The fire at Taavi’s throat snuffs out the minute we step into the lead-lined hall, and she quickly leads me back up the stairs without a word. I play the Seer’s face over in my head. Something about her living there locked away doesn’t sit right with me. She’s the only one with magic here. She’s different, powerful, but she’s kept away from everything and everyone like a prisoner.

I flick side-eyes at Taavi, noting the way she walks. Her back is straight, chin up, and her hands don’t shake. Whatever she was worried about is a thing of the past, done. But I don’t care how chill and compliant she seems right now; it’s not lost on me that she put me in there not knowing whether I’d be able to make it out.

“Why didn’t you tell me the Seer was your mother?”

“And have you look at me the way you’re looking at me now? No, thanks.”

“You put me in there without knowing if I could pay her. She could have killed me.”

She stops at the top of the stairs. “First, I know my sister. If you are half the person she said you were, your magic could overpower my mother’s. And second, if Totsi sent you, I knew she’d prepare you.”

“So just lucky me I stumbled upon the bone and gold coins. You’re not making the best case for me trusting you.”

She stops walking. “I told you from the beginning, everything we do here is with our survival in mind. If you were who you claimed to be, who Totsi believed you to be, I knew you’d make it out of there. And if you weren’t…” She walks again and I follow.

I don’t like it.

But I can’t help but respect it.

The hall is a cloud of chatter as Macazi stuff blankets and food rations in backpacks with wide-eyed stares. Some have blades made from broken wood and sharp metal tucked into their pant legs.

“I’ve had them grab things to make camp,” Taavi says over her shoulder. “We’ll feed and water ourselves. And we have things to sleep on.”

“Wait, we?”

She stops and turns to me. “I’m not letting you take the bulk of our strongest people without me. I’m sorry, I just don’t trust that easily.”

Meeting her eyes is like staring into a distorted mirror.

“I feel that,” I say. “Neither do I.”

We keep moving down the hall, and I spot Joshi filling a carton for a young girl who can’t be any older than Tasha. Her head’s shaved and she wears a hard expression that’s resolute as much as it is riddled with angst.

“I’ll see you up there,” he says.

I paint on a smile and give Joshi a chin up.