For what was the second time in under a day, Albert woke to a splitting headache and someone shaking his shoulder. He groaned and opened his eyes, Colby’s face swimming slowly in and out of focus above him, but even the lack of clarity couldn’t diminish the unmistakable worry in his eyes. He was saying something too, but the words were unclear, seeming to come from very far away.

Slowly, the lines aligned themselves. Colby was still crouched over him. ‘Are you all right?’ he was saying.

Like a flash the events replayed themselves in his mind, like a film fast-forwarding at light speed. ‘Theo!’ he said, pushing himself up, ignoring the shooting pain in his head. ‘Theo!’

Colby looked concerned. ‘She’s not here. And I don’t think you should move for a bit. Your head’s beat up pretty bad, and I’m sure you’re concussed, too.’

He ignored Colby, pushing further up till he was sitting, swallowing the bile rising up in his throat, blinking at the sudden tears stinging at his eyes. Reaching up, he touched the side of his face, where it hurt the most, and felt something dried up there.

Colby looked at him. ‘Seriously, don’t move. Your head’s going to need stitches and—’

‘Didn’t you hear me? They took Theo!’

Colby’s face reflected his shock. ‘All right, I’ll sound the alarm. Just stay where you are. I’ll be right back.’

With that, he turned and ran out of the tent. Albert pushed up, trying to get to his feet as the tent spun all around him. Somehow he kept his balance, leaning against one of the poles, not letting go till he was absolutely sure he could stand on his own. Then he blacked out again.

When he woke up this time, he was still lying on his back in the tent and the crowd around him had expanded. Apart from Colby, there was June—sitting next to him—Father, Ucho, and another portly man he didn’t recognize who was dabbing at his head with a cloth dipped in something that stung like hell.

As he looked around, the plump man stepped back, studying his handiwork and then nodded approvingly. ‘Well, that should do the trick,’ he said, turning to Father. ‘I’ve stitched him up, but I can’t really do much about the concussion, so he should take it easy for a while.’

‘Thank you, Galen,’ said Father.

‘Where’s Theo?’ said Albert, attempting to get up. He failed miserably and was rewarded with a fresh bolt of pain that jagged its way from ear to ear, using his forehead as a shortcut.

‘We’re still looking for her and—’

‘Looking? Looking?’ He pushed himself up again, up on his elbows, grimacing. ‘You mean you haven’t found her?’

‘Lie back! You heard what Galen just said!’