“Backs into it, men!”

  Today was Supply Day. All men were to abandon their stations to load the trucks with manufactured goods. The lane Jay worked on moved crates of astaphite. His partner at the storage shed would load one wheelbarrow with a crate, and Jay would wheel it to the truck where he’d haul it in.

  Rains from the day before had left the road slick with mud, so the trucks couldn’t get any closer to the storage areas. Despite the setback, there were ways to make the work more efficient. For instance, they could set up a timeless tunnel that carried the crates into the trucks without effort. The workers pestered him, asking if he had any “brilliant Henrikian ideas” to make their work easier. They just wanted an excuse to laugh at him again. He kept his thoughts to himself.

  The quota for every man was ten crates each. Jay would have finished two or three hours ahead of everyone if not for his slow partner. Out of all the workers available, he’d been paired with an old man. The old man’s bones groaned each time he bent down to lift a crate, and he’d hiss and grunt when dumping it into the wheelbarrow’s bucket. Jay folded his lips every time he wanted to cuss the old fool out.

  “You’re from the UCL?” the old man asked, wiping his brow as he sat down.

  Jay grunted.

  “Where from?”

  Mari had told him to say Maplewood when asked. In hindsight, he shouldn’t have said anything at all. The old man’s interest only grew.

  “I knew a few ladies from there,” the man said, groaning as he lifted another crate. “We worked together on the Third. My job was at the mill factory.”

  “You don’t look like you knew any ladies,” said Jay.

  Jay hoisted the crate from the wheelbarrow—and his back screamed in protest. What was wrong with his body? His knees had locked in place; his thighs throbbed like mad. Jay thumped the crate onto the truck’s floor, earning a few sharp snaps from the nearby workers. It took him twice as long to return to the shed.

  “I may not look it now, but I had looks back in the day,” the old man went on. For once, Jay was grateful to catch his breath.

  “How did you end up with the Banner?” he asked.

  The old man went silent, staring. Jay realized it was a strange question.

  “I didn’t feel old at the end of my service,” the man finally said, “so I ran.”

  “So you’re a coward,” said Jay. “That’s what your wife and children think of you, isn’t it? How does it feel, leaving them behind?”

  The old man laughed. He spouted the same nonsense Jay had heard from the other workers all week; that Jay was a lunatic, a Henrikian sympathizer.

  “Indifferent,” the man said as Jay returned from the truck. “It wouldn’t have made a lick of difference. They know that too. I lived in Norsidy before Fren Rheina lost her mind. Worked as a photographer. Loved my job. Lived my life for myself.”

  Jay’s back was giving in now. A migraine pulsed behind his eyes, and he had to listen to this fool talk.

  “The government took that away when we walked into exile,” the old man said. “Gave me a new family, a new job, in exchange for the rest of my life. Excuse my greed for wanting this little bit for myself.”

  Maybe it was the strain in his spine or the heat of the afternoon, but the man’s words stopped making sense. How was labouring away in Soden any different from Henrikia? If anything, he should’ve been grateful—he’d live long enough to retire in the UCL.

  Except he wouldn’t.

  Jay remembered what the government did to earthens after sixty. Euthanasia—mandated by the Assembly long before he was born. The policy kept the population young and industrious, the old cleared away like used machinery.

  “How many of you ran to Soden?” Jay asked.

  “The question you should be asking,” said the old man, “is how many of us made it.”

  Jay was in the final stretch—three boxes left.

  “Hurry it up,” he said. “I don’t want to spend all day here.”

  The old man heaved the crate with all his strength, dumped it into the bucket—and cried out. He clutched his back, sinking to his knees.

  “Help me,” he gasped.

  Jay narrowed his eyes, lifted his shoulders, and rolled the wheelbarrow away. He was halfway to the truck when he saw the other workers dropping their posts, rushing to the old man on the ground.

  That evening, he lay on his bare belly while Mari rubbed balm into his lower back.

  “Right there,” he said, wincing. “I can’t believe I have to sleep through this.”

