He left the door, his levels well and truly depleted. Like before, the instant his head touched the pillow, he fell asleep. It seemed even his mind was too tired for dreams.

  The next morning, he woke up, his eyes still gritty. He could instantly tell that he hadn’t slept enough, but the morning sun beyond the window told him the rest of the camp was about to get started with their routines. No sense in going back to sleep.

  At least, I’m not forced to sleep until my levels are fine again. He couldn’t decide if that was a good thing or bad.

  His body’s vitality had replenished with the dawn of a new day, but yesterday’s lack was still there. He could feel it draining today’s vitality even as he sat up, stretching his neck until he heard the satisfying cracks.

  Shaking the numbness out of his hands, he left the room. The apartment was still quiet. The silver water clock sitting on the small table by the door showed that it was just past six in the morning. The Emerys usually woke up at seven, which meant he had a good hour before John and Eve came out.

  This morning had brought with it a subtle cold. The country’s fluctuating weather patterns were beginning to wear on him. He shook his head, going back to his room for a jacket. This was the perfect time to do his part and collect the rations and water.

  He turned for the door when the bed caught his attention.

  He did have an hour.

  Maybe just one entry before he left. With a glance over his shoulder, he walked to the other side of the bed, got to his knees, and brought out the journal.

  He opened it right where he’d left it.

  “The locals continue to give me an odd look. Though they no doubt think they have concealed their thoughts, I know what they whisper. They look at my force, at the men I’ve arrived with, and think to themselves, Might we take him? If he ever posed a threat to us, could we actually defeat him? For the sake of honesty, I must admit a part of me longs for battle. We arrived here and found no resistance. A shame. It seems their current rulers believe in peace. I think it is time for war!”

  Even though he’d heard no sound, Zach stood and moved across the bed until he could see the inner apartment. John and Eve’s bedroom door was still closed. He moved back to the floor beside the bed and read on.

  “I loathe the fact that I have to move in the shadows. It seems cowardly, almost as though I’m admitting that I’m too weak to do it openly. But the others prefer that we move in the shadows, and regardless of what I think, we all agreed we wouldn’t openly challenge authority.

  “As such, we have requested a formal ceremony with the false monarchs; they are all convinced we intend to show our gratitude. But I will kill him tonight. I refused to give one of my men the task of executing their current king, and I use that term loosely. He will not see the morning sun.”

  That was the end of the entry. He nearly went on before he remembered he didn’t know how long it actually took to get the water or the rations. He didn’t even know where to go. Reluctantly, he closed the journal, slipping it back underneath the bed.

  Why had Eve sounded so panicked when she remembered her father talking about the book? They had to have been talking about the journal. It went with what Noah had said. And that bit the Head had mentioned about Eve’s children taking her place…

  Could she have simply meant learning their family history?

  He shook his head, slipping on his jacket. Questions, questions, questions. Either way, her reaction proved there was something in this journal. He just had to read it, anytime he took a break from playing the last Emery son.

  When he closed the bedroom door behind him, the apartment was still quiet. Zach didn’t blame them for wanting to sleep in after the intensity of last night’s emotions.

  As always, the hall was quiet. He walked on down the stairs, the cold gradually getting worse and worse. When he finally stepped outside, it felt like something deeper than winter. The jacket was just thick enough, though he still had to rub his hands together for extra warmth.

  Three people appeared from around the corner of the apartment just as the doors swung shut behind him. One of them offered a weak nod, the others lowering their eyes the minute he looked at them. He sighed and walked on.

  They’d come down from Cache Street, so he headed in that direction. Each of them had been carrying one empty bucket and their own bags, presumably with their morning rations. He cursed, realizing he hadn’t taken the black bag John and Eve always seemed to use. Maybe he could slip them in his jacket?

  He walked down the sidewalk before turning right, Cache Street just up ahead. Doing his best to avoid the glances thrown his way, he recounted the list of everything he could remember, working at the thread that connected the memories he couldn’t or didn’t want to tackle.

