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“Everyone who isn’t armed, get inside the laboratory,” he calls, his eyes piercing the darkness.

Kyle tugs me toward the building, but I refuse to budge. “You’re as stubborn as they come,” he says, but doesn’t try again. He picks up a crowbar from the bag of tools at his feet and edges closer to the group. There is no weapon left for me, but I’m not leaving. I might have to learn how to drain someone of life energy and fast.

Our fires are the only source of light on the darkest night of the month. Not a sliver of the moon hangs in the sky, not even a star sends a ray of light to sparkle on the hulk of the caravan. Whoever is coming can spot us from miles away and can start shooting any second now.

“We should move out of the firelight,” I say.

Numair glances over his shoulder. “And you have to go inside.”

“Am I to let others take my place in this fight?”

“We don’t have time for this,” Priya murmurs.

“Everyone, get as far away from the fires as you can.” Numair points at me. “Stay behind me. Maker knows what Valdus will do to me if you get hurt in my care again.”

We retreat into the desert until the darkness shrouds us from view. My hear thumps in my chest, louder than the clacking of crawler belts.

Something wriggles over my foot. I jump in place, only to realize it was nothing more than sand gliding down a dune. Kyle grips his crowbar tighter, and Numair utters a curse. He’s about to send me inside no matter how hard I protest, but when a caravan skids into the circle of light, the brakes squealing in protest, our only option is to stay quiet.

A young man jumps down from the driver’s seat, searching for anyone to hear his pleas.

“Lev,” Numair utters his name as a curse. “Something’s wrong.”

He holsters his gun and dashes toward the fire. I make it to the caravan just in time to see Inara stumble down from the other door.

“What happened?” Numair asks.

“We were waiting at our hiding spot by the train station. For the caravan. You know, the one with the supplies, the one they’ve gone to retrieve from the train—”

“Lev.” Numair’s voice is close to a growl.

“Right, right. As the caravan showed, a patrol came rolling from the other side of the street, and they didn’t seem happy about us being there.”

“Lev!”

“They’ve shot him,” Inara cries in a broken voice.

“Who?” Priya asks.

I can guess the answer, and I close my eyes, hoping…no, praying that I’m wrong. But gods rarely hear my pleas.

“Valdus,” she says, her voice trembling. “They’ve shot Valdus.”

24

My joints ache from how hard I’m gripping the sponge soaked with alcohol, but I keep scrubbing the metal table even if there’s not a speck of dust left.

Inara walks into the room with Numair on her heels. “Where are my tools?”

“Kyle’s bringing them.”

“I’ll need towels, warm water…”

Numair grips her shoulders. “Ain’t my first time.”

Inara licks her lips. “They should be here by now.”

“Priya already spotted them. A few more minutes.”