Gyre opened his eye and found himself in complete darkness. When he tried to move, his right arm didn’t respond, as though it was bound tightly against him, and something restrained his legs. His left hand flailed weakly across his body, and he felt his breath quicken in panic.

Focus. Calm. He gritted his teeth. He remembered—falling, and pain—

“Oh, you’re awake.” A pleasant voice, familiar. Gyre tried to clear his throat and coughed.

“E … Elariel?”

“Nice to meet you again,” the ghoul said politely. He heard her moving around, felt something brush against him. “You were in better shape last time.”

“Why can’t I see?” Gyre said.

“Ah, yes. Hold still.”

It took considerable effort for Gyre to keep himself calm enough to obey. He felt the ghoul bending over him, the warmth of her breath on his face, and then her fingers touched the skin around his good eye. He suppressed the urge to jerk away, clenching his jaw so hard his teeth ached. Something cool and wet dripped into his eye, and he blinked involuntarily. Elariel let go and moved away.

“This is similar to what you humans call ‘nighteye,’” she said. “But considerably more effective. Don’t light any fires before it wears off, or you may blind yourself.”

Whatever the stuff was, it worked quickly. Gyre blinked again and found the room fading into view in spite of the lack of any light.

He lay on a table in a small chamber. The only other furnishing was a tall stool on which Elariel sat, legs primly crossed, hands on her knee. Her long, expressive ears were raised, and her huge eyes, nearly all pupil, regarded him calmly.

“Where am I?” Gyre said, though he could think of only one possible answer. His breath caught.

“The city you humans call the Tomb,” Elariel said. “We call it”—she made a rolling, whistling sound he couldn’t hope to replicate, and went on—“which in your language translates to something like Refuge.”

The Tomb. Gyre looked around the windowless chamber. Refuge. The last city of the ghouls.

I made it.

“What happened to me?” He tried to sit up but couldn’t manage it, his right arm still restrained. “Where’s Kit?”

“Kitsraea is being tended to,” Elariel said. “As to what happened, the two of you jumped into a rock ingestor.”

“A … what?”

“A construct designed to reduce solid granite to rock slurry and deliver it to the city for use in construction.” There was a slight smile on her face, and her ears twitched. “Needless to say, you were injured in the attempt. It was a most unexpected move.”

“We were running low on options at the time,” Gyre said. “At least it worked.”

“We were forced to extract you before you reached the liquefaction pool,” Elariel said.

“Thanks,” Gyre muttered.

“No thanks are necessary,” she said. “Your digested remains would have ruined a perfectly good batch of building material.”