As we passed through the station’s doors, Mikhail tucked down the brim of his cap and lowered his gaze to the floor. Inside, the circular entry hall terminated in a domed ceiling adorned on all sides with the painted heraldic crests of what Vanya informed me were the nearby towns’ noble families.

High on the northern wall, a metal bulletin sign had been hung over a gangway. A man was in the process of chalking in the times and numbers of the arriving trains, and the routes associated with them.

I squinted at the writing. “Do you see Eyry?”

“Looks like platform ten,” Pelin said. “You can buy a ticket there.”

As Vanya strode toward the platform entrance, I turned to Mikhail, who had kept his back hunched and head down ever since we had entered the station. “Are you all right?”

“Not really, seeing as this place is crawling with soldiers,” he said, his voice strained as tightly as a noose.

“You’ll be fine,” I said. “No one will expect you to be here.”

Mikhail didn’t answer, but he bit down on his lower lip and turned away, and in his gaze gleamed a shallow edge of dread. He fingered the brass icon I had given him, tracing the Three Sisters’ eroded faces.

We made our way to platform ten. There was already a train parked along the tracks, over fifteen cars long and painted red with a white roof.

“That’s a hospital train,” Pelin said.

“You don’t think they could be traveling in that?” Vanya muttered.

The narrow strip of brick was too crowded to even stand still on, with people sitting on the ground or grouped in huddles. Unpleasant odors cloyed the air—dirt, human waste, infection, smoke. As we headed down the platform, I recognized the malodor’s source.

Set in a line along the length of the platform, men and women lay motionless on stretchers. Some wore the Fraktsiya green, while others were stripped to their undershirts and woolen drawers, with gore-stained bandages covering the rest.

Horrified, I pressed my rushnyk against my mouth, inhaling its gentle, dusty fragrance. If I closed my eyes, I could almost pretend I was home. Except for the moans. Except for the rumble of trains coming down the tracks and Mikhail’s hand on my shoulder.

“Are you okay, Toma?” he whispered, easing his palm down to my forearm.

“This is a nightmare.” I didn’t want to open my eyes again, afraid of what I might see.

“This is war,” Vanya said blandly.

I opened my eyes and stared at him in shock. “How can you just...”

Vanya’s gaze darkened. “Just what?”

“Just say that like it’s nothing?”

“Because it’s the truth, and pretending otherwise won’t prevent soldiers from dying in battle or protect children from being blown to bits when their towns are shelled.” Vanya scanned the platform. “It won’t save us.”

I found myself at a loss for words. What I had mistaken for cold disregard was really resignation. This was the way things were out here, as much a rule of life as watching a wolf fell a rabbit. This world was not kind.