“Asher!” I shout. He’s already jumped the crevice. “Goggles. Put on your goggles!”

He glances over his shoulder, and his eyes track beyond me, going wide when they find the squall. He reaches for the skull mask he’s had hanging between his shoulder blades on a piece of rope.

“You don’t have goggles?” I yank mine on, pull up my scarf. It’s second nature, these movements.

Asher shakes his head. With the ram skull on, he looks like Reed, and it’s a terrifying reminder that the Loyalists are still searching for us. But Asher’s blue eyes shine through the open eyeholes in the skull. Eyes that will go blind from the dust.

We need a blanket, something to shield him. We need—

I shrug out of my jacket, leap across the crevice, and fling the leather over his head before tugging him to a crouch. As I’m holding his head to my chest, the squall hits. Dust and rubble claw at us. The wind howls. We’re knocked off our feet, tumble sidewise.

I wait for the excruciating sting of burning water, but we get lucky and fall on dry land. I keep the jacket pinched beneath Asher’s chin. Not so tight that he won’t be able to breathe, but firm enough to keep the dust out.

The wind roars with one final blast of intensity, then vanishes. I let go of the jacket. My clothes are covered with dust. Grains of sand have made it through my scarf and into my hair. I take a swig of water and spit, cleaning out my mouth, but the grit remains in my nose. I exhale hard through my nostrils. No such luck. The only way to be rid of it will be a good bath. I’m not wasting drinking water.

Asher stands. When he pushes back the ram-skull mask, his face and hair are much cleaner than mine. Leather will always stand up to a squall better than a scarf.

He balls up the jacket and hands it over. “Thank you.”

“You saved my knives. I saved your eyesight,” I say with a shrug. “We’re even now.”

“Oh, is that the only reason you did it?” He extends a hand and helps tug me to my feet, smiling the whole time like he knows it’s not true.

“If you already know the answer, why bother asking? Gods, you’re insufferable.”

“And you’re—”

“Lost,” I say, cutting him off. Our tracks have been swept over by the squall, and there are cobwebbed tributaries running everywhere. I can no longer tell which one erupted with the geyser.

Asher looks up. The sun is high overhead, making it impossible to determine directions. “If we wait a bit, we’ll know which way to head.”