His handwriting is almost impossible to read, so tall and slanted. Each appointment is only a few letters and a time, perhaps a first name. Last night’s entry was only “XNDU,” presumably shorthand for Xanadu. There’s nothing over the next few days, but Wednesday has an entry: “D/O. MM.” I flip through the rest of the pages, wondering who the names are. On the last page of the book are various scribbled notes. Up in a corner, I spy “MM.” Next to it is a phone number, strange enough in itself, and it brings me up short.

I recognize it.

It’s the number for the emergency line at Mana’s Hearth.

I looked it up, after we left, after the surgery. When, despite everything, I was homesick. So many times over the years, I had turned on my implants, ready to input the number. I wanted to see if my parents were all right. If the Hearth was all right. I was too afraid, and I never pinged.

My throat tightens with unshed tears. It’s not totally unexpected, but it’s still a shock. We knew there might be a link between the Ratel and the Hearth when we discovered Vuk was Adam. We still don’t know what the connection is, exactly. Is Mana-ma sending people to the Ratel, and if so, why, and to what purpose? Is Mana-ma working with Ensi? That means interacting with someone Impure, and having a connection with the world she always taught us was evil.

I flip back to Wednesday’s entry. D/O. Drop off. Sure enough, Wednesday is the 15th—the date Tila and I used to look forward to. The date that the supply ship would come from the far-off shiny city of San Francisco. I guess, even ten years later, it hasn’t changed.

MM stands for Mana-ma.

“Fuck,” I whisper, wondering if I’m reading the signs wrong. Maybe I’m just seeing what I want to see. I flip through the calendar. Every two or three months, right on the 15th, there’s an entry with “D/O. MM.”

Why? When I lived there, people didn’t die more than once or twice a year. Has Mana-ma started making more disappear? Or is there something else the Hearth has that Ensi and the Ratel want? The hairs on my forearms stand up straight. I’m still missing something.

What?

How long has this been going on, whatever it is? At least ten years. That’s when Adam disappeared. I have a feeling it’s been longer.

I take a deep breath. Nazarin comes into the kitchen and I send everything away, hiding the scans deep within my implants again.

He nods at me in greeting and grabs the SynthGin. It’s early in the day.

“Did it go badly?”