  There were three emotions that stood out to him. Emotions he’d experienced hints of during the last few days. Guilt, loss, and isolation. All of them linked closely to an event that had to do with a white dress smeared in blood. His mother calling his name...

  That damn wall. That was what he had to figure out. How to bring it down. That should’ve been obvious from the beginning, you idiot. Hopefully, Noah had found something in Lucas’ books. If he had the energy to still go sorting through books after all the walking and hunting.

  The only people on the street were those walking back to their homes, empty waste buckets and bags in hand. He wondered at Oliver not knowing where the station was when he turned the corner onto Cache Street, and he found the line.

  Of course, it would be on a street called Cache.

  Like him, they were standing in jackets and jeans, and the cold seemed to be affecting them even more because they were standing still. Some of them were blowing into cupped hands, the others keeping them firmly in their pockets.

  He quietly joined the line, standing behind someone who had on the same black jacket he did. When he stepped up behind them, his foot scuffing against the pavement, the person turned around, and Zach’s heart sank.

  The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

  It was Jonathan.

  The hate in his eyes paled in comparison with the large bruise that sat both on and underneath his jaw. Despite the sneer on his face, he took an involuntary step back.

  “Morning,” he suddenly said.

  It took a minute for Zach to realize the greeting wasn’t for him. Someone else had stepped up behind him. When he looked over his shoulder, he pretended like he wasn’t there, her eyes deliberately focused on Jonathan.

  “Morning,” she said.

  He handed her one of the small papers he carried, saying, “We’ve gathered enough to call a council. But we still need people to come to the meeting. If they see the majority of us want our keys, then under transparency law, the Expedition Function will be forced to take some of us with.”

  The woman did glance at Zach then, even as she took the page. There was a hint of blame in that look. It seemed that after yesterday’s experiments, he was more attuned to Severity. Feeling the subtle rise of rage in his chest, he turned his focus to the station ahead.

  They must’ve organized the station by the exact number of people living in a specific area, in their case, Oliver’s apartment block.

  The rattling sound of wagons came echoing down Cache, the bed of the one in front filled with buckets of water.

  These wagons were more advanced than the ones he’d seen. On one of them, the railings on the side stretched higher than the buckets that were stacked five atop each other in three lines of eight. The one behind it looked about the same, except instead of buckets, it carried two large cauldrons filled with something that pulsed with heat.

  The wagons stopped at the nearest building first. The four members of the Water Function riding beside the driver, two men and two women, hopped off and walked around to the back, where the buckets were.

  The men jumped up onto the bed of the wagon and undid the black ties keeping the buckets in place. That done, they started offloading, placing them beside the women who then carried them to the area in front of the building. They frequently consulted a large sheet, no doubt checking that everyone in the building received their share.

  Zach’s eyes went to the other wagon, where two other members were walking from the cauldrons with large pairs of tongs. They jumped down and walked to the buckets that had already been counted, opening and dropping what looked like coals into the water, a hiss of steam filling the cold air.

  Again, he marveled at the level of organization. That, and the fact that, technologically speaking, they’d been set back decades, if not centuries, and still they found a way to have a luxury like hot water.

  Still, he saw it as proof that where there was a will, there was a way.

  The woman behind him cleared her throat. He looked at her and found she was staring pointedly ahead. The line had moved. He offered a small apologetic smile and moved to catch up. More people had arrived behind her.

  “You know, they’re going to get you,” Jonathan said as he caught up, clearly upset Zach hadn’t already reacted to his bait.

  Zach steeled himself, trying to keep Severity from stirring at the hostility coloring Jonathan’s tone.

  “You can pretend all you want,” he whispered scathingly. “I know what you are. I heard you and Emily that day. Before the rest of the camp found out. I’m going to remind the council about that. We’ll see how you do then.”

