Cinder looked past him, like he was worried Reef would be there.

“It’s all right,” Perry said. He could trust Reef with secrets—Cinder’s scent probably already had Reef suspicious—but Perry knew Cinder would only be at ease with him. “Reef’s outside, and he’ll stay there. It’s just us.”

Reassured, Cinder nodded and replied, “Every time, I feel worse afterward. It’s like the Aether takes part of me away with it. I feel like I can barely breathe, it hurts so much. One day it’ll take everything. I know it will.” He brushed away a tear from his cheek with an angry swipe. “It’s all I have,” he said. “It’s the only thing I can do, and I’m scared of it.”

Perry exhaled slowly, absorbing the information. Every time Cinder used his power, he gambled with his life. Perry couldn’t ask that of him. It was one thing to take chances with his own life. But he couldn’t put an innocent boy in that position. Not ever.

“You’re well if you don’t use it?” he asked.

Cinder nodded, his eyes downcast.

“Then don’t. Don’t call the Aether. Not for any reason.”

Cinder peered up. “Does that mean you’re not streaked at me?”

“Because you can’t save the Tides for me?” Perry shook his head. “No. Not at all, Cinder. But you’re wrong about something. The Aether isn’t the only thing you have. You’re part of this tribe now, no different from anyone else. And you’ve got me. All right?”

“All right,” Cinder said, fighting off a smile. “Thanks.”

Perry thumped him on the shoulder. “Maybe one day you’ll let me borrow your hat, if it’s all right with Willow.”

Cinder rolled his eyes. “That was … that wasn’t …”

Perry laughed. He knew exactly what it was.

Twig ran up on the trail as they returned to the compound. “Gren is back,” he said, panting for breath. “He’s brought Marron with him.”

Marron was here? It didn’t make sense. Perry had sent Gren for provisions. He hadn’t expected his friend to deliver them personally.

He stepped into the clearing and saw a filthy, weather-beaten group, roughly thirty in number. Molly and Willow were giving them water, and Gren stood with them, his face tight with worry.

Perry clasped his hand. “Good you’re back.”

“I ran into them on my way,” Gren said, “and brought them with me. I knew it was what you’d want.”

Perry scanned the crowd and almost missed Marron. He was a different person. Dirt coated his tailored jacket, the ivory silk shirt beneath rumpled and stained with sweat. His blond hair—normally perfectly combed—was matted and darkened by grease and dirt. His face was windburned and had lost all of its roundness. He had withered.