“Are you a god?” she asks me. “Is that why the devil’s men were chasing you?”

“No,” I say. “Of course not.”

“Him?” She glances at Asher.

“No.”

“You must be gods touched, then.”

“I’m nobody. I’m just trying to get by.”

The girl frowns. “Armies don’t chase nobodies.”

Saph clears her throat.

“Sorry. I’ll go now.” The girl runs after a woman who wears a similar basket on her back.

“This way,” Saph says, and leads us through a patchwork of shanty homes. She seems taller now that she’s on the ground with us—Asher’s height, maybe even a knuckle or two more. With her goggles pushed onto her forehead, her short hair sticks out at odd angles beneath the pull of the strap.

Though the crowd has broken up, I spot faces peering at us from behind the curtained doorways of several shanties.

“Is this normal?” I whisper to Asher.

“Pleading a case to the Prime, yes. Having the entire town watch your arrival, no.”

“What about pleading a case twice?”

He keeps his eyes locked on Saph.

“Asher, why didn’t she want to let you in?”

He shakes his head, as if this alone is an acceptable answer. There’s little color in his cheeks. Something in the story he told me isn’t true, but rather than being angry with him, I find myself terrified at the prospect that he might get turned away. That we both might. That can’t happen. Powder Town is where I’m going to find answers, and I don’t have the supplies to make it anywhere else if we’re thrown back into the wastes.

We reach a bridge that extends across the murky brown water of the Serpent. To the south, I can make out a dam. The stones look relatively new, clean of moss or growth, which explains why our water supply at Dead River started fading so enthusiastically.

On the opposite side of the bridge is the largest building I’ve seen since entering Powder Town. Unlike most of the shanties, this one has numerous open windows, a mud-tiled roof, and four stone slabs that serve as steps to the entrance.

“Prime Hall,” Asher whispers to me.

There’s a flag hanging idly from the corner of the building. Without a breeze, the emblem stitched in the cloth is clear: two picks, their shafts overlapping.

I freeze. I’ve seen this flag before, flying from the wagon patrol that came to Bedrock while I worked in the fields. I glance over my shoulder. The same flag flies along the perimeter wall. I’d been too concerned with the Loyalist army to notice it earlier.

The sound of Saph knocking pulls me back to the present. I turn around in time to see Prime Hall’s door swinging open.

A dark-skinned woman emerges from the shadows. Her head is shaved. A patch obscures her right eye.