I don’t mention that surviving Burning Ground once is already a miracle and entering a second time is probably pushing his luck. We’re out of options. I shrug and wave a hand at the dangers awaiting us.

Again, Asher leads.

Despite being a traitorous leech, Flint told the truth about Burning Ground; there are obvious signs that warn a traveler of dangers.

The pools of water look magical—crystalline, so blue they are almost green, clear enough that you can gaze straight into their rocky depths. It’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. I try to imagine an entire ocean this color, Zuly’s tanker floating on it. How serene this world must have been before the gods turned their backs on it—on us.

But as beautiful as the pools are, they are also deadly, so hot they can boil you alive, and the warning is obvious along their edges, where rings of rust red and sunset orange and honey yellow encircle the water. Steam billows off the surface, disrupting the otherwise perfect reflection of the sky. A smell lingers in the air, rotten, like bad eggs.

We give each pool a wide berth, but they are often fed by tributaries from other pools, creating a cobwebbed maze of hot water. We hop over what we can, but sometimes we are forced to zigzag along a runoff until we find a safe place for crossing.

So much for our lead.

I keep glancing over my shoulder, but the wastes behind us are empty, and even when I use the bios to scan the mountains, there’s no sign of activity. Maybe the Loyalists gave up their search. It doesn’t seem likely, but I let myself believe it. We have enough to worry about.

The heat in Burning Ground is even worse than the heat of the wastes, which isn’t a thing I thought possible. My under layers are drenched, and even the air seems sweaty. I feel like I’m standing in the cookhouse at Dead River, right alongside a pot of boiling stew, steam coating my limbs.

“There’s one thing I can’t figure,” I say as we walk.

Asher hops a forearm-wide tributary. “What’s that?”

“You escaped Bedrock,” I say, leaping after him, “made it through the tunnel and out of the mountains, crossed Burning Ground, and arrived safely in Powder Town?”

He nods.

“So when the hell—or maybe I should ask why the hell—did you fall in with Bain and Cree?”

He flinches, but keeps leading without comment.

“I asked you a question, Asher.”

He exhales loudly. Asher knows me. I’m not going to let this die.