Wretch slammed the Blinking Blade into the stem of a tree and spun around, the flesh of his face squirming like a thousand worms trying to burst through. A voice spoke to him from the mist. The first voice he had ever heard.

  “Used to trip and fall, tumble and plead… you still do.”

  Wretch’s eyes darted between the trees.

  “You," he growled. "I suffered so much. How can you say that I'm the same?”

  “Wretch,” the woman answered in a tone of soothing amusement. “Despite your poison, your ability to ruin everything you touch.”

  “I alone have ever loved you. My omen of misfortune.”

  Wretch gripped his skull with sharp claws, covering his face. His body, changed and turned, still remembered each beating.

  “You are not her, you sound like her, but you’re not,” he said.

  “They don’t care for you. They’ll disappear. But I won’t, so come closer, let me see you.”

  Between the slits of Wretch’s claws, his eyes suddenly relaxed. He stood there frozen for a moment. Then a dry laugh escaped his throat. His hands fell to his sides.

  “No, she would never say that. She would never want to see me.”

  The forest was quiet.

  “My father, do his voice. Tell me his name?” Wretch demanded into the swaying mist.

  Akim, the criminal he’d once called boss, answered.

  “Come show me what you’ve stolen, kid. I have big plans for you and me.”

  Wretch frowned, unimpressed.

  “That’s not him, try again!”

  The mist didn’t dare.

  Wretch spat on the ground and turned, ripping the Blinking Blade free. Purple sap leaked from the pale bark. The grass was dented along the path he'd walked, and he stomped along his faint footprints. In the distance, he saw the pale lights of the lanterns among the trees. They were farther away than he remembered walking.

  He stepped into the light.

  The silhouette of the armored train shone through the mist. Beside it, Elenya’s tall figure leaned on her halberd. He trudged towards her.

  “You got a kidney stone or wha—” she began, but stopped as she caught a glance of him.

  “Saint, Ratty. You’re as pale as a ghost. And where’s your mask?”

  “Gather the workers, the hunters too. We need to talk.”

  Elenya studied his face for a moment, then nodded, barking orders. It didn’t take long for the giant to convince them, standing a head above the rest. Soon, everyone was crammed into the cabin. The heavy door screeched shut, separating them from the mist.

  All eyes in the cart trained on him as he stood with his hands in his pockets.

  “Nerves got to ya?” Gulner, the marksman from the other hunter crew, asked.

  Edmund locked eyes with him, and the man sat down, inspecting the floor.

  “You have something to say, son?” Edmund asked.

  Wretch nodded, his gaze drifting over the crew. “Try to think back. Has anyone heard whispers? Or the voice of someone, only to find they said nothing?”

  The group looked at each other.

  “Ay,” one worker admitted with a shake of his head. “Heard my baby cry. She is only two months old. But… she ain’t here.”

  “Stress,” another muttered. “It’s just stress.”

  “No,” Wretch said. “I heard my captain call me. It knew things it shouldn’t.”

  “It wanted me to walk into the mist.”

  It was silent in the cart. The metal walls pressed in.

  “Wait,” a man in blue overalls said, scanning the bunks. “Where’s Victor?”

  Heads turned.

  The bunk beside him was empty.

  “Was there anyone else outside?” Edmund asked in a grave tone.

  “None,” Elenya said with her arms crossed. “The perimeter’s clear.”

  “We have to search for him,” said a worker.

  Dalynja, leaning against the wall with the dog at her feet, responded with a flat tone.

  “Victor’s gone.”

  A few minutes later, the only noise was whispers between Edmund and Dalynja. They were the two captains, and they alone decided their next move. Finally, they nodded and turned toward the waiting group.

  “Starting tomorrow, we will work double time,” Edmund said. “All the hunters will patrol the perimeter for the entire day. Reversing the train back to Stonemourn will take days. Our best option is to fix the tracks and continue to Sternthal as planned.”

  The crew murmured.

  “Hunters,” Dalynja said. “Front of the train.”

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  Wretch raised an eyebrow as he stood up, straightening his coat. As he passed through the crowd, he heard claws skittering by his boots, but the floor was empty. He muttered under his breath, watching the workers with his black eyes.

