At the end of the tunnel, the metal of Beth’s trowel flashed like fire against the crumbling rock. When she paused, we saw our faces in it, pale and veined, pinched against the sting of pure daylight. Bracken reached through the bars and grasped at the tall grasses that grew up against the opening. I lay my palm against the bricks, the end of the understreets, and said a quiet goodbye to my home.

When we broke through into the stiff grass, we sank into it, burying our faces from the sun, and slept.

We woke as the sun dipped behind a distant hill, relieving our eyes from its sting. We were curled in a ditch—our tunnel set into the side of a hill that overlooked the fallen city. Clouds of dust rose from its ruin, glowing in places where flames shot from tears rent in gas lines and electric hubs. Between us and its endless light, the hill stretched, full of flowers. Blue, like Beth’s eyes. Curling leaves green, like mine.

Bracken ran into the field, hopping over and around the flowering clusters, lowering his face to the bright blooms.

We waded onto the hillside. Perfume rose around us and masked the dank funk of the compost and tunnel water.

“Can we live here? Can we make a living like this?” Belle clutched her hands to her chest. Tears traced pale tracks across her dusty face.

“I suppose we’ll try.” I reached for her hands and pulled them away from her heart, folding them into my own.

Beth called after Bracken. He danced away down the hill toward a tall rose. He cartwheeled around it, a breathless singsong of joy tumbling up the hill back to us. Beth ran toward him. “Bracken—” Her voice strained, the last syllable of his name a wail.

He righted himself and reached for the tall stem. The peach bloom bobbed, orange in the light from the setting sun. He wrapped his small fist around the barbed stem and cried out from the sting of its thorns. The hill seemed to roll beneath our feet as if the earth had turned to water. Bracken vanished.

Beth screamed.

Belle and I ran to her, long grasses catching at our feet. Beth had fallen, sobbing into a patch of blue flowers. I pushed her hair back from her face, cupped her cheeks in my hands.

“Shh, Beth, shh.”

She wailed like a sunwalker.

Belle wrapped Beth in her shawl. “That boy goes where he’s meant to. He’s a new kind of Kindred. He knows tunnels, and cities, and fields. He pulled at the tallest flower—and someone, somewhere, knows that makes him special. Might be it’s Chev, in the under-under, building a new world. And when we’re ready, he’ll hold a flower for us, child. Don’t cry.”