“Nah.” He jerks his head toward the sky, which is quiet and sprawling, no birds in sight. I don’t point out that it’s only the General’s Four who use the falcons and that this shadow of ours could still be working for him. “Maybe just another vagrant wandering the wastes,” Asher goes on, “hoping we drop dead so they can strip us of our gear. We keep on, we’ll outpace them. Honestly, they’ll turn back as soon as they realize they don’t have the supplies to keep dogging us.”

I pinch the waterskin, checking its fullness. Half left. “See that outcropping ahead?” I point to a disruption on the horizon, a small bluff surrounded by rocks and boulders that break up the otherwise flat plane. “We should set up an inverted well and rest there. Get more water before we head back out. Maybe even let our friends catch up so we can take them out if they’re trouble.”

“Yeah,” Asher agrees. “Sounds good.”

And with that, we plod on.

I don’t like the quiet between us. It’s awkward, uneasy. Neither of us has apologized since our fight, and I worry that if I try, it will only lead to more yelling.

As we close in on the rocky outcropping, two strange, foreign shapes appear just beyond it. They’re unnaturally straight, like wooden posts, but far too tall. Thin, shadowy wisps hang from them like spider’s threads.

“North Tower?” Asher asks.

I shake my head. “North Tower was closer to the Backbone on the map, and east of the Verdant. Sure looks man-made, though.”

A shiver travels the length of my spine. A man-made structure means people, and out here, in an uncharted section of the wastes, that means people we can’t trust. People who could be Loyalist spies or opportunist trappers like Bain and Cree.

Asher and I glance at each other. I draw my two blades, passing the Old World model to him, and we creep forward, cautious.

The structure gets larger with each step, until we’re rounding the rock outcropping and staring at the strangest construction I’ve ever seen.

The posts are as thick as tree trunks. Ropes and pulleys hang from them, attaching to a thinner, horizontal post that bisects each vertical one. Pale, bunched fabric is cinched here, against the wood. The vertical posts are secured to a wooden wagon that could easily hold a dozen people. The sideboards aren’t tall—maybe knee-high—and the bed has been modified so that it is narrower at the front than at the back. The entire thing sits atop two metal axles salvaged from a rover. One wheel is still the Old World variety, made of some strange foreign material. The other three are wooden.

We scan the area quickly, then move closer.