Hope surges through me, erasing the anger with startling alacrity. “Why don’t you have enough energy?” Maybe I can help him. Maybe he can fix me. Maybe I can live. And if I’m going to survive, then I could think about those yellow veins on Earth below—and maybe I could dare to ask Mirage whether they’re true. Whether Earth’s power might really have been restored somehow, whether the fog is truly gone. Whether anyone managed to survive down there until now.

Whether Ty managed to survive.

The hope strengthens. But I learned a long time ago that hope is much more dangerous than any Being, that it can freeze like water over the cracks in your life and burst them open and leave you with even less than you had before.

Mirage is an alien. I have no idea what he wants. And, more important, the Being that stung me somehow came from here. I rein in the hope, seal it back underground, caulk carefully over the cracks.

Because I’m keeping them alive, Mirage tells me. A burst of muted green whirls at my side, around the mayor’s body.

“Them? You mean Mayor Ackermann and—what, more people?” I lift my head, scan my surroundings. Field of stars above, Earth below, the Shatter Ring stretching out to either side—it’s incredibly disorienting, and the darkness makes it impossible to see if there are any other bodies nearby. Who is Mirage keeping alive? And why does he need to keep them alive?

“There was a guy I came here with,” I tell Mirage. “Elliott Ackermann. Where is he? Is he okay?”

I’m not sure, Mirage says. I will begin a search for him, but it may take some time.

I bite back the urge to curse at the ship. So Elliott could be just fine, wandering around somewhere in this vast darkness without the ability to communicate with Mirage—since he didn’t get stung by the scorpion Being, thanks to my idiotic heroism, which I still can’t quite wrap my head around—or he could be dead. Or stuck back in that clearing.

No, Mirage says, sensing my thoughts again. He is not on Earth. He is somewhere inside me.

I blow out a breath in relief. “So he did get through the mirror?”

I don’t know.

I narrow my eyes. “You just said he’s somewhere here.”

Yes.

Something must be getting lost in translation. I try a different tack. “How did the mayor get here? This … woman,” I finally say, though it’s definitely not the first word that comes to mind, “in front of me. I saw her yesterday at the island. How did she escape? Why won’t she wake up?”

I—she’s not … Burnt-umber frustration undulates over the floor, then flashes suddenly to gold. I could show you, I think. May I show you?