“A day’s worth,” said Woolf. “Maybe more. I don’t think Vinci is eating a full share.”

“Maybe he doesn’t have to,” whispered Marcus. “For all we know he’s . . . photosynthetic or something. Or he’s been eating these.” Marcus picked at the vines growing across the interior wall. He pulled too hard, the leaf failed to break away like he expected, and the whole section of tendrils shook—inside and out. Marcus looked up in shock at the unexpectedly massive display. “Crap.”

A flurry of bullets slammed into the brick wall, punching through and sending a shower of broken clay shards spraying wildly through the room. Marcus threw himself to the floor, Woolf diving down beside him, and they covered their heads as they crawled for the hallway. The gunfire was quieter than usual—not silent, but more like a nail gun than the harsh gunshot explosions Marcus was used to. They reached the hallway, taking cover behind the extra layer of wall, just as the hail of bullets ceased.

“Can they see us?” asked Marcus.

“Let’s find out,” said Woolf, and stuck his hand back into the open doorway. Nothing shot it. “Probably not.”

“Or they don’t want to bother with just your hand,” said Marcus.

“If they could see us that clearly, they’d have hit us,” said Woolf. “More likely they were passing close by, saw the sudden movement, and thought it was an ambush.”

“All the shots I heard were silenced,” said Marcus. “That means Galen didn’t shoot back.”

Woolf shook his head. “They wouldn’t have hit him, they were shooting at your movement.”

“Good yet embarrassing news,” said Marcus, nodding. “But then why didn’t he shoot? From where he’s stationed he should have had a good angle on the source of that attack.”

Woolf rose to a crouch, checking his own weapon as he prepared to run. “In that case, this is the best news we’ve had all month. Who would Galen see but not shoot at?”

Marcus grinned. “You think?”

“Let’s go find out.”

They scurried down the hall to the stairs, and from there to the main floor, where Galen was crouched in another concealed gun nest. “Humans,” Galen whispered.

“How can you tell?”

“Too many body types,” said Galen. “Partials are all young men, like Vinci; this group has women, one of them pretty old.”

“Smart,” said Woolf. “You haven’t hailed them?”

“Waiting for you.”

Woolf nodded and moved away from Marcus’s window to a separate window—partly for the different angle, but Marcus realized nervously that it was also a safety precaution. If the enemy fired again when Woolf hailed them, he was the only one they’d hit. Marcus admired the wisdom of the move, but the need for it twisted a dull knot in his stomach.