  Zach frowned. Jonathan wasn’t like the others. There was no need to pretend as if everything were normal, no need to pretend as if he knew what he was talking about. “What did th-we say?” he asked.

  “No.” Jonathan shook his head with a snarl. “You’re trying to pretend it didn’t happen. We heard what you said. I’m going to remind everyone of that; it’s what got you sent to the hold.”

  Zach frowned, trying to recall the conversation.

  “That’s right,” Jonathan said with something like triumph, interpreting his look for something else, “I’m the reason you were taken to the execution platform.”

  “What did you hear me say?” Zach asked, looking around.

  “You know what you said. Even if you try lying, you’ve already been proven as a Dreamer. And I’ll remind everyone of that when—”

  “What did I say?” Zach asked, taking a step closer.

  Jonathan flinched at his approach. His eyes fell to Zach’s balled fists. Frustration was the only thing tightening the muscles in his hand, but Jonathan clearly saw it as a reminder of the anger that had given him that ugly bruise.

  “You said demons bow before you, and you were going to pull him through,” he said, his entire body curling inward as if to protect himself.

  “They? Let who in?” Zach asked, a coldness settling on his shoulders.

  On the end of that question, the conversation fell into his brain. There was no other way to explain it. He stumbled as he recalled standing on the corner of 2nd and Dream Street. Emily was standing there, too, frequently looking up at the Dreamhold.

  “You’re sure about this?” she asked, her face looking anxious.

  Her cheeks and forehead were covered in small clusters of freckles, leaving her nose bare. She had a slight gap between her two front teeth.

  “I’ll be able to do it,” Oliver responded. “I’ll do it differently. Under the right conditions, I can pull him through. If they help me, it could really work.”

  He sounded excited.

  In contrast, Emily still looked doubtful.

  “Oliver, you’ve been Claimed,” she said softly. “You try to hide it, but I’ve noticed you looking at things that aren’t there. You’re seeing one of the Creational Forces. You’re talking about maintaining your autonomy, your control.”

  “Emily, since you told me your family is involved with mine, I didn’t want to trust you anymore. But you promised me I could. You said you were going to help me leave. Well, this is me leaving. If I can pull him through, I’ll be gone. I’ll survive the Claiming. It wants me, but it can’t kill me. They said they’re stronger than the Creational Forces.”

  “What do you see?” she asked even softer.

  Oliver answered without any hesitation. “Chains, this strange black grass—it smells almost bitter. There are demons there, too. It’s like they bow before me. They want me to enter the realm.”

  “Stop, I didn’t expect you to say that much. This isn’t like the old times; we can’t pay people to be quiet. Oh, how I miss those days.”

  “You were my age when the war happened. Who were you bribing?”

  Instead of giving an answer, she gave him an arch smile.

  “You people are going to destroy us, and now there are two of you,” Jonathan said, stepping out of the line.

  Zach looked around, coming back from the memory. No wonder Jonathan still looked fearful. He’d heard them talking about demons and Creational Forces. Had they really been that foolish, speaking about such topics openly?

  They obviously thought they were alone.

  To save face and not look like the coward he clearly was, he walked down the line, talking about the upcoming council meeting. But Zach no longer paid him any mind.

  Oliver had known. This confirmed those journal pages Emily had left behind. Oliver had somehow brought him here. He could only guess who they referred to. Those beings in the seven towers he’d mentioned?

  This was a step in the right direction. A solid lead, even if it was only a confirmation. He now knew he’d been brought here purposefully. Though it brought up even more questions. Then there was the dynamic between Oliver and Emily.

  Her family had been involved in his? What did that even mean?

  His mind hopped onto the next bit of information he’d gathered from that memory.

  Oliver had seen Severity. He’d described it, down to the burnt grass his mind had struggled to comprehend. And the demons hadn’t tried attacking him.

  The woman behind him cleared her throat again.

  He looked around and found he was next.

  “Sorry.”