He trudged through the snow, which was a few inches deep now. The cold wind whipped at his face and beat past the jacket Charlotte had sent with him.

With each step, the white wall became more complete. He didn’t know it then, but he was marching through a rapidly forming blizzard. The winds tossed him from side to side, disorienting him.

It was like the fire in Australia: he was again caught in an inferno, only this one was made of ice.

He got turned around so much that he had no idea which way home was. He knew the bush and paddocks around his parents’ station like the back of his hand. This land was foreign to him. There were no markers to guide him. He was completely lost.

He would die here, in the cold, alone. He was sure of it. He had survived the fire, had been brought back to life by an angel, only to die here, in the ice, left for dead by a devil.

His legs ached. He desperately wanted to sit down, to rest. But somehow, he knew if he did, he would never get back up.

He pushed forward, clutching the rifle. He knew dropping it—losing it—would be a death sentence. He tried to fire it in the air to call for help, but he couldn’t get his fingers to work.

Through a break in the snow, he saw a column of smoke rising from his uncle’s home in the distance. He made for it with every last bit of strength he had.

When he reached the porch, he expected the door to fly open. It stayed closed. A yellow glow from the fire inside shone through the windows. Salvation.

He threw the door open, leaned the rifle against the wall, and rushed inside. His uncle never looked at him, only shouted for him to close the door.

Desmond eyed the bottle. It was nearly empty. He would have to be careful to stay out of the man’s way.

Chapter 40

Chapter 40

Outside the brig, Conner marched down the corridor, his footsteps echoing loudly. The entire crew of the Kentaro Maru was bustling, preparing for the next phase. They would have to work very quickly to assemble the Looking Glass. Delay could cost billions of lives, perhaps even every human life.

If he didn’t find out what had happened to Desmond soon, their cause would be in trouble. Desmond held the key to the Looking Glass and to everything they had worked for.

Inside the infirmary’s conference room, screens on the wall displayed x-rays, MRIs, and other scans Conner didn’t even recognize.

“What did you find?” he asked the three researchers conversing at the end of the table.

A younger physician swiveled in his chair. “His body’s a horror story. I’ve never seen so many fractures—”

“He had a rough childhood. Now tell me: What. Did. You. Find?”