“I can get a new one,” he says, and I try not to think about what that statement means. He’d skin for it—take it off some Unconsecrated. Which is probably where this one came from and why it was so cheap when I traded for it years ago.

“So they’re sending you back over the river?” I ask. The thought of voluntarily going into the Dark City makes my skin itch. All those Unconsecrated. All the panic and hopelessness.

Catcher nods.

“Are you okay?”

He shrugs. “Like I said, we do what we have to in order to survive.”

The flatness of his voice irritates me. Even though we haven’t known each other for long, I thought we were at the point where we could be honest about the situation we’re in together.

“Right,” I say. “It’s just about survival.” I want him to contradict me. To say something—anything—but he simply nods again as if we’re back to being complete strangers.

He’s completely cut me off and it hurts, which makes me angry for caring in the first place. I stare at him a moment longer, the Unconsecrated moaning as he walks endlessly. Catcher says nothing more, his gaze shuttered, and so I stride to the door.

“Good luck,” I say, and as I pass him he shifts ever so slightly so that the knuckles of my hand brush against his. My step falters as I try to figure out if he did it on purpose. Unable to know, I push forward out into the freezing afternoon, letting the snow cool the heat of my face.

Chapter XVIII

Once outside I pause, trying to get my bearings. I have no idea where I’m supposed to be—where I’m allowed—and so I go back to the one place I know: the map room.

It’s empty, the lanterns Ox lit still burning, and I stare at the walls. Black pin after black pin of hopelessness. Places that used to be. My head pounds and I realize my stomach’s empty—I’m exhausted.

I lean against the wall and slide until I’m sitting on the floor surrounded by a world that once was. Ox’s warning that we’re all that’s left circles my head, but I’m not sure I’m ready to believe that yet.

I’m not sure I ever will be. I close my eyes and remember what I can about the village I grew up in. It was so long ago, and my memories are mere suggestions of colors and scents and sounds.

The smell of the charred remains of the Cathedral that burned long before I was born, the sound of my sister giggling as we fell asleep at night, her hot sweaty hand resting on my arm. The grassy hill we used to climb so that we could stare over the treetops.