"What happened in Redreach after Oscar and I ran out of the tavern?" Silas wrote, handing his notepad to Vera.

  She sat beside him, rocking back and forth with the SCU's gentle movement. This conversation served more than one purpose. Silas did want to know how Vera and the others escaped the bounty hunters, but he also needed to stave off sleep. If he didn't distract himself, his eyelids would grow heavier and heavier until he succumbed to slumber. He needed to convince the others that he was healthy, but he also feared what nightmares his mind would conjure. A stranger's blood clung to the underside of his nails like grime. Worse were the stains he felt inside—blemishes no amount of scrubbing would ever touch. Again, he'd taken a life—crossed a line he could never uncross.

  Vera sighed, easing back into her seat. Across the aisle, Oscar lifted his head, also eager to hear her response.

  "Elsbeth, my dear, come here!" Vera called.

  Ravelin sat at the back of the compartment. Reluctantly, she peeled her uninjured cheek off the window and trudged over.

  Vera smiled warmly. Ravelin looked at her, eyebrows raised.

  "I need you here to make sure I tell the tale properly," Vera said.

  "Mhm," Ravelin mumbled and turned to press her cheek to the closest window.

  Vera focused on Silas, her eyes sparkling. Excited to hear her story, Silas sat at the edge of his seat, leaning forward. Vera cleared her throat dramatically and began her oration, speaking as though Silas were the only listener.

  "After you and Oscar left the tavern, Elsbeth and I were locked in a fierce standoff with the four remaining bounty hunters. It was a shootout—flarepistol and crossbow versus two phlogiston rifles. The blade-slingers loitered behind their firearm-toting friends. At that rate, the battle would have become one of attrition. Whose ammunition would run out first? Elsbeth and I wanted to end things quickly and reconvene with you and Oscar."

  Vera glanced at Oscar over Silas's shoulder. "We worried for your safety, you see. It was Oscar and his cudgel against two seasoned bounty hunters."

  Oscar grunted but said nothing in his own defense. Silas stared at his blood-stained hands. Vera's gaze dropped there too, but she progressed with her story without comment.

  "Elsbeth whispered her idea into my ear, and I was inclined to attempt it. Would you like to be the one to recount your plan to the audience?" Vera addressed Ravelin, who shook her head and gestured for Vera to continue.

  "Elsbeth suggested we feign weakness. If we made a big show of running out of ammunition, the bounty hunters would let their guard down. They fell for our trap. When they advanced to finish us off, we fired and ended them. The ones holding rifles, that is. The blade-slingers were more tricky."

  Silas tilted his head. Wouldn't it be easier to defeat melee weapons with firearms? he thought.

  Vera saw the look on his face. In response, she explained, "Elsbeth and I are weaker in close-range combat. Knowing this, we fled outside to take cover. In hindsight, we should have stayed with Machinist Quirin—but I'll speak of that later.

  "We crouched behind buildings, taking aim at our pursuers searching the streets. We would have been fine if the townspeople hadn't sold us out." Vera clicked her tongue. "Those scoundrels probably hoped for a share of the bounty. The scuffle that resulted was ugly—I'm glad you didn't see it, Silas." The memory seemed to draw her mind back to her smarting shoulder, which she rotated stiffly.

  "The fight turned against us," Vera said with a grimace. "We were losing. Elsbeth nearly had her eye gouged out. Machinist Quirin's distraction allowed her to escape—with a gash on her cheek, but at least her vision is unscathed."

  Ravelin shivered, touching her bandage.

  "Distraction?" Oscar asked. "You're telling me he”—his eyes flicked to the door Quirin was hiding behind— "was the one to defeat the last two bounty hunters?"

  "He helped us defeat the last two bounty hunters." Vera flashed her usual lopsided grin. "I was locked in a chokehold with a dagger stabbing toward my heart when the machinist stormed out of the tavern. Above his head he brandished a jumbled mass of wires and strips of metal. He claimed it was an incendiary that would detonate when thrown. He said that if the bounty hunters didn't let me and Elsbeth go, he'd blow the whole street to smithereens."

  "They believed that?" Silas signed. Such a bluff sounded far too banal to be convincing.

  Vera chuckled. "The machinist's behavior sold the bluff. He looked like a madman—all fidgety hands and crazed eyes. When the blade-slingers released us, we shot them, ending the fiasco."

  Vera's eyes drifted down to Silas's hands. "Now I'd like to hear how you two dealt with your adversaries."

  Silas wrung his hands, trying to cover up the red splotches. He was thinking of a euphemism for, "I killed somebody" when Oscar chimed in.

