Her pack lies in the gutter. It’s made of camouflage denim with leather detailing. One strap is detached. It trails into the street and ends—or rather, is melted away—where it touches a huge burn scar in the pavement.

Tanq dashes forward before I can warn her. She grabs her pack by the half-melted strap, then yelps, dropping it and jumping back.

She stares at the pavement, cradling her hand. The ground scar is about the diameter of a trash can lid, black as char, and sunken an inch into the pavement. Its edges glimmer with heat. “What was that thing?” she says, and her voice has an edge of panic. “The street . . . it’s . . . melted.”

“Laser blast,” Trey says, stepping forward. He gingerly lifts her backpack, using the strap that didn’t get caught in the blast. “Did you see how bright it got? It turned parts of the street into glass. Or obsidian. Like a volcano would.”

“I saw,” I tell him. “It was like looking at the sun.”

Trey hands the backpack to Tanq. “Don’t let the hot part of the strap touch you,” he warns.

She takes it from him absently, still staring at the mini crater.

I say, “We need to get off the street before the Orkins come back.”

“Huh?” says Tanq. “Orkins?”

“Do you want us to leave you alone now?” Trey says. “Or do you want to come with us?”

“We have plenty of food and water,” I say. “And Trey can take a look at that burn on your hand.”

“And your shoulder,” Trey adds. “I may have broken your clavicle when I knocked you to the ground. Sorry about that.”

“You hurt me for my own good, is that right?” she says bitterly.

“Huh?” Trey says.

“Nothing. Never mind.” She stares off into the distance, taking a few deep breaths. Finally, she says, “I’ll come with you. For now.”

We’re back inside the coach’s mansion, sitting on the couches—Trey and I on one, with Tanq across from us—while the fire crackles cheerily. Maybe the fire is a terrible idea. Surely the Orkins can see or smell the smoke coming from the chimney? But it was damn cold out there, and as I lift my mug of hot coffee to my lips and sip, it seems worth the risk.

Trey already checked Tanq’s shoulder. She has a little road rash on her skin, but nothing seems broken. Now her feet are tucked up against her rear, and her shoes are off, displaying mismatched socks—one thin and dressy black, the other a thick, red knit. She cuddles her steaming mug close, like it’s a stuffed animal, and she stares over the rim at nothing at all.

Emmaline has sniffed our new guest thoroughly, and she now lies curled up on the couch beside the girl, gazing at her adoringly.