“Atlas,” I call as he ducks through another hallway. The murmur of voices comes from somewhere nearby and is getting louder. Not knowing who else is here or what’s happening makes my heart punch against my chest. “Where are we going?” I ask, to remind him I’m still here. “Hey, Geeze!”

He glances back at me. The intensity of his eyes—the fear, the worry, the need that I see there—causes me to stumble. “Be quiet and stay right here.” The words are like sandpaper—scraped and muted. “Can you do that?” His gaze shifts behind me. “Can you see that she does that?”

I turn and see Renu coming down the aisle of books after me. “I’ve got her,” she says, taking hold of my arm. She digs her nails deep into my forearm when I try to yank free. She nods to Atlas. “I’ve got this. Just fill me in later. I have an investment in all of this, too.”

Without another word, Atlas disappears around another bookshelf.

The murmur of voices grows louder. Loud enough to hear, but not enough to decipher the words.

“Stand still,” she hisses as I lean forward. “He doesn’t need more trouble. Not now.”

“I’m not going to stand still or stay quiet if you keep trying to draw blood.”

Renu releases her grip, and I step out of easy reach. She smiles at me in a way that says she knows I want to rub at the aches but won’t give her the satisfaction. “I keep forgetting my nails have gotten so long. For the first few years, I kept breaking them on typewriter keys.”

“Not a very quick learner?”

Renu’s smile flattens into a tight-lipped frown.

“Sorry,” I mutter. I’m not, but it would be stupid to antagonize her. I’d most likely get lost if I had to find my own way back out. Wandering dark spaces with the rats isn’t my idea of fun. So I use the excuse the guy at the door of the station gave to me. “Getting on the train isn’t easy.”

“It’s not supposed to be. Truth is hard at any age.” She shuffles her feet and sighs. “And having the Conductor in charge of sharing that truth bail on you in the middle of the night isn’t exactly easy, either. Atlas wouldn’t have left if it wasn’t important.”

“So this is all about his dad?” I ask.

She gives me a long look. “If he wants to tell you what they’re talking about in there, that’s his business. But since we’re both stuck here waiting, I can answer any other questions you might have.”

“Are you a Conductor?”

She laughs. “Hell no. I don’t have patience for that kind of thing.”

Well, that was something she and Atlas had in common.

“I’m a Porter,” she explains. “I create tickets for potential riders, make lists of supplies that are needed here in the station, sort papers, and help the archivist keep a running list of what books have been sent to what stations and which ones have ridden the rails to the Lyceum to the north. That kind of thing.”