“What’s your name again?” asked Ayla.

“Erren.”

“I think you and me will get along, Erren.” She took the clothes and, with nowhere else to sit, lowered herself to the floor to unlace her boots. “Mind helping me into these? I confess I’ve never worn a chest plate before.”

“Yeah, sure.” They crouched down beside her and reached for her other boot, starting on the tight laces. Now that they were regaining their strength and color, Ayla saw they were much younger than she’d thought at first. Maybe just a year or two older than she was.

“How’d you end up in there?” she asked quietly, even though it was so loud in the grand ballroom, so many voices overlapping, that even an Automa couldn’t have heard them from more than three feet away. “In the Heart, in that room. What happened?” Erren’s jaw tightened, and she added, “You don’t have to tell me.”

“No, it’s all right,” they said, tugging the boot off her foot. “Here, stand up and put on the pants and shirt. Over your regular clothes is fine, it doesn’t matter.” They held out a hand and she grasped it, yanking herself up. They passed her the heavy wool pants. “I was traveling with a group of . . . Rebels isn’t the right word. Accidental rebels, maybe. Most of us were quite young, runaways and orphans and the like, just trying to survive. We took on jobs for extra coin. Delivering messages, guarding supplies, simple things like that.” Their eyes were distant. “We were in the south when Nightshade first started spreading through the region. We didn’t know what was happening—we thought it was a disease, some sort of virus. We didn’t know if it only affected leeches or if we were in danger too—and I wanted to investigate. Our leader said it was too dangerous, so . . . I went alone. I snuck away in the middle of the night. I went to the place we’d last spotted them, I just wanted to get a closer look. It’s a bit fuzzy after that. The last thing I remember is hearing footsteps and turning around to see a Watcher behind me.”

Ayla sucked in a breath. “They attacked you?”

“Yeah. Hit me over the head, I think. Either way, I wound up in that . . . room. I’d sort of wake up sometimes, but it’s mostly a blur.” Their mouth tightened. “I’m sure the group I was traveling with thinks I’m long dead.”

“I’m sorry,” said Ayla. “Maybe . . . now that you’re free, maybe you could find them again?”

“Maybe,” said Erren. “I’m certainly going to try. If only to tell Hook he was right.”

Ayla snorted. “I suppose he’s the leader?” she started to ask, but the words died in her throat. Because there, weaving through the crowd, half a head taller than all the humans and even some of the Automae, was Benjy.

Without a second thought, Ayla ran for him. Once he caught sight of her, he began to run at her too, his funny, fawnlike run, all limbs. They met in the middle, bodies colliding, and the scent of his skin and hair and clothes was so familiar Ayla wanted to cry. He lifted her off her feet, spinning her around, and she didn’t even protest. “Benjy,” she said the moment he put her down, looking up into his face as she’d done a thousand times over the years, ever since he hit ten years old and shot up like a weed. “You’re here.”