“A team has been sent in advance of group one to rivet the entrance into the Eastern Sector,” the officer drones on as I half listen. “It’s approximately one mile between the entrance and the exit. Move quickly, follow your leader, and get through.”

I’m in the first group permitted passage into the loophole, along with Cormac. Since the advance team declared the passage safe, Cormac isn’t wasting any time. I’m not sure if he’s unwilling to risk being caught in a passage collapse by going later or if he’s eager to get to the problems in the Eastern Sector.

I study the silvery web of protection patched over the Interface as we wait for clearance to enter the loophole. The mouth of the passage hovers next to the deck of the ship and a plank has been placed to allow us to enter the vortex. I only have to walk up the plank and into the tunnel, which sounds easy enough, though it looks terrifying. The officers leading us through carry a giant stack of metal hoops at least eight feet in diameter. When they reach the end of the plank, they pop the hoops apart and then back together. This time they aren’t stacked, but fitted into an open sphere. A brass globe hangs in the center. It doesn’t touch the rings. It merely floats as if suspended by air.

I’ve never traveled through a loophole before, and I have a million questions.

“What’s that?” I ask Cormac, pointing to the strange contraption the officers are setting up.

“A bodkin.”

I stare at him, waiting for a better answer.

“It’s an armillary sphere. It maintains the loophole as we pass through,” he says. “Stop asking questions.”

A hundred butterflies take flight in my belly as we’re led up to the mouth of the loophole.

We’re released into it in our groups, one surging after the other, like great waves. The leader of our group guides the bodkin via remote control as we enter the loophole. Its hoops orbit in a whirring blaze of motion, cycling continuously to create a clean tunnel for us to pass through.

At first it’s hard to keep my balance. A swirling kaleidoscope of colors spins, creating a sense of vertigo. Cormac curses as he stumbles, but I stay upright. When I stop looking at him and concentrate on the brilliant colors of the tunnel, walking becomes second nature. If I wanted I could touch the weave, change it. But that might cause the temporary passage to collapse. There’s enough clearance for us to pass through without skimming the surface.

I wonder if I slipped off my boots whether my feet would feel the tingle of electricity present in the warped strands.

This is the universe in its full glory. As we make our way through, the coarse, colorful strands grow finer and begin to blur to pure light and I know the Arras rivet isn’t far off. When I arrive at the rivet, it occurs to me what I’m about to do. I’m going back to Arras. I left devastation in my wake when I escaped this world. I’m not safe here. I hesitate in the mouth of the rivet, trying to absorb what lies on the other side.

A crippling darkness gathers and spreads along the sky, tainting the metro with gloom. It’s unnatural, like everything in this world, but I know this isn’t the work of a Spinster’s hands on the loom.

It’s the lack of them.

THREE

THE BLACKNESS YAWNS ACROSS THE SKY, extending like a floating abyss above us. I thought I knew darkness on Earth, but this is all-encompassing. Allia, the capital of the Eastern Sector, is rendered skeletal in the glow of emergency lights. It’s a sketch of a metro that can’t be real. If I reached out now to touch it, I’m sure my hands would meet with paper. Only the flicker of emergency lanterns gives the metro depth and dimension. I stop in the rivet, hesitant to enter this place, but Cormac grabs my arm and pulls me through.

“The power grids are offline, sir,” an officer informs Cormac as he hands him a pair of goggles. “These are night optical devices that will allow you to see as we travel. They are equipped with infrared technology and will display heat signatures in orange.”

“Heat signatures?” a young officer pipes up.

“Humans. Animals. Anything that’s alive,” his superior explains.

I take a deep breath, wondering what we’ll find in the streets. The officer passes out goggles to each of us. I’m fastening mine over my forehead when Hannox snatches them off me.

“Sir,” he barks at Cormac. “I think Miss Lewys should stay behind with the guard.”

“I should come along,” I butt in, even though I’m not sure why I’m arguing. I’m not exactly eager to explore the dark corridors of the Eastern Sector. Maybe it’s that I don’t like being told what to do.

“That sounds like an excellent idea,” Hannox mocks. He moves toward me and jabs a finger at my chest. “Let’s take the rebel Creweler in to meet the rebel Spinsters.”

“I didn’t bring my rebel handbook to distribute, so I think it will be okay.” I cross my arms over my chest, and we both turn to Cormac for his opinion on the matter.

“She won’t be running around unsupervised,” Cormac says, and I smirk at Hannox. He might have known Cormac for two hundred years, but I’m the one Cormac wants to keep happy.

“It’s a precarious enough situation without dragging her into it,” Hannox reminds him.

“Then veil her,” Cormac orders. Hannox opens his mouth, but Cormac holds up his hand. “I’m not interested in debating this. The looms in the Eastern Sector have been disabled, but if you think her presence in the weave is a threat and you want to veil her, do it. Otherwise, get her in tactical gear.”