“You didn’t think we only patrolled along the river, did you?”

I gape.

“Oh, you did. That’s cute.” She puts her forefinger and thumb into her mouth and produces a shrill whistle. “Deserter on the northern foothills!” she shouts.

The torches below jostle to action along the river. More flicker to life to the east and west, sentries who patrol from the shadows becoming visible. The whistle is repeated, rolling away into Powder Town, causing lights to wink to life throughout the shanties.

It’s fine, I tell myself. The Prime turning you out won’t change anything. So long as they let you keep your supplies, everything can carry on like you planned.

I repeat it as the sentry guides me down the hill I just worked so hard to ascend, back through the streets, and to the clearing just inside Powder Town’s wall. I truly think it will be fine, even as the crowd gathers, bleary-eyed with sleep but curious to see who could possibly want to escape this haven. I still think it’s fine as the Prime steps through the crowd, dark skin aglow in the moonlight, expression sharp enough to cut. I think it’s fine right until the Reaper steps into view behind her, towing Asher by the meaty part of his arm.

She shoves, and he staggers forward, joining me in the clearing.

“What did you do?” he hisses.

“For breaching their pledges to me and the Trinity,” the Prime announces, “for making our pillars weaker rather than stronger, Delta of Dead River and Asher of Alkali Lake are banished from Powder Town immediately.”

“But only I ran,” I argue, my stomach twisting. “Asher had nothing to do with it.”

“You told me he would stay because of you. If you’re leaving, he goes with you.”

“He didn’t want to leave. I asked him to, and he wanted to stay. He . . .” I glance at Asher. His mouth is a thin line, his eyes like fire.

“You are both banished,” the Prime repeats.

Before I can get out another word, the Reaper’s sentries are dragging us from the clearing and into the wastes. With a shove, I go sprawling, my chin glancing the ground.

I’m spitting dirt from my mouth when the gate slams closed behind us.

Chapter Twenty-Eight

“Has your brain rusted?” Asher screams.

I stand wordlessly, dusting the dirt from my pants.

“Have you lost your scudding mind?” he goes on. “I don’t even have my gear. I hope you’re happy, Delta. I hope you’re prepared to die on the wastes and be picked apart by vultures, ’cus that’s what’s going to happen to us.”

I feel for the straps of my rucksack, confirming that it’s still there, that the Prime didn’t confiscate it.

“I have some supplies,” I say. “We can share.”