Tombs.

It’s worse than the coliseum. Here, there’s not even sky.

“Light?” Stranna almost laughs. “That’s long dead.”

For the first time I question her knowledge. Prior to now I was accepting her words—accepting that she’s been here longer than I have, knows more than I do. But now I see something else that taints her words. Bitterness, or maybe fear.

“You can’t kill light,” I retort. All this time I thought the Spores had some secret hideaway filled with control and life and secret creation powers beyond even Luc.

Stranna turns her back on me and lifts the oil lamp high enough to illuminate the path. “Well then, since you’re so sure, I’ll leave it up to you to find it.”

“You have it!” I gesture to her, though she’s not looking at me. “You exploded lightning in the Macella Quarter! What do you mean it’s dead? You and your kind caused panic and mobs in the coliseum because of a single spark.” I recall my first hours out of the Tunnel. When I saw a brief spark after clasping Erik’s hand.

It scared James. Then the Spores stabbed him and dragged Erik away. Erik must have been Spore-infected and not known it.

Stranna stops but doesn’t turn. The oil lamp in her hand trembles more fiercely, and she transfers it to her other hand. “You . . . you can see those lights?” she asks, raising her head.

“It’s hard to miss light in the darkness of this Nightmare.” Only now do I realize how inaccurate the term Spore is. Spore makes me think of green toxic gas. Not lightning. Is Stranna implying that some people can’t see it?

“But that doesn’t make sense.” She turns and reaches down and tugs at my foot. Instinctively I lift it, and the roots from my sole stretch from the ground, trying to pull my sandal away from her hands.

“How can you have roots here and still see the light?”

Then as if catching herself, she releases my foot and straightens. “It doesn’t matter. Follow me. Unless you’re scared of the dark.”

I pushed a button or something. She jabbed at my desire for light, but I don’t let it bother me. The Nightmare roots and Spore lights are equally confusing to me. I set aside my curiosity and remind myself why we’re here: to save our physical bodies.

And Stranna said she might have a way.

We wander through the catacombs, and no matter my counting, I lose track of the direction we take. I’ll never be able to find this place again, let alone get out of here without getting lost.

Along the crude stone walls are hollow cutouts—places for dead bodies. All are empty.

“No corpses in here?” I venture.

“The catacombs have been here since we arrived. There are no bodies to fill the tombs. If you die in the Nightmare, your form disappears because it’s really only your consciousness. There’s nothing left to bury.”

So then why do the catacombs exist? “I guess that keeps things neater.”

“And sadder.” Her voice is heavy. “It’s hard to say a proper goodbye or find closure when people you love fade from your arms like that.”

For a brief, twisted moment I’m thankful I got to hold Nole after he died. I got to bury him.

“I’m sorry,” I say, though I don’t know who she’s lost or even if she’s referencing something personal.

We reach another stretch of tombs, but this time they’re not empty. As the oil lamp passes them I see their contents. Pillows. Blankets. A pitcher of water in one with a stack of stained towels.

Then there’s a body.

A child’s body.

I recoil so fast I bump against the opposite wall. Stranna follows my horrified gaze, then gives me an eye roll.

“Get a grip, Cain.”

“I thought you said bodies disappeared once they died here!” What sort of sick people are the Spores to horde the corpse of a child?

“We’re still learning the rules.” She reaches out and ruffles the child’s hair.

He pops up from his spot in the tomb, and I press against the wall even more. For one wild moment I think maybe she’s resurrected him. Or he’s a nightbeast or something.

Stranna bursts out laughing while the boy rubs bleary eyes. “He was sleeping, Cain. Good grief!”

“Oh.” I relax, though my heart still thunders. I’m such an idiot. Of course. Pillows. Blankets. Kid.

But this is the first child I’ve seen with the Spores. I scan his body through the shadows as best I can. No shackles. Nothing sinister. Nothing more than a boy without his family. Are his parents in the coliseum, attending the daily Arena fights and hoping he’ll be the next name called?

“Hey, Stranna,” the boy says, though he eyes me with suspicion. “Who’s he?”

“A guest for now.”

Without a word the boy climbs from his tomb bed and follows us. I notice a little paring knife in his hand, one that might be used at dinner rather than as a weapon. “He’s not going to take any of us, right?”

“Not if I can help it.” I hear the smile in Stranna’s voice.

So the Spores have convinced the kids that we are the enemy. That Tenebran citizens are the ones trying to kidnap kids. Does this boy realize his parents are probably waiting for him? Longing for him to be found and reunited with them?

I want to ask Stranna about it, but even I know that’s crossing a line of discussion she won’t allow.

We pass more children. Some sleeping in their little tomb alcoves, which disturbs me no matter how many times I tell myself they’re stone-carved bunkbeds. Then I see a head of braids. The girl props her chin on her hands as we approach.

“Stranna!”

Stranna gives her a kiss on the forehead as she passes.

The girl glares at me. “What’s he doing here?”

“Long story.”

It’s the girl from the Arena, the one the phoenix carried away. Stranna’s sister.

“Glad to see the phoenix didn’t eat you,” I say.

“Can’t say the same for you.” Feisty little thing: a similarity between sisters, I suppose. “Besides, it wasn’t going to eat me. It was trying to rescue me.”

“Olivia,” Stranna warns, but I want to hear the story.

“How’d you end up a noxior anyway?”