  She laughed under her breath. “Don’t you do any training as a Gaverian? Even without your powers, I thought you could handle easy jobs.”

  He grumbled something she couldn’t hear.

  “A little pain never hurt.” She pressed her palm into his tailbone, and he yelped. She laughed outright this time. Jay snatched his shirt from the floor and pulled it on.

  Mari calmed herself, still sitting on his thin mattress. She kept smiling at him, long enough to make him uneasy. “What is life without suffering, hm?”

  “Can you pass me the gallon?” he said.

  “We don’t have any water. And I’m not paying Santa Mon extra—not for his water.”

  “So what am I supposed to do?”

  “Fetch from the river.”

  He stared at her. “Are you serious?”

  But she didn’t answer.

  Grumbling, he set out, searching for the river he’d somehow never heard of. With no torch to guide him, he took careful steps along the narrow road. He wasn’t alone—other silhouettes moved in the dark, women and children carrying buckets and cans on their heads. The sight unsettled him. How far did they walk every day for water? How cheap did Mari have to be?

  Bugs swarmed his arms and neck, buzzing in his ears, trying for his nostrils. Swatting them with the gallon did nothing. He muttered under his breath about Henrikia and civilization and how Anna-Lisa had better sent that text by the time he got back the phone.

  The deal with Santa Mon was simple: they’d pay their overdue rent plus this month’s, and he’d return their things. Jay doubted the man would honour it.

  He slipped on the slope, skidding down. Grass tore his palms; something in his knee twisted when he landed. Pain flared through his back again. The water wasn’t worth this. He was going back.

  “Big brother, excuse us.”

  A group of children stood behind him, waiting for him to move. He forced himself up, brushed his hands, and walked on.

  They wouldn’t see him quit.

  Half the children of Shit Town seemed to be here. Some filled buckets and helped each other lift them onto their heads. Others splashed in the shallows or swung from tree branches, laughing as they hit the water. A few were washing clothes with no soap, beating fabric against stones.

  Jay stared at the murky surface. There was no way he was drinking that. Maybe if he went further upstream, he could find water that hadn’t been ruined yet.

  It wasn’t an easy walk, but he was willing to take it. Wet boulders blocked his way, some too slick to climb, so he moved around them. The farther he went, the more his shoulders loosened, his muscles easing with each step. The cool breeze slowed him down. Under a sky littered with stars, he let himself enjoy the night for once.

  He climbed the tallest rock he could find and lay on his stinging back, eyes shut. For a moment, he thought of nothing.

  Yes, his problems were many, but life was short. Nothing would be ruined by a little peace. He thought about home—about Verimae. Knowing her, she probably wasn’t worried. When he returned, she’d act as though he’d only stepped out for bread. He simply hoped she wouldn’t think he’d run because of their child. Funny, really, to think any of this had ever been about him.

  His eyelids brightened. Jay opened his eyes to a thousand fireflies hovering over the river. Where had they come from? The laughter of the children was gone—he must’ve wandered farther than he thought. It was late. Mari would be worried.

  He picked up his gallon, climbed down from the rock, and approached the water. As he bent to fill it, he heard a soft trickling sound.

  Someone else was here.

  A girl stood in the shallows, water at her knees. She wore a strip of white cloth across her chest and another around her waist, leaving her thighs bare.

  He told himself to look away, to fetch his water and leave. But she stepped deeper into the river, and the insects seemed to follow her. She turned, back toward him, scooping water with both hands. She sipped, then spat it back out. Each time she bent, the faint tattoo at her lower back revealed itself.

  His heart told him to stop. His mind said no. His gut agreed. But his legs carried him forward all the same. “I just want a closer look,” he muttered to his better half.

  At least she wasn’t the swayer—he could tell that much. The body proportions were wrong. The swayer was not this... endowed. Then again, every time he’d seen her, she’d been gutting him, or bleeding half-dead on a shore.

  The girl gasped when he drew near. “I thought I was alone,” she said. “Who are you?”

