“Lots of practice,” Kiva said, moving to help him. She picked up a dirty tunic that had belonged to one of the men, wrinkling her nose as she shook it out and then folded it. She nearly missed the small, fluttering item that drifted to the floor, nearly didn’t act fast enough to cover it with her boot before Tipp saw.

Her pulse leapt into her throat, but she remained calm, continuing to fold the clothes until they were all done.

“Can you run these over to the entrance block for sorting?” Kiva asked Tipp, praying that he didn’t notice the waver in her voice.

“I’ll be r-r-really fast,” he said in answer. “They’ll be c-coming to get you soon. I don’t w-want to miss it.”

Kiva barely spared a thought to how it was nearly time for her next Ordeal. All she did was hold her breath until he took off out of the room, after which she glanced around quickly to make sure she was alone, aside from the sleeping Tilda. Once certain, Kiva shifted her foot and bent to pick up the scrap of parchment that had fallen from the man’s tunic.

This was it, she thought. Her family had received the note she’d sent through Raz, and they’d finally replied to give her news of the coming rescue.

With shaking hands, she unfolded the message. It was one word, the code scrawled this time in her brother’s messy, hurried hand.

Kiva frowned, reading it again, wondering if she was mistranslating.

It was a name. A town.

Oakhollow.

If she recalled her basic geography lessons, it was down south, close to Vallenia.

But why would he—

Kiva sucked in a breath as understanding hit her.

Her brother was telling her where he was. Where her family was.

Where she could find them, if she survived the Ordeals, if she earned her freedom.

It filled her with hope, with warmth, that he believed she could triumph where so many others had failed.

And yet . . . that hope dissolved as devastation overcame her. Her third Trial was today, and they still weren’t there to save her. She’d told them that she needed a rescue, and this was their only reply.

We are coming.

Lies.

All lies.

Because they weren’t coming.

She drew in a deep breath, seeking to control the tears that wanted to spring to her eyes.

She couldn’t blame them. No one had ever broken into Zalindov. No one had ever escaped. She knew it had been an impossible task, an impossible ask. But she’d hoped . . . with the help of the rebels, she’d hoped . . .

It didn’t matter.

It was up to Kiva now. If she wanted to see her family again, she would have to make her own way to them. Her brother’s note told her two things:

They were waiting for her. And they wanted her to join them.