“We can hope for Thisbe to arrive, I suppose. Florence told me she was coming.” The women grew silent.

At the bar, Seth sat up. “We’re doomed,” he muttered.

Ibrahim sat up too. “We’re not doomed,” he said sharply. “Remember who we are and where we come from. Our very nature, as Unwanteds, is one of survival.”

“I’ve never actually been an Unwanted, you know,” Seth said. He dropped his eyes, feeling suddenly inadequate among this group. He’d never faced being purged. He’d grown up in Artimé, free as anything, with little to care about except for missing his mother now and then when she left on journeys to rescue people in trouble. But then he brightened a little. “I did survive the great disastrous trip to the land of the dragons, though. And I actually didn’t get very hurt—I was pretty much unscathed compared to Fifer and Thisbe.”

Ibrahim gave him a sly look. “You also don’t have black eyes, so you weren’t exactly a prized commodity over there.”

Seth snorted. He hopped off the bar and looked around. “At least we have food. The only good thing about being down here.”

From the floor, Carina called out, “Save the food please, boys! There’s a limited amount of it, and we don’t know how long we’ll be here.”

“I swear she has ears like Simber,” Seth muttered. He looked around the lounge, feeling some level of depression floating about him. He needed to do something that would give him hope, but it was very hard to pull out of the bog of listlessness he’d plunged into after things began to look bleak.

Ibrahim jumped down too. “I feel like we’re back in Quill with nothing ahead of us. It’s stifling. We have to do something, Seth. Let’s figure out how to get out of here. Come with me.” He went over to the platform on which the lounge band played and started nosing around at the instruments. “We need to get our creative ideas flowing again. I feel like… maybe some music will help. That always gives me fresh ideas.”

Seth shrugged. It sounded like a lot of effort. But he went with Ibrahim. Maybe his Unwanted friend was right—that they needed creativity in order to feel creative. And maybe that would help everyone else, too. Music was a great way to stimulate ideas. Seth knew that well enough from his classes.

He picked up Fox’s saxophone. It was quite small compared to the ones he’d played in Ms. Morning’s classes because it had been designed for Fox. But it had a velvety sound. Seth played a few bars of a simple tune and saw Ms. Morning look up at him.

He blushed. Ms. Morning smiled encouragingly. “That’s an excellent idea,” she called out. “We could all use some music.”

Ibrahim sat down at the drum kit. He was a dancer, so the rhythm and beat really appealed to him, and basic drumming had come easily to him. He could feel the beat like it was a part of him, like it was one with his heartbeat when he danced. Soon he and Seth were putting music together, and one of Ibrahim’s sisters joined them to play the guitar and sing. Everybody in the lounge felt the tension melt for a short while. Soon others were clamoring to have a chance to play too.