  “I’m sorry, I don’t usually do this kind of thing, but I saw your tattoo from over there, and it caught my attention.”

  The girl felt at the small of her back. “You want to see it?”

  “If that’s okay with you.”

  She nodded a few times, wading to his side. Jay held onto his waist, looking up at the heavens, because he was an honoured man. An honoured man would rather stare at the blank, black nothing above than the wet, jiggling, pairs of… “God, what am I doing?” He cleared his throat.

  Maybe she’d not meant to scrape her backside against him as she turned around. She asked, “Can you see it?”

  “No,” he said. “It’s, um, hidden behind your… covering.”

  “So, pull it down and take a closer look.”

  “Is that alright with you?”

  “We all have our needs,” she said. “Let me satisfy yours.”

  He put a hand on the curve in her waist—to balance himself, of course. And his other curling hand peeled the hem of the skirt down, just enough to show the tattoo. It was a difficult image to make out. “They look like some kind of gears.”

  “Wheels within wheels,” she explained. “But they’re all broken.”

  “What does it mean?”

  “I can tell you, but you’d have to do something for me first.”

  If she asks you where the card is, run like hell. “I’m not going to ask you where the card is, I know you don’t have it,” she said. “That’s not what I want.”

  “What is it?”

  She placed his hands on her hips, and put hers around his neck. “You and I have nothing against each other,” she said. “We are both being told what to do by people that care little about us. I want an apology for nearly drowning me, and you should kiss me to do it. Then, I want you to do things to me I will never forget.”

  A trap? One hundred percent a trap. Did he mind though? How much did Ezra mean to her, really? He was about to have the best night of his life, and historically, he’d never been good at dealing with temptations. It’s how he got Verimae pregnant.

  Verimae. He’d been thinking about her a minute ago. What was he doing? Jay shut his eyes at tightly as he could. This was one thing he would never do, be disloyal to the mother of his child. In that way alone, he would be better than his father.

  “Nice try,” he said. “I’ve seen scarecrows with better seduction skills than you.”

  He went to bed thirsty.

  “Jay, where is the gallon?” Mari asked later on in the night.

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  “By the river.”

  “Don’t tell me—”

  “I left it there because a witch was poisoning the water.”

  “You can’t be serious. What are we supposed to fetch water with?”

  “If you care for your life, going a few days with a dry throat is nothing.”

  “I can’t believe you did that. I knew I should have gone myself. I don’t know why I let you do this.”

  “Look, I’ll find water somewhere else. Or I’ll save enough so you can buy from Santa Mon but please, please trust me. Don’t drink from the river.”

  She wasn’t convinced. Another round of nagging was set to begin when a thumping on their door threw them out of bed. “Who is that?” Jay bellowed.

  “It’s me. Please let me in.”

  Mari was quick to her feet, reaching for the door. Jay cut her off at once. He shook his head and mouthed, “Salomae.”

  The knocking intensified. “Please, Mari. Are you awake?”

  “It’s Miriam,” said Mari.

  “Don’t be stupid. We’ve been far too careful to slip up—” Mari brushed past him, opening the door. Miriam rushed indoors, closing the door behind her. She panted, coughing as she caught her breath.

  Mari was already engaged in Miriam’s concerns. Jay stood a fair distance behind, ready to strike if Miriam pulled out a knife and took Mari hostage. Nothing of the sort happened, even after a reasonable time had passed. It turned out this was the real Miriam—and she was in some kind of trouble.

  “Where did she go?”

  “I saw her enter that house.”

  “Let’s go.”

  “Isn’t that where…”

  Jay had to assume most of what they were saying. His English was passable when he spoke little, but comprehending it when many people spoke at once—hasty and harsh as they did—was hopeless. Still, the message was clear: whoever had gathered out there was after Miriam. The voices subsided after someone mentioned that this was where the lunatic lived. He assumed the lunatic was him. It wasn’t worth losing sleep over. Jay returned to his mattress, folded his arms, and shut his eyes.

