The evening before, we had studied the train charts with Emre and Pelin. No matter whether the soldiers had arrived in the city by riverboat the very morning Vanya had set out with us on the road, or if they had come later on horseback or wagon, they wouldn’t have been able to reach Eyry by train. Only yesterday evening had the lines to the mainland resumed service, and until this morning, all outgoing trains had been diverted down south through the Granary.

As I contemplated getting out of bed, a door slammed below and then Emre cried out in protest, “Wait, you can’t just walk in here like this!”

Wide-awake in an instant, I lurched out from under the covers, scrambled over the chaotic jumble of boxes and old furniture, and shook Mikhail’s shoulder.

His eyes flashed open. As he began to rise, I raised a finger to my lips.

“What is it?” he whispered.

“Something is going on downstairs. There’s someone here.”

“Are you sure you weren’t just dreaming?”

“Listen.”

The sound of cooking had died into silence. Terse voices filtered from the rooms below. Glass shattered, and Aergul cried out for Emre in a warbling sob. My stomach tightened, nerves on fire.

Silently, we got dressed. As Mikhail tied his boots, I went to Vanya’s side and shook him awake.

“Just another few minutes, Toma,” he groaned.

“We need to go now,” I said.

“Five minutes, I swear.”

“Don’t make me drag you off that table,” Mikhail growled, and Vanya sighed.

“All right, you don’t have to get violent.”

We hadn’t even unpacked, and it took only a minute to gather up our things. I wrapped my mother’s rushnyk around my waist, my fingers straying to its familiar mends and embroidery. If the symbols she’d sewn in crimson truly were runes of protection, then I hoped they’d work their magic if we had to resort to violence.

“We know you have more than this,” a man snarled, sounding even closer than before.

“It’s just a bunch of old rubbish up there,” Emre stammered. “I swear, we don’t have any monsters, no matter what the fliers say.”

The stairs groaned outside our door. There was no time to even ascend to the skylight above, and the attic was so high up that we would no doubt break our legs if we tried to jump.

“Mikhail, hide behind the monkey,” Vanya whispered, but the other boy had already dropped to the ground. No sooner had Mikhail rolled under the bed than the door swung open, and a tall mustached man strode in, his burly frame squeezed into a sage-green greatcoat. A rifle hung from a sling over his shoulder.

From under the glossy leather band of his hat, he regarded us through narrowed lids. “Just a bunch of rubbish, you say.”

Emre stepped into the room, one hand cupped over his face. His left cheek was an angry maroon, and his lower lip had already started to swell.

“These are...” He trailed off at the sight of Vanya and me. By the way he looked around the room, I could tell he was doing the math in his head. I offered him a strained smile, begging him with my eyes not to say anything.