You all right?” Roar whispered as the house emptied.

Aria let out her breath and nodded, though she wasn’t quite sure. Aside from him and Perry, everyone who’d stood in this room despised her because of who she was. Because of what she was.

A Dweller. A girl who lived in a domed city. A Mole tramp, as Wylan had whispered under his breath. She’d been preparing herself for that, especially after days of Reef’s cold stares, but she felt shaken anyway. It would be the same if Perry entered Reverie, she realized. Worse. Reverie Guardians would kill an Outsider on sight.

She turned away from the door, her eyes drifting across the cozy, cluttered home. A table with painted chairs to one side. Bowls and pots in every color along the shelves behind it. Two leather chairs before the hearth, worn but comfortable-looking. Along the far wall she saw baskets with books and wooden toys. It was cool and quiet, and smelled faintly of smoke and old wood.

“This is his home, Roar.”

“Yes. It is.”

“I can’t believe I’m here. It’s warmer than I expected.”

“It used to be more so.”

A year ago, this house would’ve been packed with Perry’s family. Now he was the only one left. Aria wondered if that was why the Six slept there. Surely there were other homes they could occupy. Maybe a full house helped keep Perry from missing his family. She doubted it. No one could ever fill the void her mother had left. People couldn’t be replaced.

She pictured her own room in Reverie. A small space, spare and neat, with gray walls and an inset dresser. Her room had been home once. She felt no longing for it. Now it seemed as inviting as the inside of a steel box. What she missed was the way she’d felt there. Safe. Loved. Surrounded by people who accepted her. Who didn’t whisper Mole tramp at her.

She had no place of her own now, she realized. No things like the falcon figurines on the windowsill. No objects to prove she existed. All her belongings were virtual, kept in the Realms. They weren’t real. She didn’t even have a mother anymore.

A feeling of weightlessness came over her. Like a balloon that had slipped free from its tether, she was floating, made of nothing more than air.

“You hungry?” Roar asked behind her, oblivious, his tone light and cheerful as always. “We usually eat in the cookhouse, but I could bring something for us here.”

She turned. Roar rested a hip against the table, his arms crossed. He wore black from head to toe, like she did.

He smiled. “Not as comfortable as Marron’s, is it?”