“I need that back, Mole.”

“I told you it doesn’t work!”

“I’m going to get it fixed.”

Aria couldn’t hold back a sputter of laughter. “You know how to fix this?”

His glare was scathing. “I know someone who can.”

She still couldn’t believe it. “You know a person—an Outsider—who can fix this?”

“Do you have to hear everything twice, Dweller? I’ll be back in less than two weeks. There’s enough food and water in there to last you. Just stay put. No one comes out this way. Not this time of year. Have that thing off by the time I’m done packing.” He strode back into the cave.

Aria rushed after him, staying close enough to follow the pale streaks of his hair through the gloom. The fire had dwindled to embers. He tossed a piece of wood onto them, sending a scatter of cinders upward.

“I’m not staying here alone for a week. Or two weeks, or whatever.”

He moved to one of the cases and began stuffing things into a leather bag. “You’ll be safer here.”

“No. I’m not staying! I may not live—” Her voice broke. “I may not have that long. My immune system isn’t made for out here. Two weeks might be too late. If you want my help, I need to come.”

He considered this awhile. He set his bag on the ground. “I won’t slow down for you. That means walking days on those.” He nodded at her feet.

“You won’t have to slow down,” she said, relieved. At least she wouldn’t be left alone or separated from her Smarteye.

He sent her a skeptical look and then opened another case. The fire was burning again, illuminating the rough walls of the cave. As he turned away, she noticed he had a patch of blue bruising beneath one arm that spread across his ribs. Aria watched the way the tattoo on his back moved as he moved. She was a falcon too. Her voice had a broad range, but in opera she was categorized as a falcon soprano. That’s where Lumina got her nickname. Aria shuddered at the coincidence.

“Does that have some sort of meaning?” she asked.

He took garments from the crate and shook them out. They were army fatigues from the time of the Unity. Camouflaged cargo pants and button-down shirt. He tossed them to her. “Clothes.”

She dodged aside and then peered at the coarse mounds of material. “Can we boil them first?”

No answer again. She slipped into the shadows and pulled them on, moving as fast as she could. They were huge on her, but warmer and easier to move in. She rolled and tied them at her wrists and ankles and used the gauze as a belt again.