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Quietly, he slips back into his chamber. I assume it’s his chamber, anyway.

Venturing to what ends up being a small closet, I find an array of things, including broken bits of Ancient artifacts. They immediately catch my attention, and I pull some out into the dim light to see them better. They’re not all machine parts. This looks like part of a sieve, that looks like...well, I don’t know. But I want to know.

Let it go, Pell.With a long breath, I set the exciting toys aside. They’re likely part of the scrap metal I’m to be paid with, so there’s no point in getting worked up over them if they’ll be melted down anyway. That, and I’d prefer to dig while the mist holds.

I find a shovel, a pick, and a broom. After grabbing the first two, I make my way through the front doors again, around to the west side of the tower, where the machine is. Thick mist coats my nose and throat. It’s soothing after long, dry suns. Two emilies have sprouted nearby, both a pale blue that would blend with the mists if not for their softly glowing centers.

I stare at the hard ground beneath the tower and sigh. “Just like a well,” I mutter.

And start digging.

My body moves into the rhythm easily, and I’m pleased to see that after a couple of layers, the earth loosens up. Maybe this was an emily bed recently, and the roots unknowingly lent me a hand before vanishing, as emilies tend to do. I dig down about five decimeters, thenwiden the hole. I’ll know if I need shoring soon enough, but for now, I focus on digging.

I’ve made a sizable dent in the ground, about one-third of a proper grave, when I hear the swing of the pickaxe behind me. I turn, pause, blink.

Heartwood is here.

His presence radiates through me like I’ve taken a full swing at a boulder. Seeing him closer, even in the mist, jars me. Before, on the staircase, he’d seemed like an apparition, a figment of the imagination, but he really does look a lot like Moseus. Thicker, maybe taller, too. Like if Moseus ate more. I don’t know how much of the peacekeeper exists beneath his baggy robes, but Heartwood is very...present.

He doesn’t look at me, merely swings the pickaxe at the hard upper layer of the ground. His impressive mane of plaited white hair swings over his shoulder as he works. He’s taken off his leathers and wears a simple shirt and fitted pants, still of a make unlike anything in Emgarden.

Pulling my eyes away, I force myself to refocus on the task at hand. “Thank you,” I offer, adjusting my grip on the shovel. “I’m trying to get down beneath the foundation, toward—”

“I know.”

They’re the first words he’s spoken to me, soft as the mist in volume yet hard as the sun in tone. I wonder at him a moment, long enough for him to pause and glance at me. Even in the mist, his green eyes are eerily striking. Where Moseus’s gaze is alluring and calm, Heartwood’s is invasive and alien, reminding me yet again of how different he and his companion are. No one in Emgarden has eyes like that, and Emgarden is all there is.

I’m not sure how to respond, so I merely nod. He returns to his work, and I haltingly return to mine.

Heartwood seems to know what he’s doing, hastening our progress, though I silently congratulate myself when he has to take a break before I do. I try not to look at him; he’s oddly distracting. That, and Heartwood doesn’t seem pleased to be here, making me wonder ifMoseus coerced him into it. I dig until I hit concrete that matches what I saw beneath the tower floor, oddly smooth and slightly yellow in color.

“Is this...a chute?” I say more to myself than to Heartwood. I dig off to the side to find the end of it and manage to detect a slight curve before a chunk of dirt falls down and covers up my work. I’m going to need shoring soon, or I’ll bury both of us alive. “It looks like it angles away from the tower...”

I turn in the direction the chute seems to be heading.

“Help me,” I ask, climbing out of the hole. “I want to dig this way.” I point away from the tower.

Heartwood says nothing, merely moves over to start breaking up more soil. The mist thins. I wonder if Moseus will ask me to stop soon. The tower blocks the view of the dig from Emgarden, but if someone decides to take a long walk, we could be discovered. I tentatively ask Heartwood, who quietly responds, “Then let us work quickly.”

I dig with renewed vigor, moving aside what Heartwood loosens, filling in old hole to uncover new hole. I dig and dig and dig, until my back aches and my joints cry at me to stop. Until I’m huffing a windpipe of fire and sweat rivers down my torso. Past the protection of the mist and into the heat of the sun, but the concrete continues. Surely I’m nearly to the end of it. Breaking for a moment, I shuck off my sash and overshirt and chuck it out of the hole, then peel my sweat-drenched undershirt from my back and stomach. Stripping down makes me more susceptible to sunburn when I dig away from the shade of the tower, but the sides of the hole shadow me well enough. Wiping perspiration from my brow, I resume digging, my arms shaking from the effort. Then I hit rock.

“Heartwood, can you get the pick under this?” I gesture.

He pauses and glances at me, then averts his eyes like I’m the sun. Moving to give him space, I glance down at myself. What, is he allergic to shoulders? I check my breastband while he loosens the rock; all the bits are where they belong.

The stone in question comes free, and Heartwood resumes his previous work, refusing to look at me or even brush by me, despite the close quarters. Well, to each his own. At least I have the help.

It gets harder to dig the deeper we go, and I worry we’ll draw the attention of Emgarden and tick off Moseus. But a dozen shovelfuls later, the concrete continues unabated. At this angle, it’s going to get deeper and deeper, to a depth that surely only an Ancient could reach. Moseus was right. There’s no way to uncover this, and no way to break through.

And so, with heavy limbs, I return to the tower, and Heartwood vanishes as easily as the fog.

Chapter 4

Heartwood looms on the second floor of the tower when I return at first mist. I see him as I approach, even with the descending brume. Ifeelhim, the way one feels the first curls of mist, a whisper of cold before the vapors settle. He stands half in front of a narrow window, his arms folded snugly across his chest, watching the path to Emgarden. Watching me.

I meet his eyes. Though the mists are still young, a shiver wriggles its way down my back. Heartwood turns back into the tower, a ghost once more.

I left at late mist last cycle and didn’t give Moseus my update, so I knock softly with a single knuckle on the door of his room. If he isn’t here, I’ll wait for him to find me. I’d rather not explore the tower and run into Heartwood. The unease from his gaze still squirms beneath my skin, however much I try to disregard it.