At Prime Hall, we’re ushered past half a dozen soldiers at the entrance and then guided to the table where I had my first audience with the Prime. The Reaper cuts our bindings.

The Prime is seated at the head of the table. In a seat at her left, Bronx the Chemist wears a pair of darkened goggles, her eyes hidden and her pale skin glimmering in the room’s candlelight. On the Prime’s other side is a woman I haven’t seen before, bronze-skinned, with dark hair piled high on her head. She rests her chin on her clasped hands, and her wide-sleeved sweater pools at the crook of her elbows against the table.

The Prime looks us over, her eyes narrowing when she reaches Reed. “You,” she snarls. Instantly she’s drawn a knife and holds it in Reed’s direction. The Reaper’s rifle comes up next, followed by Saph’s and those of the other guards stationed along the perimeter of the hall.

“This is the Loyalist scum who cost me my eye,” the Prime announces. She stands and moves toward Reed with deliberate, slow steps. “Perhaps I should return the favor.” The tip of her blade touches his neck.

“He’s defected,” I explain. “He’s on our side.”

The Prime frowns. “He’s one of the General’s Four. He can’t be trusted.”

“He,” Reed says, “is standing right here and can speak for himself.”

“Bind his hands,” the Prime says to her guards, “and then bind those to the chair. He goes nowhere until I ask some questions.” She turns to me. “You bring a Loyalist into my inner circle and expect me to trust you?”

I scowl. “I returned knowing how to beat the General. I’m willing to trust you with that knowledge, and you treat us like prisoners.” The Prime returns to her seat at the head of the table, her dark eye studying me. “I feel like I’m back at Bedrock,” I add.

“And yet you still want to make a deal with me. Amari the Tender has examined your wind wagon,” the Prime says, nodding at the woman I hadn’t recognized. “She tells me it’s quite ingenious. The cargo it’s carrying, however, is puzzling.”

“If you let me explain, it will all make sense.”

The Prime glances over her shoulder, searching out her Reaper, who stands at attention behind the leader’s chair. The woman nods encouragingly.

“Go on then,” the Prime says. “Talk.”

I tell them everything.

How we traveled to Harlie’s Hope, learned that Reed is my half brother, and sailed to the Verdant only to discover that it doesn’t exist, that our gods are an invention. There are numerous gasps from the Trinity, looks of doubt and confusion.

“How can our gods not exist?” the Tender protests.

The Reaper frowns deeply. “Why would someone make them up?”