  To his dismay, he could not close his ears and had to listen to the two women talk for hours. Miriam claimed there was a man who came to the kitchen every day to pester her. Yesterday, he had proposed marriage, but she rejected him. Tonight, he brought his friends over to teach her a lesson.

  “So you chose to come here—where I live—implicating me for no reason,” said Jay.

  “I didn’t know where else to go,” she said. “I couldn’t take them to my house.”

  “That doesn’t mean you should lead them here!”

  “Sorry, I didn’t mean to make trouble for you. I was scared, and you’re the only ones I knew they wouldn’t bother.”

  “It’s okay,” said Mari, hushing Miriam. “Don’t pay attention to him.”

  Miriam ignored the advice. “You’re in bigger trouble than me,” she said. “The men say you walked out on Bishop when his back gave in. They’re going to get you, and I’ll be there watching.”

  “Jay,” said Mari, her face tightening into a tell-me-it’s-not-true look. “I’ve been hearing rumours all day, but you said nothing when you came. I decided not to bother you with it.”

  A knock on the door interrupted them.

  “Miriam,” said a man from outside. “We know you’re still in there. Look, you’re not a child for us to be chasing you around this evening. Why don’t you come out and talk like reasonable adults? The least you can do is give us an explanation. That’s the least respect you owe us. So please—tell us, did you or did you not spend the money?”

  “What is he talking about?” Mari clamped her hand on Miriam’s arm. “I thought this was about marriage.”

  “She owes money,” said Jay. “A liar and a thief. Why am I not surprised?”

  “Mari, you don’t happen to have two hundred geldings lying around, do you?” asked Miriam, trying to pass the situation off as a joke. No one in the room found it funny.

  After a long wait, those Miriam had wronged left. The evening was bound to be a long one—to Jay’s dismay. His precious sleep was about to be sacrificed. Mari turned to Miriam and said, “Tell me the truth, or you’ll be sleeping outside tonight.”

  “So, Mari—you know where I live, right?”

  “At the community house, yes.”

  “Gas and water are expensive, so we all contribute every week to cover the cost,” she said. “It was my turn to keep the money this week, but one or two things came up, and now I’m short two hundred.”

  For context, Jay made ten geldings a day. Mari made half that. Their monthly rent was about the same as the money Miriam owed. Helping her wasn’t possible, even if they wanted to. She would have to dig herself out of this hole.

  “Isn’t there any extra work we could do?” said Mari. “Santa Mon’s house could use some cleaning. I’ll talk to him tomorrow—see how much he’ll pay.”

  “Not nearly enough,” said Miriam.

  “But it’s something. If Jay and I contribute, we could make up a fair amount.”

  “If you and who contribute?” said Jay. “I’m not working extra hours, especially not for some irresponsible fool.”

  “Mari, please, let me leave,” said Miriam, trying to rise. Mari put a hand on her shoulder.

  “Stay the night,” said Mari. “I don’t want you harmed.”

  Jay grumbled, pressing his back against the wall. He sat upright, frowning at the sight of Miriam pressed against Mari on the narrow bed.

  “I’m not a thief,” said Miriam. “You can go to sleep, Jay.”

  “Don’t tell me what to do.”

  “Is he always this cautious?” Miriam whispered to Mari.

  “It’s from his time in the war,” said Mari—her usual excuse whenever someone questioned Jay’s sanity. “He just needs time to be well again.”

  He wasn’t staying awake because he suspected Miriam of theft. The woman he’d seen at the river was undoubtedly Salomae. She was up to something. He couldn’t bring himself to lower his guard with a stranger in the house. Salomae might have reason not to kill Mari—doing so would only make it harder for her to find Ezra—but Jay? He was the only threat to Genevie. Anna-Lisa had no attachment to him. Killing Jay wouldn’t ruin the swayer’s plans entirely. He simply didn’t know enough to predict her next move.

  Pain was his new friend come morning. At some point in the night, sleep had taken him unawares—a first. Not even during the long nights of endurance training at Se Fina, waiting for the moment his father would strike, had he ever dozed off.

