“Come and have a sit-down with us,” the aged, gray, wrinkled man said. She accepted his offer and took a seat right next to him on the cool dirt. “There ya go. I bet you’re plenty worried about what we’re yappin’ about over here, huh?”

She didn’t love the slight patronizing tone of his words, but she knew it came from a good place. When you’re older than the Flare, someone like her must seem like a toddler.

“Curious, for sure,” she replied. “Come up with anything yet?”

Old Man Frypan glanced at his compatriots, then back at her. “What do you think we should do?”

More than a little surprised, she didn’t have an answer ready. But he waited, patient, his eyes—lit up by the fire—saying he truly wanted her opinion. She scrambled for something that didn’t sound idiotic, but finally settled on the words that felt right.

“We have to go after them. Search for them. Find ’em, save ’em.”

“Damn right, we do,” Old Man Frypan said, any trace of a smile having vanished from his face. “That’s the truth, the whole truth, and nothin’ but the truth, amen.”

Ms. Cowan spoke next.

“Then it’s settled.”

The Orphan’s stomach was so full of food and water that he felt certain—so certain that he considered forcing an upchuck—that he was about to explode from the inside-out like an artillery suit packed in nails. He sat on a couch, leaning to the side, his head on a soft pillow, groaning every few seconds from the terrible episode of overeating. The kindly woman named Roxy sat on an overstuffed chair nearby, hands in her lap, smiling gently at him as if proud she’d made a meal so fantastic that it was about to kill a man.

It had to be a fever dream. He’d never been in such a ridiculous situation in his life.

“You’re as full as a tick on a bull,” the lady said. “Maybe go a little easy on the cinnamon bread next time.” She laughed at this then waved her hand in the air as if shooing at a fly. “And believe it or not, young man, we have full-flushing toilets in this here domicile. Looks like that’s destined to be a major perk for you in the next hour or so.” She blushed a little, then shrugged a shoulder as if she didn’t actually care two spurts about such talk. “Just be sure and wash up and don’t leave the place lookin’ like a rat’s nest. Air it out a bit, too, if you could be so kind—just open up a window, rain or shine, hot or cold. Gets a powerful stink up there even when I take care of business, and I can only imagine the levels of nose-burners you’re gonna unleash.”