The orb was a lamp in the storm, illuminating my path until I found him shuddering on the ground. I grabbed Zane’s arms and dragged him with me as cracking echoed down the tunnel.

Zane tried to help; he clambered to his feet and stumbled along, running into me. I could hear his raspy breaths. I grabbed his arm and pulled it over my shoulders to guide him, shuffling step by step. His other arm wound around my waist until his toe hit his Patrol staff. He fumbled to scoop it up.

Boulders caved in around us; flames erupted out of nowhere. I jogged for the light at the tunnel’s end, putting every ounce of gusto I possessed into pulling Zane with me.

We shot out the tunnel’s mouth and fell into the snow as the cliff crumbled, loose rocks tumbling in every direction. I scrambled back, yanking Zane’s jacket so he’d follow. He fumbled behind me as we put distance between ourselves and the exploding mountain.

When we stopped, panting, I turned to see the cliffside of Wentchester Cove spill in, crushing the remnants of the key room to dust and exploding into a mass of flames. I glanced over at Zane and found him…not watching it.

He stared straight ahead, blinking, crawling back on wobbly limbs. His gloved hand came against his face, feeling his cheeks, his eyelids. Still staring off at nothing.

“Zane,” I whispered as the last of the roaring cliff began to hush. “Are you…”

His head tilted in my direction, and I swallowed at the absence of electricity in his eyes. Just pale irises remained, and moisture in the corners. “Trite…” he said. His hand came out in my direction, not finding me.

My stomach tightened, and I crawled over.

Zane wasn’t quite looking at my face, but I felt his spirit reaching out. The tune that normally sailed from his heart was quiet, like a music box that had been stomped upon. My Patrolman felt around for my wrist. He slid his hand up my arm when he found it, and he clutched my bicep.

“I can’t see,” he rasped.

Zane would have heard the grinding of rocks, and he would have felt the flying pebbles. But he didn’t see the last breath of the cliff. Only I had witnessed the death of Wentchester Cove.

I didn’t know the way back to the factory. It was going to take days to get back to the others on foot with me whispering landmarks in Zane’s ear.

My Patrolman gripped me with one hand, and his Patrol staff with the other, holding it ahead to bump against uneven spots on the path. With verbal directions alone, he steered us toward the nearest village in between raspy coughs.