  Sitting on his mat, staring at his bare palms, he tried to recall the last time he’d tested for his power. What if it had returned? It should have by now. So why didn’t he want to try casting a spell?

  Mari had already left for work, and Miriam was nowhere to be found. Jay stepped outside, seething under the open sunlight, clutching his head. There was no way he’d get any work done today. He didn’t feel right.

  “Senior!”

  A few boys came running toward him, grinning ear to ear. One had their ball tucked under his arm.

  “Do you want to play?” their leader asked. “There’s eleven of us. We needed you to make it seven on each side.”

  “Wouldn’t that make it—” Jay stopped himself. “Never mind. I’m not interested. Find someone else to bother.”

  Their heads drooped, and most of them dispersed. The leader lingered. “We’re going to the yard today. The dump truck’s coming by. Sometimes we find neat stuff in there—all from Henrikia! My brother once found a real console. It doesn’t work, but he knows someone fixing it for us.”

  Jay motioned him closer. “Do I look your age?” he asked. “Do I look like I enjoy digging through trash?”

  “I think you’re cool, sir,” the boy said, swallowing hard. “You look like a soldier.”

  “Well, I’m not. Go bother someone else.”

  As if his morning weren’t bad enough, he now had to face the ugly mugs at the factories and workshops. A peculiar stench lingered in the air today—sharp, metallic, and foul. Almost everyone had their eyes on him as he strode to his workstation. Santa Mon was nowhere in sight, so he assumed it would be a normal day. Pound some astaphite core. Keep quiet. Go home.

  Just as he arrived at the worksite, the men lowered their hammers. He couldn’t count how many of them there were. One by one, they moved in, forming a circle around him.

  Where was Mari? She hadn’t been with the other women at the levithium printing shed. He should have asked about her whereabouts earlier. Too late now.

  More men closed in from behind, armed with crowbars, sledgehammers, and a few plasma guns for good measure. The largest of them—a middle-aged man with a balding head and sweat glistening down his temples—stepped forward and drove his hammer into the dirt.

  “Young man,” he said, “have you apologised to Bishop for yesterday?”

  “I’m not the one who asked him to be lifting boxes in retirement.”

  “He has children that depend on him. The money keeps them warm at night.”

  “How is that my problem?”

  Grunts and mutters rippled through the circle. Jay raised his hands above his head. “I’m confused. If you’re going to be mad at someone, shouldn’t it be the man who pays you all like shit and makes old men work just as hard as the rest of us?”

  “We don’t like your attitude!” someone shouted.

  “Well, it’s the truth you need to hear!”

  “Calm down, calm down—everybody!”

  A woman’s voice. Miriam stepped through the crowd, just as the bald man lifted his hammer to strike.

  “What are you doing here?” the man snapped. “I thought you were hiding.”

  “Mari spoke to Yohan for me,” she said quickly. “They’ve given me time to pay back.”

  “Still—”

  “And you should be thanking Jay for letting me stay at his place last night. He was the only one who listened. Maybe he knows a thing or two about supporting the community. So back off. Leave him alone.”

  She had no authority, but the men hesitated. Their eyes told a different story—resentment boiling just beneath the surface.

  “This is why we don’t like you numbered ones,” someone muttered. “Always thinking you’re better than us.”

  Jay smirked. “I’d rather be Henrikia’s slave than a free Sodenite!”

  One of the men lunged at Jay. Two of his colleagues caught him mid-stride, dragging him back before he could get any closer. They’d been angry with Jay before—but what he’d just said had stirred something deeper. A hatred reserved for true enemies. Exactly the kind of chaos Salomae would want: a pack of furious men primed to kill him. He’d messed up.

  “Hey, are you alright?”

  Miriam was standing right in front of him. She reached as if to touch his hand but hesitated and pulled back.

  “I spoke to Santa Mon, like Mari said I should,” she went on. “He wants me to buy some goods from the market. Do you want to come along?”

