The flash of a man in a green-and-brown uniform moving through the hospital lobby rises in my memory, and I lean a little closer to the rail. The hospital is located halfway up a hill that rises just outside the main business hub of the city. From the roof, we can see a significant slice of the streets and buildings below us.

For a few minutes, we watch people move through the streets. Some stop to chat with a friend. Some hurry from one location to another. Some simply wander outside their place of business, look around, and go back in.

“Do you see it?” Willow asks as yet another shopkeeper steps out of her door, looks quickly up and down the street, and then lifts her gaze to study the buildings around hers.

“I see it.” The people who stop to chat cast frequent glances at the rooflines around them, and put their heads close together when they talk. The ones who walk alone move like they don’t want to be caught out in the open. And the shopkeepers seem far more interested in what’s going on in other shops than in their own. The sanctuary I thought I’d gained for my people suddenly feels like a rock precariously balanced on the edge of a slippery cliff. “They’re scared of something. Any idea what’s making them so nervous?”

“Not yet. But I can go walk the streets and see if I can figure it out.” She moves to stand, and I place my hand on her arm to stop her.

“Actually, I was hoping you could do me a favor.”

“Need help walking back to the door?”

I roll my eyes. “You’re hilarious. No, I need to hide the Rowansmark device before either Lankenshire or the killer tries to steal it or coerce me into giving it up.”

She cranes her neck and looks at the streets again. “Not sure I’d hide it anywhere inside this city.”

“I don’t plan to. I need someone to take it into the Wasteland and hide it.”

“I’m your girl.” She reaches for the device as I pull it out from under my tunic. I hold on to it, and she looks at me.

“Willow, if things go badly for us here and Rowansmark figures out I gave it to you to hide, they’ll torture you until you give up the location. I know I’m putting you in danger, and I don’t ask it of you lightly.”

Her smile makes me shiver. “I don’t break easily.”

“I know. I’m asking you to do this because you’re smart, strong, and more than a little scary. And because you’re one of the few people left whom I can trust completely.” I wrap the device in a length of cloth I took from one of the hospital’s supply closets. “You’ll be seen if you try to leave through the main gate. There might be another way out of the city if—”

“Already found it.” She starts toward the door, her long, dark braid swinging against her back.

“You already . . . when?” I follow her.

“I told you. The hospital stinks, and I don’t like to stay inside. I’ve already explored most of the city.” The door closes behind us, and she lowers her voice. “There’s a cave underneath Lankenshire. It’s a huge system of tunnels and caverns. I can get out that way.”

“Be safe.” I wrap an arm around her waist for a moment, and she stares at me like I’ve aimed an arrow at her face.

“We aren’t the hugging type,” she says, though she doesn’t pull away.

“Maybe not.” I smile. “But I wanted you to remember that someone besides Quinn cares about what happens to you.”

One corner of her lip tugs upward, as if trying to smile. “Save the mushy stuff for Rachel. Just keep Quinn safe until I get back.”

Without another word, she heads down the stairs, the device hidden beneath her tunic.

With one backup plan in motion, it’s time for me to address the second. If Lankenshire doesn’t accept my offer of an alliance, or if whatever has the citizens so nervous makes staying here unwise, I need to have a travel route to the next city-state ready. To do that, I need Jeremiah.

Jeremiah spends most of his time on the ground floor of the Museum of Historical Artifacts, which is two blocks south of the hospital. He’s been working with Lankenshire’s head mapmaker, Darius, to complete a detailed map of the entire Wasteland. I’ve yet to meet Darius in person, but Jeremiah comes to dinner every night full of exciting city-state details like the type of quarry stone used for flooring in Brooksworth and the delicate blooming vines specific to Schoensville. Sprinkled in among these details are plenty of “Darius says . . .” and “Darius thinks . . .”

I exit the hospital and quickly travel the two blocks between me and the museum. If the citizens of Lankenshire don’t want to be caught outdoors alone, then neither do I. The museum is a humble square of a building painted blue and white. I pull open the bright blue door and enter a cool, dim interior. A woman with a short cap of brown hair cupping her elegant face points me down a back hallway and tells me to keep walking until I reach the last doorway on the right.

A row of candlelit sconces illuminates a colorful mural along the left side of the hallway. I glance at it as I walk and realize I’m looking at a city that resembles the ruins we left behind two weeks ago, except that this city is in pristine condition. Tall, shiny buildings, elegant bridges stretching over land and water, and splashes of color that give the entire picture an air of movement and life.

I can’t imagine living in a city like that—so many people packed into one place. So many buildings built much taller than they should be.