Elliott is staring at me. His eyes have gone wide, and something like shock is plastered over his face. “The Beings’ effects disappear on the ship? Does that mean the people who die from Being attacks … what, maybe they just wake up there instead of their real bodies actually dying?”

Everything in me sinks. I scramble to formulate a reply. I didn’t connect the dots, didn’t realize he might think Braedan could still be alive on Mirage. “I, uh, I don’t know, maybe,” I manage, the worst-delivered and most heartless lie of my life.

It’s a good thing that he assumed Braedan might be alive. He’ll be much more motivated to make the plan work this way. I tell myself I’m glad for it, but all I can see is the look on his face when we found his brother’s body in the middle of the road.

Elliott stares at me. Slowly, his eyes narrow again—in thought or in suspicion, I’m not sure. Then his expression clears, smooths out, goes blank. I can’t tell what he’s thinking, and that makes me very, very nervous.

But “What’s the plan, then?” is all he says when he finally speaks. “You want to use the transmitter to tell everyone the truth about the world?”

Slowly, I exhale. He took the bait. “Not exactly,” I answer. “I want to use it to tell them all about the hundreds of mirrors I’ve planted in their shelters.”

He stares at me. “You planted hundreds of mirrors … in the shelters.”

I smile thinly. “Of course not. Even I don’t have access to that many mirrors at once. But I don’t need to actually plant the mirrors. I just need to make them think I’ve planted the mirrors.”

Realization dawns. “And their collective belief that the mirrors are there will make mirrors actually appear.” The look in his eyes says he’s remembering that awful reflective forest, the way it appeared instantly when I imagined it.

“Right,” I confirm. “We’ll also need to give everyone the quick and dirty version of the story I just told you, so they know they need to go through the mirrors I’ve ‘planted’ once they start stumbling onto them in their mad dash to escape.”

He spots the flaw in my plan. “No one will trust you,” he says with a frown. “No one will go through the mirrors just because you say to.”

“Of course not,” I agree easily.

He lets his head fall back. “Which is why you need me,” he says to the ceiling.

“Yep. A mirror dealer and the shadowseeker—how could they not believe us? The only way we’d ever agree on anything was if it was the truth.”

He gives me a look. “What makes you think I’d lend you any credibility? I’m an exile now too.”