  The obvious answer was no. But she had just defended him in front of everyone. Refusing her immediately would make him look ungrateful.

  “She invited you?” Mari asked later that night, peeling off her boots. “That girl is not right in the head. Either that, or she might like you.”

  “You think so?”

  Miriam wasn’t particularly good-looking. She was the kind of girl you might recognise in a crowd but never remember afterward. Average height. Below-average face. No striking features to speak of.

  “She’s not my type,” Jay said. “But I could make it work. It’s been a while since I—”

  “Don’t you dare say it.” Mari’s finger shot up like a dagger.

  “—hit it from behind.” He clapped once. “Excuse my language, Mari.”

  “It’s a shame,” she said, stretching out on the mattress. “A girl likes you and the first thing you think about is how you’re going to use her.”

  “That doesn’t mean much coming from you,” Jay shot back. “Everyone knows what your kind did with our men on the farms. You’re no saint.”

  She went silent. What was her problem now?

  Work had been less gruelling this week, giving Jay time to recover his strength. He followed Miriam along the road out of Shit Town. The path wound through the woods, climbed a steep cliff, and opened onto a wide plain. Their walk down the lonely road became almost peaceful, the setting sun gentle against his face.

  Occasionally, trucks—like the ones Santa Mon’s factory used to haul levithium plates—rumbled past, followed by police vehicles blaring sirens, all headed for the border towns. His suspicions were confirmed when buses began racing the other way, packed full.

  An evacuation exercise.

  The levithium plates, it seemed, would not be enough to contain the full force of Sovisansel.

  Granted, he had not felt the full potency of Sovisansel until the day he washed ashore on Donna Pristo’s beach. His skin had peeled from mere exposure to the wind; he could hardly breathe. In his honest opinion, he had thought things would return to normal within a week.

  Soden had never crossed his mind as a place that could be hit this hard by Schemel’s spell. He wondered if the disaster at Henrikia might have been far worse had the government not acted quickly to raise the walls along the eastern border.

  “Everyone thinks you’re lying about who you say you are,” Miriam said. “But I believe you. I might be crazy, but I think you’re the real Jay Arson.”

  “Why do you think that?”

  “You’re wearing a Gaverian uniform. The badge shows your rank. Your epaulet’s filthy, but I can still tell it used to be blue.” She rubbed the tip of his sleeve between her fingers. “The fabric’s smooth too. And honestly, you’re far too condescending to be earthen. It’s silly, though—why would Jay Arson be here, in the middle of nowhere? What could possibly make you stay this long?”

  “I’m not the real Jay Arson,” he said. “The real one’s dead—on the beach at Donna Pristo. Mari and I found him there. I stole his clothes so I could pretend to be someone I’m not.”

  “So you are from Maplewood.”

  “I only told the old man.”

  “The old man is my father, Jay,” she said quietly. “I had to take him to the hospital yesterday. We were lucky it wasn’t as bad as I feared.”

  “You spent that money from your savings group on him,” Jay said, putting it together. “That’s why those people were chasing you.”

  “Santa Mon wouldn’t lend us a wagon unless we paid upfront. Luckily, the medication he needed wasn’t too expensive.”

  “Why didn’t you just tell your group what you used the money for? I’m sure they would have understood.”

  “Tabitha’s son has had an ear infection for nearly a year. That man who charged at you this morning—Giddy—his wife died from a coughing fit. There are so many people who needed it more than I did. And I spent it on an old man who talks too much.”

  “You’re not as dumb as you look,” Jay said. “Are you educated?”

  She frowned, then realised he was her only company for the next hour. “Yes, I’m educated. I have a business degree in marketing.”

  “When I said educated, I only meant if you knew how to read and write.”

  “I actually interned at Kennco for a while. Ever heard of them?”

  “Never heard of them.”

  “Only the largest producer of public outlets for electric vehicles.”

  “Stop making things up to impress me.”

  “I’m not lying!” She stomped the ground with a grunt. “How clueless can you be? Don’t you know anything about Soden?”

