“Can I ask you something?” Kit said, plopping herself down happily beside Naumoriel. The old ghoul looked at her and heaved a very human sigh.

“If you must,” he said.

Please don’t be about ghoul fucking, Gyre thought.

“Why me?” Kit said. “You could have killed me, when I wandered near Refuge the first time. You could have just left me alone, even, and I would have died in those tunnels.”

“Indeed,” the ghoul said. “It was my duty to do just that. The Geraia entrusted me with the defense of the city, so they can go on with their self-involved debating and debauchery and never consider the outside world.”

“So why, then?”

“Because the outside world will not ignore us forever.” He looked down at her, eyes hooded. “And because the war is not over.”

“Against the Chosen, you mean? Because the Twilight Order is still fighting? Is that why you need this power?”

Naumoriel’s ears waggled with amusement. “Your digging for information is transparent, human.”

“Yeah.” Kit ruffled her hair. “Subtlety was never my strong suit.”

“There is much that is hidden, even from me. Over the years I have discovered … hints. With the power that sleeps under the mountain, I will find the truth. That is all you need to know.”

As they spoke, Gyre was working. He finished with the tents, then took out his own pack, digging down to the very bottom and removing the thick clay cylinder. Trying hard for nonchalance, he tucked it under his arm and wandered toward the old ghoul’s war-construct, which stood motionless with its canopy open.

He glanced over his shoulder. Naumoriel was still staring at the river, ignoring Kit’s chattered questions. Gyre stepped closer to the construct, which was hunched on its legs far enough that he could see into its central cavity. His hasty recollection had been correct—there was a space behind the ghoul’s padded seat, big enough to fit the bomb. Naumoriel, Gyre guessed, was unlikely to find it—from the look of things, he didn’t move about the construct much.

For a moment, Gyre hesitated. He watched Naumoriel sitting with Kit and felt a stab of guilt. He hasn’t betrayed us yet. Maybe he never will. He repeated again the list of all those who’d already sacrificed to build the road to the power Gyre wanted. Yora and Harrow, Chosen knew how many others. Sarah, mangled and burned. Maya, turned into a willing slave. He touched his face, the new scars laid over the old around his silver eye. Me.

Is it worth it?

In one quick movement, he leaned over, lowered the bomb to the floor of the construct, and wedged it in place. He quickly stepped away, and waited a few seconds before looking at Naumoriel. The old ghoul gave no sign he’d noticed, still staring down the river.

Maybe we won’t need it. Maybe Naumoriel would fulfill his side of the bargain. But if not, then at least we’ll have an option.