I felt exposed, having him so far away. Ian was just a step behind me—I could hear him breathing. The others in the room continued to glower, their tools still in their hands. I didn’t miss the fact that the picks and hoes that were breaking the earth could easily be used to break a body. It seemed to me, in reading a few of their expressions, that I wasn’t the only one with that idea.

Jeb came back and handed me a shovel. I gripped the smooth, worn wooden handle, feeling its weight. After seeing the bloodlust in the humans’ eyes, it was hard not to think of it as a weapon. I didn’t like the idea. I doubted I could raise it as one, even to block a blow.

Jeb gave Ian the pick. The sharp, blackened metal looked deadly in his hands. It took all my willpower not to skip out of range.

“Let’s take the back corner.”

At least Jeb took me to the least crowded spot in the long, sunny cave. He had Ian pulverize the hard-baked dirt ahead of us, while I flipped the clods over and he followed behind, crushing the chunks into usable soil with the edge of his shovel.

Watching the sweat run down Ian’s fair skin—he’d removed his shirt after a few seconds in the dry scorch of the mirror light—and hearing Jeb’s grunted breaths behind me, I could see that I had the easiest job. I wished I had something more difficult to do, something that would keep me from being distracted by the movements of the other humans. Their every motion had me cringing and flinching.

I couldn’t do Ian’s job—I didn’t have the thick arm and back muscles needed to really chew into the hard soil. But I decided to do what I could of Jeb’s, prechopping the clods into smaller bits before I moved on. It helped a little bit—kept my eyes busy and tired me out so that I had to concentrate on making myself work.

Ian brought us water now and then. There was a woman—short and fair, I’d seen her in the kitchen yesterday—who seemed to have the job of bringing water to the others, but she ignored us. Ian brought enough for three every time. I found his about-face in regard to me unsettling. Was he really no longer intent on my death? Or just looking for an opportunity? The water always tasted funny here—sulfurous and stale—but now that taste seemed suspicious. I tried to ignore the paranoia as much as possible.