  The group of seven hunters and the massive dog gathered by the glowing coals of the steam engine. The gaps in the grating cast columns of orange light upon them.

  Dalynja’s frontliner was pale, staring into the metal plating.

  “What’s up, Cap?” Elenya said.

  “Dalynja found something,” Edmund said, and Wretch could hear him gritting his teeth.

  “The corpse?” Astrid asked, standing closer to Elenya than she needed.

  Dalynja nodded. “Hidden in the cloak.” She drew forth a handful of letters, some open while others were closed. All of them, stained and warped from moisture.

  “Letters?” Wretch asked as he caught the dog staring at him.

  “No, most likely orders,” Astrid corrected, and Dalynja nodded again.

  “Encrypted. Mostly gibberish.”

  “We’ll send them to the Bureau when we reach Sternthal,” Edmund said.

  “If we get there,” the frontliner of Dalynja’s crew said with a gulp.

  Both Edmund and Wretch looked at him, one with compassion, the other with conviction.

  “When,” they responded in unison.

  The tall man furrowed his brow, and the dog began to growl. Dalynja held up her hand and the creature quieted.

  “There is one more thing,” she said. “I opened all the letters except one.”

  “How come?” Wretch said, a faint skittering from the walls brushing against his ears.

  “It's addressed to you.”

  The group stood quiet in the light of the dying furnace. Dalynja turned the envelope over. A yellowed letter with frayed edges. Black ink in elegant handwriting.

  Wretch the Rat-Eater.

  The defender of Dalynja’s team went pale.

  “Traitor,” he whispered under his breath.

  His armored hand lashed out, but Wretch had already slipped back, his face twisting into a monstrous visage. He was about to lunge at the man but a tall figure passed beside him. Elenya seized the wrist of the man with one hand, the other clamped over his throat, slamming him into the wall.

  The two frontliners strained against each other, equal in strength. Gulner raised his crossbow and Dalynja’s dog bared its teeth while Wretch flicked the Blinking Blade into his grasp. Edmund grabbed his shoulder, holding him still.

  “Enough,” Dalynja barked.

  “Elenya,” Edmund warned. “Don't be foolish!” Astrid tried to pull her back, but the tall girl did not move an inch.

  “Lay a hand on my crew and you'll lose it, big guy.” Elenya said to the man in a tone dripping with poison.

  “They tortured him, Jakob you dimwit," Dalynja said. "The Bureau undoubtedly looked into him."

  She made a gesture at her feet and snapped her fingers, pulling the dog out of its ferocious state. Jakob gave a look of realization and pulled back. Elenya only grunted a curse before letting go and turning away with a snarl.

  “What could it be, then?” Gulner said, lowering his crossbow.

  “And why is it out here, of all places?” Astrid asked.

  “Now is not the time,” Edmund said, Giving Wretch a glance. “We’ll send it to the Bureau when we get to Sternthal.”

  Dalynja nodded.

  “Agreed. The mist is playing tricks on us. First let’s make sure we return alive.”

  A shiver went down Wretch's spine and he produced a hiss.

  The hunters turned to the rest of the cabin. The scuffle had not gone unnoticed and the workers and soldiers watched them, a plea in their eyes.

  Dalynja raised her voice.

  “If anyone opens the doors tonight without specific orders from me or Captain Edmund, I will consider it treason. Sleep if you can. We begin at dawn.”

  A worker perched on his bunk bed stared into the metal wall. A look of elation washed over the middle-aged man.

  “It is Victor!” he said, turning his head to the others. “He is back.”

  The room was quiet.

  The rest returned him a grave look, and the man went pale, looking back into the wall.

  “He sounds so real. He is begging me to open the door.”

  The hunters walked back to their bunks and Dalynja slipped Wretch the letter, giving him a nod before walking off. Edmund put a hand on Wretch’s and Elenya’s shoulders, pulling the Richters close.

  “Let's get some rest. We will be out of here tomorrow, one way or another. Then we’ll deal with the letters and the rest of this mess.”