  “Only that your president died in Tardis because he couldn’t help sticking his nose where it didn’t belong.”

  “Things haven’t been good for a while,” she said. “Long before Luis died. He was kind of an idiot, but him dying definitely made things worse.”

  “What’s so wrong with Soden?”

  “We killed policemen in front of you, Jay. Does a functional government allow that to happen?”

  “Is there some civil war going on?”

  “No. But there are pockets of places like Groverton overrun with gangs and mobsters like Santa Mon. They’re hiding their operations under the guise of some rebellion against Henrikia.”

  “You don’t seem like a fan of the Banner.”

  “I had to leave the city because of the clashes between the Banner and the Army. I moved back in with my father, and before we knew it, the Banner had taken over our neighbourhood like it was theirs all along. We got relocated to Groverton about a year ago. We’ve just been trying to survive since—because honestly, we don’t know where else to go.”

  Groverton was nothing compared to this new town. Here, they had paved roads, proper concrete walls, even a working streetlamp. The streets were crowded with buyers, and sellers shouted over each other behind their stalls. Henrikia had marketplaces like this too. Jay had never visited them personally, but he was quietly impressed by the scale of trade.

  “Is it always this busy?” he yelled into Miriam’s ear.

  “Not really. Look around—lots of travellers and foreigners in town.”

  Inns and taverns flashed neon signs from their window sills. The rate for a night’s stay was written on a chalkboard beside one of them: Ninety geldings per night. Moments later, the manager came out, scrubbed the board clean, and added another fifty.

  Still, families were shoving their way through the entrance, luggage piling on the stairs. A slim young man watching from the corner slipped behind the bags, quietly lifting them off into the shadows.

  He had to endure a screaming match between Miriam and the sellers every time she bought something. It was always the same routine: they named a price, and she nagged the poor soul half to death until she’d forced it down by half. Jay trailed behind her carrying the basket, ignoring the hisses that called his name, urging him to try on a ring charm or sample a love potion.

  They stopped at a rest spot beside a boutique where customers rummaged through piles of t-shirts and shorts, measuring them by wrapping them around their necks.

  “Here,” Miriam said, pressing a ten-gelding note into his palm. “This is to say thank you. Buy yourself a nice shirt. You shouldn’t be wearing a dead man’s clothes.”

  She was right, and he knew it. But should he take it off? Could he?

  Jay unbuttoned the shirt slowly, peeling it off one sleeve at a time, and handed it to Miriam.

  “Merchant,” he said, “I’d like a shirt for four geldings.”

  Every head turned toward the tall, shirtless man with the scarred face. Some snorted, others shuffled back; a few raised their phones to record him. The seller hurried to find something—anything—that might end the spectacle. He came back with a white shirt printed STAR BOY in bold black letters. Jay pulled it on right there in the street, and bellowed a thank-you before walking away.

  “That was good,” Miriam said as they headed back, “but next time, tell him you want two for four.”

  Next time. Was this going to become a regular thing? Anyway, he already knew what he’d buy with the rest of the money.

  They reached Groverton late at night. From the ridge above town, Jay could see the chaos below: children shrieking with joy as a dumpster truck backed into a yard. The workers shouted at them to move, but they didn’t care. As the truck unloaded, the kids dove headfirst into the heaps, hunting for scraps and collectibles. That was the game they’d invited him to join that morning. He hadn’t thought much of it then—but now he wondered what Henrikian waste was doing all the way out here. There was a lot about the two nations he still didn’t understand.

  Mari was waiting outside their shed when he returned, arms folded against the chill. She looked pale and drawn. He set the gallon on the ground and pulled her close.

  He didn’t need to ask what was wrong.

  Inside, the mattresses were split open, foam spilling everywhere.

  “Did they take anything?” he asked.

  “I kept our rent money inside,” she said quietly. “When I came back, the notes were scattered on the floor. None’s missing.”

  Jay wished it had been a common thief who’d broken in.