  "The pipsqueak stabbed one of them," he said, staring at Silas's pocket. "I… took care of the other one myself." Oscar's face turned slightly green.

  Silas worried he was going to vomit again, but the bout of nausea passed after Oscar swallowed hard.

  Vera fluttered her eyelashes. "The mouse has sharp claws, does he?"

  Reluctantly, Silas slid the kitchen knife from his pocket and unwrapped it. The pillowcase and blade were stained with the bounty hunter's humors.

  "Hmmm. Is that a bread knife, by chance?" Vera held out her hand. Silas relinquished the blade. "Did you snatch this from the kitchen?"

  Silas nodded, still wringing his hands.

  "Why didn't you attack with your mind?" Ravelin asked, frowning at the bloodied knife. "Your abilities have grown stronger. You could have easily taken down two bounty hunters without lifting a finger."

  Vera and Oscar looked at each other, then at Silas. It seemed they weren't aware of everything Silas went through at the Garrison Mordant.

  "Doing that gives me a headache," Silas wrote, then held up his notepad for the others to read. This wasn't a lie—he didn't feel too guilty writing it. "I'm withholding that for what we face at the Verdancy Array."

  "I see." Vera returned the knife to Silas's lap. "In that case, perhaps we should teach you how to use a proper blade. I'd suggest returning the bread knife to Elias, but I doubt he'd want to cook with a tool that's cut through somebody's flesh."

  Silas made a face. I also don't want to eat food prepared with such an implement.

  The conversation fizzled out. Ravelin returned to her spot in the back. Oscar spread his knees wide and slouched in his seat. Silas didn't want to stop talking yet. He wracked his brain, searching for a conversation starter. When he found it, he jolted in his seat. Vera snorted a laugh.

  "Tell me about how you and Pa escaped the Sanctorium," Silas wrote.

  Vera observed him over the top of the notepad she was holding. "You're being uncharacteristically chatty today. Did you miss me that badly while you were away?"

  Silas's face flushed. In truth, he had missed Vera. A lot.

  "It's not a very exciting story," she said dismissively. "The Garrison Mordant was full of military personnel. Getting you out required a bit of… creativity. But the Sanctorium only houses physicks and orderlies. Escape was simple. All that was needed was a key for my manacles, and a way to transport Elias, who can't walk. It was a quiet, stealthy endeavor. There's nothing else worth telling."

  Finally out of things to talk about, the compartment lapsed into silence. Silas was fighting a losing battle against exhaustion. He took his nighttime dose of Powder and went to sleep.

  He slept for the remainder of the journey, only waking when Vera gently nudged him to take another dose of Powder. During one of these instances, she watched him drink the cloudy white concoction with concern.

  "Does that remedy cause drowsiness by any chance?" she asked.

  Silas didn't think before he responded. He shook his head and relaxed in his seat, already drifting off. Then his eyes snapped open. Vera was still watching him.

  "Why do you ask?" Silas signed, knowing the answer before she responded.

  "You've been doing quite a bit of sleeping lately, that's why. If that pharmaceutical isn't to blame for your somnolence, then what is?"

  If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

  Silas's fingers twitched, struggling to formulate an excuse. With his notepad, he wrote, "Like I said earlier, I'm conserving my energy for the Verdancy Array."

  Vera's smile didn't reach her eyes, but she nodded and turned away. Silas tried staying awake after that, aware of Vera's sidelong scrutiny.

  He failed, snoozing until the SCU screeched to a halt.

  "No disguises this time," Quirin said from the front of the compartment. "This is a mission of stealth. The goal is to remain unseen. Guards are probably monitoring the Arboretum. We will sneak past them and enter the facility without notice. However…"

  Quirin walked down the aisle of seats and knelt to sift through a box. "Masks are mandatory," he said, affixing one to his face. "After the virus situation in the Western Quadrant, I predict the Unspoken may try something similar again. I'm taking no chances. The fungi they released at the other two Verdancy Array locations are nonpathogenic to humans, but it's not worth the risk."

  "Do I need to wear one?" Silas wrote. "The virus doesn't affect me."

  Quirin huffed. "Yes, child. You're wearing a mask. Your immunity to the virus might have been a fluke of luck. Your survival—your wellbeing—reflects the salubrity of the human race. We cannot afford to lose you."

  Silas curled his fingers around his stylus. If only he knew.

  "The facility will be locked to outsiders," Quirin went on. "But I designed the security system; cracking it open will be of no significance. The apparatus works similarly to the one employed at the Underhalo, but it only demands a code, not blood. I taught the Empire how to change this code. I anticipate it's been altered in the twenty-odd syzygies since, but again I can bypass this with ease.

