“So you deny it?” I ask.

“Of course I do! Would you have been able to kill me if I were in control of this place? Or its creator? Take a moment and think about what a creator might do here. They’d be in charge. They’d be the king, and they’d be able to create anything they wanted.” She raises an eyebrow. “Sound familiar?”

It isn’t the first time I’ve wondered if Luc has some sort of power over the Nightmare, but his dad is the Draftsman who’s still trapped in the Tunnels. Luc earned his role as Emperor on his own merit.

“Someone in control of the Nightmare would be beyond death here. And you resurrected.”

“You’re hopeless.”

“You never gave me an answer.” I try to catch her eye, but she expertly fixates on anything but me.

“I gave you all the answer I can.”

“Your people attacked me and the other tunnel escapees on our way to the coliseum. Why?”

“To keep you from becoming noxior slaves.”

I roll my eyes. “So we could live happily ever after in this ghost town?”

She huffs. “I don’t expect you to understand. At least we’re giving people a choice.”

“Oh, so that’s what you did to Erik? You gave him a choice as your friends dragged him into the darkness by his ankles? Then what did you do to him?”

“The most we could. We encouraged him to keep running toward the light.”

That’s the first thing that sort of makes sense. Running toward the light is how I escaped the Tunnel. Luc can’t even get his own father out, so it must be up to the person themselves. It’s a choice to escape.

I’m growing soft toward her—buying her excuses and explanations, as cryptic as they are. But Luc has records. The Spores killed Nole, and I can’t let that go.

“Well, goodbye.” She turns.

“Wait!” I can’t accept defeat like this. This journey has been useless so far. “Where are you going?”

“Home.”

“There’s nothing you can do to save your body?” Our bodies.

She hesitates and that tells me enough. “There might be a way.” Her eyes slide to me. “But it’s a slim one.”

“What is it?”

“Tell me the coordinates of our location.”

I open my mouth to do so, jumping at the chance to hope, but catch myself. After a moment’s thought, I say instead, “Can I come with you?”

“Where?”

“To wherever you live in Tenebra. Your base, or whatever.”

She snorts. “So you can report our ‘base’ to the Emperor? You’d put us all at risk! You’ve already put us at risk by coming after me.”

“Let me come with you. I can’t keep creating a hound dog from nightmist to find you.” I try to sound lighthearted, not desperate.

She lets out an exasperated sigh. “You should stop creating from nightmist altogether.”

“Says the girl who flies on the back of a phoenix.”

“It’s not a nightbeast.” She walks away, limping and using the wall as a support. I follow her.

“Your body is with mine. Only I can tell you what’s happening in the Real World. You really want to leave me behind?”

“We’ll set up a communication system.”

“What, letter delivery by owl?”

She looks at me in surprise, then shakes her head. “Nerd.”

“I won’t tell you the coordinates unless you take me with you.”

“I guess our bodies will die then.” She rounds the corner of a house and climbs atop an old barrel to reach the edge of the roof. It seems to take all her effort.

She grips the edge with her fingers and moves to haul herself up, but one arm slips. She tries again, but her body works about as well as a damp piece of paper. I form a step with my hands and give her a shove that would tear my shoulder open if this were my real body. It propels her atop the roof.

She doesn’t offer me a thank-you. Or a hand up.

In fact, she walks out of sight. I hurry to haul myself up behind her, even though my lungs are on fire and the stretch pulls my muscles with a bungee cord of pain.

On top of the roof, her phoenix rests with its head tucked under its wing. It’s enormous—the biggest nightbeast I’ve seen. But instead of being dull-toned and shadowy like every creature Luc or I make, its feathers are a shiny gold and brown with rich red accents that are stark against this dim night.

Stunning.

“Stranna.”

Her shoulders tense.

“I’m trying to save your life. If I’d wanted to kill you or betray you, I would have done it already. Come on . . . have faith.” It’s a low blow, manipulative, but it works: just like it used to work on Nole and Mom. I feel guilty that they did have faith in me, yet I am still the prodigal they always dreaded.

I don’t want to be a prodigal. I want to believe like Nole did, have faith like Stranna does, but not in the weak way I always tend to see. Why does it seem like “to have faith” means to abandon all strength and gumption? Turn into a doormat or let people punch you without retaliating.

Stranna sighs, then unties a cloth from around her wrist. It’s dirty and stained, but she holds it out to me.

I take it. “What’s this?” Some sort of token to let the hound sniff the next time I need to find her?

“Blindfold.” At our voices, the phoenix’s head pops up. It stretches its wings and nearly knocks me off the roof.

I take the blindfold, not daring to say anything more and risk her changing her mind. I’m about to tie it around my eyes, but a nagging at the back of my mind stops me. I take her arm as carefully as I can. This time, she doesn’t yank away.

I have to ask. One last time. “Did the Spores kill my brother?”