Anji sat beside her, her ankle and knuckles flaring like burning coals. The docks bustled with a heart-wrenchingly familiar routine. Sailors and dockworkers calling out to each other in their jargon, the creak of old, sea-tested wood, waves slurping against hulls and barnacle-crusted pilings; even the briny reek of fresh fish brought memories from her childhood. An iron crane squealed on its bearings as it swung roped crates over the heads of a crew unloading a double-masted ship. The sodden workers had formed a line from deck to dock, hauling barrels and canvas-wrapped bundles onto a wide cart. One of the ship’s crew stopped to stare at them, but he was cuffed on the ear by another worker and averted his gaze.

As though it were a cue, Kit ripped her mask off. A pair of bearded sailors rolling a hand cart shot Kit a narrow-eyed glance as they passed, but they continued on without a word.

“What are you doing?” Anji said. “They’ll see your—”

But Anji stopped, her breath caught in her chest. The graying skin and tufts of rough fur that had begun creeping up Kit’s neck that morning had grown over her jawline now. Her lips pushed outward, like she’d lined her mouth with wool. Her eyes blazed where their whites had been, and the green of her irises was saturated with red. Anji had noticed the Hawk’s already thin hair growing patchy, but with the mask removed it was clear how much she’d really lost. She’d be bald before long.

“Kit…”

Staring at the mask in her shaking hands, Kit said, “Peace. I want a minute of free air.”

Anji sat back on the bench, trying not to stare at Kit’s disfigured face. A bell clanged from a distant mast, and Kit shifted away.

“If the One’s hell existed,” she said, more to herself than to Anji, “there’s a special place there for whoever made Rail.”

“I don’t understand why anyone would sell it in the first place,” said Anji.

Kit coughed and cleared her throat, throwing Anji a haughty glance. “Same reason anyone does anything terrible—money.”

Anji picked at a fingernail, studying the Hawk’s mask in Kit’s lap. She’d never been much for conversation, for reading how people felt—but something told her Kit felt that same urge Anji had felt in the lighthouse. That yearning to bare yourself as the short time you had left ticked past.

She inched forward.

“Jared mentioned you were involved with a Spur…,” Anji said, “with him … when you were younger.” If Kit was annoyed at Jared’s admission, she didn’t show it. She only stared out toward the churning waves, the sky lightening to gold.

“It’s a long story,” she said, her voice soft. “Long and sad.”