I pull my sleeveless shirt on and turn around to face him. Despite the enormity of what waits on the floor by our feet, neither of us looks down. Our eyes are locked. His gaze dips to my mouth. Something would happen between us if I let it. The energy in the room feels tight and magnetic, the space between us quivering like my lodestone when I hold it out to spin freely. I could let myself be drawn to him if I wanted.

“The map,” I say, nodding to the floor. The air is normal again, the magic broken.

He steps beside me, and we stare at the dirt together. It is finally, most definitely a map.

The markings at our feet are no longer mere waves or harsh angles. They make sense at last, creating something coherent, and I can see now what our pack has forgotten. All those years ago, when our ancestors chose to brand two people, they didn’t create two copies of the map. They created two halves of a whole.

Our brands are just pieces. But together, overlapped . . .

“That’s Burning Ground,” Asher says, pointing to the waves in the center, flames of heat and rising air.

“That’s the Old Coast,” I say, motioning toward the obvious shore near our feet. “The Barrel.” I point to another set of lines.

We call out more landmarks. The rig near Zuly’s. East Tower. West Tower. The Backbone of the General’s domain.

“Then what’s that?” Asher asks.

He’s pointing toward a circle with an X through it—what would have been on both our left shoulder blades. It’s far north of Powder Town and northwest of Bedrock, beyond a barren stretch of desert waste that no living soul has ever dared to cross. Above the marked circle are four Old World symbols, two of which are Es, two others from Asher’s brand.

E D E N

I stare at the marked location, heart hammering against my ribs.

“That’s the Verdant,” I say. “Asher, we just figured out how to read the map.”

Chapter Twenty-Seven

I was wrong about Zuly, I realize.

She couldn’t have read Asher’s brand, because it was never a complete map to be read. She simply sensed that it was important—that he was. Maybe Silla even told Zuly that the brand was to be kept secret, begged her to not speak of it for fear that harm would befall Asher if word got out.

We never needed Zuly to read the map, or an Oracle, or any gods touched. We just needed each other.

“We have to go there,” I say, staring at the E D E N mark. “Immediately.”

Asher cringes. “We invoked the right to work for the Trinity. We made a pledge in exchange for refuge. The Prime won’t let us leave.”

“We don’t need her blessing. We can go alone, sneak out together.”