locke's shoulder. Pa was watching Silas. His face drifted between confusion and relief—mirroring what Silas felt. If Locke was a threat, he wouldn't be sitting around sipping coffee with the Covenant.

  Unless his target isn't them. Locke's eyes had never left Silas. The boy raised his chin, determined not to show weakness. Unfortunately, his legs—barely keeping him upright—gave him away.

  "I… Um—" Quirin attempted to conceal his floundering behind a cough. "Please excuse us. We have been away on a mission. It didn't go as—"

  "Yes, yes," Locke waved away Quirin's stammered reply. "I've heard all about your exploits in the newspapers and from the Covenant’s newest members.” His eyes flicked to Dr. Veyl as he said this. “From Redreach, where six bounty hunters lost their lives, to the Arboretum." Locke began to circle the group. Silas, specifically, was at the midpoint of his march. "The newspapers claim the Covenant orchestrated the disaster alongside the Unspoken, you know." He stopped circling, standing in front of Silas. "Silas Harrow here supposedly facilitated the entire thing, using his mind to convince the Unspoken to attack the Verdancy Array. First, the virus in the Western Quadrant—the origin of which has thankfully yet to be revealed to the masses. Then the blight. Now, fire. The public fear what manner of chaos the boy will conjure next."

  Silas hung his head. The newspapers embellished the story, lying in favor of the Empire. Yet they weren't completely false.

  This is my fault.

  "I would ask if the tales are true," Locke continued. "But the boy's guilt speaks for itself."

  Vera stepped forward. "That's not—"

  Locke unclasped his hands and reached for Silas. The boy tried to back away, but his wobbly legs only managed a jerky step back before freezing up. Locke opened his hands. A slim stiletto rested in his palm. Then, it was pointed at Silas's eyeball—the sharp point so close it tickled his eyelashes when he blinked.

  "This is why," Locke said, "I advocated for the abomination to be terminated with the laboratory." Locke finally smiled, tight-lipped and sinister. "Allow me to deliver the finishing strike."

  The blade advanced, faster than Silas could blink.