“Do you see those Gillies?” I pointed at them, raising my voice. “Those Gillies are going to try and stop us getting out. They’re going to kill us, because even now, they don’t want us in their capital. They don’t want us to share what we’ve seen. They want us to die—here, now.” My voice was sore, but I pressed on. I had to press on. “I will open this access hatch, and we will leave this city on time. I promise you that we will be in London by dawn. And there will be no day-bell to send us to our cells!” There were murmurs of assent, of anger. Michael clapped. “But I need you to defend the meadow. I need you to do this one last thing before we can leave this place forever. Give me two minutes, and I will give you freedom.”

They didn’t say anything. No war cries, no shouts. But in unison, they picked up their improvised weapons, summoned every spirit they could muster, and surged toward the NVD. Nadine and Zeke went after them, straight into the fray. The spirits of the meadow rallied to their cause, flying at the NVD with twice the strength of bullets. Jaxon held still, assessing me.

“An excellent speech,” he said, “for an amateur.”

It was a compliment. Praise from a mime-lord to his mollisher. But I knew it wasn’t really admiration.

I had two minutes. That was my promise.

“Dani,” I said, “I need the mask.”

She reached into the pocket of her coat. Sweat coated her brow. “Here.” She threw it at me. “It’s running low on oxygen. Make it count.”

Positioning myself as close as possible to the padlock, I lay down on the grass. Nick looked at Warden. “I don’t know who you are, but I hope you know what you’re doing. She’s not a toy.”

“I cannot allow you to lead these people through No Man’s Land.” Warden cast his eye toward the woods. “Unless you can think of an alternative, Dr. Nygård, this is the only way.”

I strapped PVS2 over my mouth and nose. It sealed and illuminated, indicating a steady flow of oxygen. “You haven’t got long,” Dani said. “I’ll give you a shake when you have to come back.”

I nodded.

“Warden,” I said, “what was Seb’s middle name?”

“Albert.”

I closed my eyes.

“Timing two minutes,” Nick said, and that was the last thing I heard, at least in meatspace.

I could see the tiny receptacle in the æther. It absorbed me as any dreamscape would, like one small droplet might absorb another. And then I turned to face a lost boy.