And then a dark figure appeared in the light, a hieroglyph of a man blocking the way out. His shoulders were broad, the hair on his head short and bristled, and the outline of a holster at his hip came into focus. And I understood that not being dead could be a very temporary state after all.

I wanted to sit up, but I had no way to operate the joints and muscles needed to move. Then a voice, unmistakable, one I’d heard since the very beginning, whispered from somewhere close to my head, as if I had tucked her under my pillow like a worry doll.

“Without the magic in the marrow, we’re just machines,” my mother said. “And you can’t reason with mechanics.”

I tried to call out but only managed to exhale all the breath out of my body. I closed my eyes, eager to get back to the certainty of the complete darkness. It came right away. And this time, there was no dream.

CHAPTER 2:

LOSING THE FINDER

The Family

THE FIRE WAS SURROUNDED BY THE TIRED AND HYSTERICAL, all of them breathing heavy from exhaustion or frustration, each of them finding it hard to keep their eyes focused without jumping to the trees all around them. Not one of them had slept.

“What in the hell happened?” Miig sat as close to Isaac as possible, their arms threaded, fingers braided at every bend. Even now, the spots where their skin connected was electric distraction. But he was a leader, an Elder in his group, and he needed to stay focused, now more than ever, even with his newly returned husband, someone he had thought long dead in the schools, beside him.

“Not sure. He was there, and then he just wasn’t.” Bullet, a long-time member of the resistance camp Miig’s group had found weeks ago, rubbed her palm across the top of her shaved head. “I saw him in the grass, and then everyone came out of the camp, and then…” She motioned with the same hand, lifting it to the sky with her last words. “And then he was just gone.” She was crouched in the grass, bouncing slightly against her heels. She hung her head, pressing her fingers into the back of her neck.

“I should have been paying attention. I should have noticed French was missing before we left the clearing.” Miig was beating himself up, the dark bruises on his face from the absence of sleep like black eyes. Frenchie had been in his family since they’d found him in the woods at ten, half starved and all alone after his brother was taken. How could he have lost him? The weight of his guilt was almost unbearable. If he hadn’t been so distracted by finding Isaac—by Frenchie finding Isaac for him—he would have been paying more attention.

“We all should have been more careful.” Wab was pacing, a hand on her lower back, her swollen stomach pushed forward.