  "It's currently night. Darkness will be our shield. But I must warn you: night in the South is fatally cold. Layer up as much as is feasible."

  Silas no longer regretted packing every piece of clothing he owned. As Quirin spoke, he got ready—slipping a mask over his face and tugging on his new gloves. He mourned the loss of the hat he wore with his disguise. The bounty hunter he stabbed fell onto it when he collapsed.

  When everyone was ready, they exited the SCU, traipsed down the tunnel, and climbed to the surface.

  The Arboretum dominated the horizon. A colossal glass dome loomed in the distance. Its transparent roof arched into the sky, the partially eclipsed twin moons visible through the glass. They were far away from the structure, but its presence was impossible to ignore. The sight took Silas's breath away. He wasn't the only one frozen in reverence.

  "Wow," Ravelin said, her breath solidifying into a crystal cloud and flitting lazily to the ground.

  Oscar whistled. Quirin shushed him with a gloved finger pressed to his lips.

  They stalked toward the gargantuan structure, gliding from shadow to shadow. The terrain was rocky. Large boulders and stone formations protruded from the frozen sand, each one casting slender shadows in the moonlight. The closer they traveled to the Arboretum, the larger it grew. Silas tipped his head back, staring upward with his mouth hanging open behind his mask. Tall, dark shapes towered upward, pointing toward the dome's cap. He knew trees were tall, but he didn't think they were that tall. Some of them had to be well over a hundred feet!

  They stopped behind a low but wide rock. Vera squinted into the darkness, sneaking a peek around the wall. "I don't see any Guards," she whispered. "But I can't tell if any are hiding within the Arboretum itself—it's too dark."

  "There's nothing for it, I suppose," Quirin said and left the cover of the rock.

  When Silas was close enough to touch the Arboretum, he pressed his palm to the glass. Its warmth seeped through his glove, carrying hot blood to his fingertips. He sighed and opened his arms, splaying against the glass. It was rather comfortable.

  There came the tinkling sound of metal on metal. Silas reluctantly left the warmth of the glass to investigate. Quirin was poking at a metal box with an object that looked like a miniature crowbar. After some leveraging and pulling, the lid of the box popped open to reveal one of those shiny black mirrors.

  Ancient technology again. Silas leaned in for a closer look. Has Quirin been tinkering with the technology of the ancients for all these syzygies?

  "What happens if somebody tries to break in?" Ravelin whispered.

  "The facility will explode," Quirin answered simply.

  Ravelin paled.

  "You like to blow things up, don't you?" Vera quipped.

  Quirin pretended not to hear the question.

  Quirin fiddled with the box for some time, tapping buttons in rapid sequence. At first, the black mirror didn't respond to his intervention. But when it flashed green, Quirin smiled and said, "We're in."

  He pressed a button, and Silas was accosted by a burst of balmy, moist air. A ghostly door materialized from the glass. It had always been there, but it was so seamlessly melded with the surrounding glass Silas hadn't noticed it until it opened. The door creaked outward on its own, then waved in the breeze. Silas was drawn to the warmth. Vera stopped him from walking inside with a hand on his shoulder.

  Quirin covered the box with its lid and moved to barricade the door with his body. To Silas, he said, "Child, it's your turn now. We need you to listen. Alert us to anything—any unusual sound or Voice you hear, however quiet."

  Silas nodded vigorously. He was surprised he'd heard nothing yet. He paused mid-nod. He hadn't heard any Voices at all this entire journey. That was odd. Could he not hear the Unspoken with his aether in its damaged state?

  Vera squeezed Silas's trembling shoulder. "Are you alright?" She sounded alarmed.

  Silas shook off her touch and marched ahead, Quirin stepping aside to permit him entry. He needed to get away from Vera, from the others. If they saw his face, his guilty countenance would betray him.

  Silas stepped into another world.

  The ground beneath his feet was soft and spongy. Each bootstep bounced back. It was like walking on springs.

  The air smelled alive. The aroma was damp and unfamiliar, but vibrant. Silas breathed deep, filling his lungs with the warm, heavy air. It clung to him like a blanket, his skin dripping with sweat. He wanted to remove his layers, already overheating under all that cloth. Silas had never experienced such warmth. It reminded him of a fever—hot and clammy. Yet it wasn't unpleasant. Silas felt like he was being smothered in a warm hug. He wished he could stay in this embrace forevermore.

  "What is making all that racket?" Vera hissed. Her flarepistol was raised, aimed at the darkness.

  Silas hadn't noticed the sound until now, the warmth demanding his full attention. When he shifted his awareness to his ears, he heard it.

