All the babbling drew others. They came out of the ground like insects. One minute—humped, chalky soil, and the next… people. In a few minutes Nyx found herself surrounded by the tallest, darkest people she’d ever encountered. Ringing her the way they did, they cast her in cool shadow.

Nyx clawed at them like a trapped cat and pushed her way out of the circle. She stumbled and caught herself before she fell. Her body was done. But she wasn’t.

“Nyx?”

She raised her head.

Eshe was running toward her. Where had he come from? Did they live in the air? He was dressed like the others, in bright, expensive robes. He was clean—even his hair had been washed. Extravagance, Nyx thought. Fucking waste of fucking water. Water.

He ran up and took her by the shoulders.

Her mutilated skin protested.

“Nyx, are you all right? Where’s Isabet?”

Nyx surged toward him. She threw a hard left at the center of his face. His nose cracked, popped, sprayed blood like a burst balloon. He stumbled back, but didn’t fall over.

“Good thing I’m a corpse, you fuck,” she said, “or I would fucking kill you.”

She keeled over then, hoping to pass out. She didn’t.

Eshe leaned over her, bleeding on her, and then he was dragging her away from the crowd, down into the soil, into darkness.

Ahmed’s first sight upon waking was Nyx’s sallow, bloodied face. “Need you to translate,” she said.

No pleasantries. No soothing words. Not even a smile.

There was a tall woman standing behind her, wearing a flowing turquoise robe and matching turban with a loose end that trailed to her ankles. His vision was still fuzzy, and in the dim, he thought it was someone he knew.

“Who have you brought here?” he said. He squinted. Was it one of them? Had they found him? “Fuck, Nyx, who is that? Get her away from me!” He tried to move, but he was sore, and thirsty. Wherever they were was cool and dim. The walls gave off a greenish light, a pale bioluminescence that reminded him of something in a magician’s gym.

“Hush now, hey,” Nyx said, and took him by the shoulders.

Ahmed tried to rub at his eyes, but his arms felt weak.

“She’s just a local, Ahmed. Nobody you know.”

Ahmed relaxed, and she pressed him back onto the floor.

“I need you to translate, all right?” Nyx said.

He nodded.

“Do you speak Khairian?” he asked the woman.

“I do,” she said. The accent was remarkable. It almost sounded Nasheenian. “At least one of you is half-civilized.”

“Ask her about where we need to go. How far is the next water cache? Where can we find other Nasheenians? Big fat man calls himself Hamza Habib. Ask her that,” Nyx said.

“Nyx, she has no idea what that is.”

“Ask her.”