She turned and spoke to Isaac, about as defeated as someone could sound. “They have guns, I guess. Ordering us to come inside.”

Isaac felt as if he’d just shrunk two inches and lost thirty pounds. Dominic climbed through the hatch and then Jackie moved to follow. Out of the frying pan and into—

A noise rattled behind Isaac. He was just beginning to twist around when a hand slammed atop his shoulder, then another hand stuffed a wadded rag of cloth into his mouth. Footsteps pounded up the small hallway, something pushed him to the side, a figure ran past him. That person attacked Jackie, threw her to the floor and stuffed her mouth with cloth as well, then grabbed her by the ankles. Isaac was barely registering this when he was yanked backward, lifted off his feet and pulled away from the hatch.

Then he was being dragged down the hall, fear like an expanding balloon in his throat, watching helplessly as Jackie met the same fate.

He heard whispers from behind, but he could only focus on one problem at a time. Two Orphans, rifles raised, their barrels aimed at Orange and him. A priestess of the Cure, working switches and controls as if she hadn’t noticed them enter. And then there was Glane, his Grief Bearer and master for many a year, having now stood from his own chair to face his pupil, the one in whom he’d been so proud. Minho had not known until that very moment that the man had accompanied the others on this trip.

“Orphan,” Glane said. “It looks as if you’ve strayed from the wilderness. I believe your forty days ended without your triumphant return to the Remnant Nation. But all’s well, as they say. Griever Barrus made it clear that we could still use you. He gave you the pragmatist speech, I believe. True?”

“I didn’t know you came with him,” Minho said.

“I did.”

He said nothing else, letting the absurdity of his response linger in the stale air.

“I’m . . . glad.”

“Are you? Are you on our side, Orphan? I want to believe it, despite every single action you take saying otherwise.”

Orange stood right next to Minho, and yet Glane hadn’t so much as looked at her. Roxy and the others crowded in behind him, still and silent, no more whispers. Orange moved her foot against Minho’s, then pressed against it with the lightest of touches. Message received.

“Speak, Orphan.” Glane’s voice reminded Minho of why he’d kept walking west, even on the brink of starvation, sick and weak. Roxy had saved him, body and mind. And now, to save her, his left hand needed only to move two inches.

“Now,” Minho finally said, probably not the response his master had been expecting.