  A chorus of alien voices sang from the canopy above. Animals Silas couldn't name flew overhead, swung between the trees, and scurried around in the underbrush. They chirruped, squeaked, and chattered endlessly, the pitter-patter of their paws marking the meter of their ballad.

  "The Verdancy Array doesn't only house flora and fauna," Quirin said from behind. "There are entire ecosystems here. I believe we are in the deciduous biome. The Arboretum also has a tropical biome and taiga biome."

  Silas didn't understand fully, but he got the gist. Hearing this only made him more resolved. The Unspoken weren't only destroying crops and plants, they were harming animals too. That wasn't right. They had to be stopped. Would be stopped. Here and now. Silas clenched his hands into determined fists.

  In the Arboretum, darkness was less a shield than it was a hazard. Silas's bootlaces snagged in roots and vines hidden by tenebrous sod. Several times he sprawled to the ground, only for his hair to become tangled in branches. Vera muttered curses, threatening to blast away the offensive greenery with her flarepistol. Quirin urged her to remain silent lest her obscenities reveal their position to Guards.

  After some more hobbling, Quirin commanded everyone to stop. He spun in a slow circle, appraising the scenery, staring upward at the dome ceiling. When he was done making himself dizzy, he removed his rucksack and sank to the ground.

  "Let's set up camp here," he said, struggling to pitch a tent. "There's no use bumbling around blind like this. The Guards might not show themselves until dawn. The previous attacks happened in the morn; the Unspoken will probably follow the same pattern here."

  Tents were set and sleeping bags unfurled. Quirin ordered watch shifts, but Silas was told to stay awake throughout the night to listen out for Unspoken whispers. He was glad he slept when he could. Vera offered to take the first watch. Silas was happy to have her company.

  He propped himself up against a tree, sipping a dose of Powder. The rough bark caught in the material of his shirt, scratching his back. When camp was decided, everyone stripped out of their additional layers, sighing in relief and drenched in sweat. Silas felt naked without his coat.

  Is this what summer used to feel like? Silas wondered. The first time Silas spoke with Quirin, the machinist claimed his childhood summers were warm enough to forgo coats. Silas slid his fingers through the damp grass, plucking several blades to examine. He suspected Quirin had exaggerated about the warmth of his remembered summers. Such temperatures could only be produced artificially, such as in this giant dome of glass.

  Silas nodded off against the tree, jolting awake several times when an animal scuttled by or dropped something on his head from the canopy. Silas tried very hard to stay awake, occasionally standing to stomp his feet and pace in circles. Even if his aether was in perfect condition, it would have been difficult. The warmth was irresistibly comfortable and the sounds of nature played like a lullaby.

  When dawn's first rays shone like incandescence along the skyline, the lullaby faded into a dirge. Animals of the night returned to their nests and burrows. Diurnal roamers emerged to begin their day early. Below the voices of the newcomers was a low buzzing. It snapped and popped like static between Silas's ears. It woke him from a doze. He shook his head to dispel the annoying buzz. That's when he heard the first Voice.

  It was a murmur, so soft he could discern no words. Ravelin sat across from Silas, her crossbow resting in her lap, her eyes gently closed.

  Cautiously—to avoid startling her—Silas crept to her side, slipping his notepad from his pocket. At his shake, she woke, blinking against Dysol's rising intensity.

  "Do you hear that?" Silas wrote, twirling his stylus through the air for emphasis. "That buzzing whisper?"

  Ravelin shook her head, eyes wide. She scrambled to her feet to wake the others.

  Silas stood and closed his eyes, pressing his forehead to a tree. There were multiple Voices now, but they were still indiscernible. Was it because they were too far away? Silas focused, honing in on their location. He debated whether or not he should attempt to communicate with the Voices. If he did and they attacked his mind, he would be defeated easily and wouldn't be able to facilitate a negotiation. He chose to remain silent until he knew what the Voices were saying. Or where they were coming from.

  "You hear them?" Quirin said.

  Silas opened his eyes and turned. Everyone was awake, watching Silas with trepidation. He nodded.

  "What are they saying?" Vera asked, flarepistol held loosely by her side.

  Silas hesitated before signing, "I don't know."

  Vera frowned. "You can't understand them?"

  Frustrated, Silas explained the rest with his notepad. "I hear them, but they're quiet; I can't make out what they're saying. If they get closer, I—"

  Silas froze, his notepad slipping through his slack fingers. The grass cushioned its fall. Silas clutched his head in disbelief. He could hear it now—what they were saying. The Voices became louder and clearer, slowly approaching from somewhere underground.

  Silas retrieved his notepad. Sloppily, he wrote, "They're here. This time, it will not be blight. They aim to set off the security system and blow up the Arboretum."