Will he reward her this time because I stood beside him in the arena today? Or will he punish her for my angry outburst? A wrenching sob bursts from me at the thought—a hoarse rattle from my lips—lost immediately in the roar of wind around me. What will happen to her? How much more will I make her bear for me?

I weep until my lungs are heavy, until the icy air pricks my eyes, until I can no longer tell whether my tears are in anguish or from the sting of flying.

Finally, my breaths slow. My fists unclench and the muscles in my back relax, smoothing my flight as I yield to the air currents. When I first started flying, I tired myself easily by fighting against the wind. Gradually, I learned to turn my body in tune with it instead, to observe the way birds used the air to their favor. My flights have gotten longer as a result. By the time I’ve circled over half the city, I’ve calmed enough to rebuild the walls around my heart, firmer after having been allowed to rest. Bit by bit, I compose myself again until my emotions feel securely restrained under the surface.

Down below, the arena comes into view behind apartment towers. I can see it changing from an execution stage to a makeshift supply station, where laborers working on the nearby prison excavation site are moving crates in order to make more room for piles of debris outside the worksite.

A closer look makes me slow momentarily in my sweep. I change my path to a tight circle over the arena as I peer at the massive pit that used to be Newage’s dungeon.

The pulleys and ropes, which have long hung deep into the pit, are now hauling up something big from the depths. Cardinia’s mayor stands beside the teams and peers down at it.

I frown, my heartache giving way for a moment of curiosity. Have they finally found something?

The mysterious object looks like a cylinder the size of one of the buttresses enforcing the sides of the National Hall, but judging from the way it makes the pulleys creak and the sheer number of workers struggling to haul it up, it must weigh at least ten times that. Even caked in eons of dirt, I can still see the glint of dull metal through it, catching the weak afternoon light.

Slowly, they manage to lift the object until, with one final, mighty pull, it hangs above the ground. A team scrambles to move it to one side while the pulleys lower it onto a rolling platform.

My brows furrow in concentration. Nothing else I’ve seen in Mara looks anything like this, not even within the Early Ones’ ruins. I stare in wonder, and as I do, I notice the faintest glow coming from it. Maybe it’s my imagination or some remnant of the days I spent feverish in the Laboratory, never sure if what I was seeing in the mirror was me or a hallucination … but something about the object seems warm, as if it has an inner life of its own. A chill seeps into my bones as I watch the workers below circle the object, pointing at various parts of it and scrubbing down its sides. The energy source that Constantine claims lies buried underneath Mara. Is this what he’s been searching for?