“Yes, our supply is stocked for several months. I want skeleton operations at drill sites, and every surface resource focused on finding Adelice,” Cormac commands.

“Sir, if she’s dead—”

“She isn’t,” Cormac says. “And stop calling me sir. Dammit, Hannox, we’ve known each other one hundred and seventy-five years.”

“Yes, sir.” Hannox adds a bow and a salute to emphasize the point.

Cormac waves him off with a smirk. “See to the operations. I’ll take care of our missing Creweler.”

“I’ll liaise with the handlers and check for new intel,” Hannox promises.

“We’ll have images and details sent down so that they can recognize her, but under no circumstances are they to know why we’re looking for Adelice,” Cormac warns.

“What if she’s on Arras?” Hannox asks.

“She’s not smart enough to get into Arras undetected,” Cormac says. “But I’m increasing security and surveillance around her sister. If Adelice is up there, she’s going after Amie.”

“Someone’s spying on me. On us,” I whisper. The thump of my heart is so loud it nearly drowns the words. They’re coming after me, and even worse, they’re watching Amie.

“No surprise there,” Erik responds, tugging at my arm. We stay crouched behind the rock until Cormac and Hannox begin moving back to the camp.

“Who do you think it is? The spy?” I ask Erik after the men are out of earshot.

“It could be anybody,” he says. He nods back to the grove of trees and I follow him. My footfall is soft, but I feel heavy. Pryana might be capable of performing the tasks I’d hoped to keep from the Guild, but Cormac doubts her skill. My head turns over everything we’ve learned, sorting and tagging it into appropriate slots in my memory. Cormac even confirmed the disparity in time acceleration in Arras. He sent a spy weeks ago—was he talking about Deniel? That had happened only two days ago.

As soon as we’re back over the fence, Jost slams his hands into Erik, catching hold of his shirt. “That was stupid,” he says quietly, but his tone is fierce and angry.

“It’s my fault,” I say. “Erik tried to stop me.”

Jost doesn’t apologize to Erik, but he drops his hold on his brother.

“Come on, Ad,” Jost says, turning away from Erik.

“I don’t care what Kincaid will think,” Dante says, his hands clenched in tight balls at his sides. “If any of you go running off again, I’ll shoot you.”

“Noted. I’m sorry,” I say to him. But I’m not.

“We should head back.” Jost’s words are simple, but I can see the tension in his jaw. I know it won’t allay their anger, but I tell them about what we overheard at the mines and about Cormac’s presence. Jost keeps relatively calm, considering that was exactly the kind of danger he wants me to avoid.

“It’s bad enough that they know you’ve settled in with Kincaid, but if they get intelligence that you’ve left the estate—”

“They won’t miss the opportunity to get to me,” I finish for Dante.

“There’s an old ammo factory up the way. Our intel says they use it to weaponize and release new Remnants. It’s likely there’s some transport there,” Dante tells us, shifting from foot to foot. I can’t help but notice his eyes swiveling around us. It’s not like him to be so worried. “If their spies informed the Guild that you’re Sunrunning, then we need to get out of here before they come looking for you, and the crawler is hours away.”

“Won’t there be Remnants?” I ask.

“We’ll stick together and check things out first,” Dante says. “We don’t have much of a choice, I’m afraid.”

“I’m not sure that I like this plan,” Jost says.

“Cormac Patton is on Earth, and he’s looking for you—” Dante begins.

“Looking for Adelice,” Erik corrects him. “She’s his blushing bride.”

“Oh shut up, Erik,” I say, making a gag-me face. “Maela’s missing you too, I’m sure.”

“So I’m home free,” Jost says in a voice that can only be described as joking.

Everyone turns to stare at him.

“What?” he asks, confused.

“Did you crack a joke?” Erik asks him slowly.

“Oh shut up, Erik,” he says, mimicking my face.

“Now you can both shut up,” I say, turning on my heel and moving alongside Dante. I need to think about what I’ve heard, about where to go from here.

NINETEEN

THE AMMUNITION FACTORY IS WELL KEPT ON the outside, but when we enter we’re met with cobwebs and rust. Each step sends dust swimming into the air. The roof is glass, made opaque by years of neglect, and only a hint of light breaks through the muck. An abandoned conveyor belt hosts a line of rusted stools and little else, and images in faded paint still decorate the walls. I slow down to study them.

A man in a uniform, rifle in hand. A woman gazing at him in admiration. THE GIRL HE LEFT BEHIND IS STILL BEHIND HIM.

Another poster urges viewers to KEEP THE DANGER OVERSEAS. A woman smiles, her hands full of bullets. A shadow passes across the overlarge portrait. I turn, but no one’s behind me.

“We lucked out. This place is empty. Let’s find the storeroom,” Dante calls, and I jog to catch up.