  Elenya cast one last look at Dalynja’s crew before crawling up to her bunk and Astrid touched Wretch gently on the shoulder.

  There were no windows on the armored train and with that, no sense of time. They barred the door. The soldiers that manned the steam cannons had long ago abandoned their positions because of the choking fog.

  Formerly fifty, now forty-nine souls crammed into the iron walls.

  Like canned food, Wretch thought as he lay down on his thin bed. Flexing his claws, they needed something to tear into.

  From his pocket he pulled the damp and wrinkled letter. There was no address written on the coarse yellow paper, only his former name, written in practiced handwriting.

  “Why the hell are you here?” he mumbled, claws rasping against the envelope. “In the middle of nowhere. In the coat of a Gulschak.”

  He had a guess who it was from.

  He watched the group. Now and then, one of them would perch up and look around. One man lay shaking in his bunk, hands clasped over his ears, whispering between sobs.

  “He is still begging me!” he said through teary eyes.

  Wretch lay down on his bed, eyes shut as a familiar voice reverberated through the steel wall. An image of a bloody saw flashed before his eyes.

  “Are you getting comfortable, my little rat eater? Here I was awaiting a heartfelt reunion between an artist and his work. I sent you a letter. Show me the courtesy of reading it.”

  Wretch threw a murderous glance at the thick metal wall and ripped the letter open.

  Wretch my dear.

  I hope this letter finds you well. I have been fine, thank you for asking. Big plans and the like. I am certain that for me you hold only the deepest, most seething hate, lacking even the tiniest speck of nuance. Nor am I trying to incur one in you.

  It’s powerful, that seething hate.

  You may have heard that I became a Blessed from improving some of the Spire’s pets. But my journey began with something much simpler. A caterpillar fell into my glass. I was the perpetrator no more than my cluttered desk. Trapped by its own mistake.

  I prodded it with a needle, hard enough to make it squirm but not enough to kill, then I let it rest, fed it leaves from the garden. Then, the next morning, I prodded it again.

  It hated me enough to grow a cocoon and even more when my needle pierced that meager shell. It hatched, damaged and weak.

  I believe it dreamed of flying, to escape that glass cup that showed the outside world just out of reach, but alas, its wings didn’t bear and the needle didn’t pause. I admit that this little pastime was a mere afterthought, a childish game, but only at first.

  Because it endured. Day after day, through needle and pain. One day, it looked at me as the needle approached. It was so weak by then that it hardly moved.

  Then, fire filled my cup.

  It grew its wings from flame and light, weaving its Blessing from seething hatred and agonizing suffering. And then it flew away, shattering any expectation I had of what it was. That's how I found it.

  My role in what is to come. My purpose. A guide to reach the Flames’ blessings.

  Horrors and men.

  I began looking. What is this world? Why are our efforts to grow and suffer so stifled by authority? People like you, like Grendel, you are the true heirs to the Flame. Let none deny that. Not me. Not the Saint.

  Sharpen your claws, my beloved caterpillar. Turn that seething hate on anyone you see fit. That is my only wish.

  Your eternal mentor, Professor Marthen Waldenwich

  “Lunatic,” Wretch whispered.

  A recognizable voice answered him through the metal wall.

  “I admit I didn’t see it at first. But I can turn you into a beast they’d fear and revere. That’s what you want, isn’t it?”

  Wretch’s jaws ached from gritting his teeth. He took a deep breath and forced himself to relax.

  He isn’t here, he is not real, but if he was, I’d kill him.

  To his relief, the professor’s voice didn’t return.

  Until another voice echoed through the cold metal and his heart dropped.

  “Hey, friend!”

  The voice was warm and filled with hope. Jonah.

  A tightness nestled in his chest and he pressed the tips of his claws into his palms. “Hey,” he whispered back before he could stop himself.

  “I heard you meet my brothers,” Jonah said with a laugh. “Rowdy bunch, hope they didn’t cause you too much trouble!”

  Wretch grunted, burying his head in the pillow.

  “It would be nice if you could open that door, but more than that, I wanted you to know.”

  “Thank you…”

  “For everything.”

  Wretch thrust a claw deep into each ear, bursting both eardrums with a pop.