The girl, her back still to him, suddenly stiffened as she read her fourth fortune, and slowly turned around to see him there. The moment she saw him, he recognized the look of fear in her eyes. It was the first time he had seen her show fear since arriving on the ship. At first it had troubled the McGill that she seemed unafraid of him, but now, he found himself troubled by the fact that she was. He didn’t want her to be afraid of him. This new sensitivity in himself was deeply disturbing.

“Explain yourself!” The McGill’s voice came out in deep guttural tones, like the growl of a tiger at the moment it pounces.

Allie stood straight and opened her mouth to speak, but hesitated. The McGill knew what that hesitation meant. She’s going to lie, he thought—and he knew if she did lie, there would be no containing his temper. He would hurl her with such force, she would reach the mainland like a cannonball.

Then, after a moment, she relaxed her shoulders, and said, “I just learned about fortune cookies, and wanted to see for myself if it was true. I guess I got carried away.”

It smelled of honesty—enough honesty for the McGill to keep his temper in check. He lumbered toward her, keeping one eye trained on her face, and the other on the spittoon. “Give me your hand,” he demanded, and when Allie didn’t do it, he grabbed her hand, holding it out.

“What are you going to do?” she asked.

He didn’t answer. Instead he reached into the spittoon with his free claw, grabbed a fortune cookie and placed it in her palm, then closed his hand around hers. “Let’s find out what our fortune is,” he said. The McGill squeezed Allies hand so hard, not only did the cookie shatter, but her knuckles cracked as well. Then the McGill released her hand, and pulled out the fortune slip with his sharp nails.

Forgiveness keeps destiny on track.

The McGill found his anger slipping away. The cookies never lied. “Very well,” he said. “I forgive you.” He sat down on his throne, satisfied. “Now get out of my sight.”

Allie turned to leave, but stopped at the threshold. “Forgiveness is the fifth step,” she said, and then she left.

***

Allie’s brain—or her memory of a brain—or whatever you called the thought processes of an Afterlight—was working overtime. Granting the McGill the fifth step had been an impulsive thing to do, but at the moment it had felt like the right thing to do. But what was she thinking? There was no right thing, because there was no fifth step! All this stalling was buying her nothing, and in all her time here, she was no closer to freeing her friends. If they were to have any hope, she would have to find the McGill’s weakness—and Allie suspected if he had one, it would lie in the questions he refused to answer.