The ground shakes again, harder than before, throwing me off balance. I topple to my butt, pain vibrating through me. Dang it! How many battles are the realms going to fight today?

I shamble to my feet and resume my counting. Two hundred and fifty...two hundred and seventy-five...three hundred—a triangular number and the sum of a pair of twin primes: 149 + 151. A perfect score in bowling. The number of Spartans famous for fighting an army of two hundred thousand Persians.

At step three hundred and eighty-one, I wind through a tangle of trees. The ground is slippery, but my boots have a thick rubber frame with metal studs on the soles, helping me remain steady.

At step four hundred and six, a high-pitched ring blasts through my head, making me cringe. I stop and rub at the cloth covering my ears. The ring fades, and I hear—

“—another one, sir.” An unfamiliar voice. “He’s already dead.”

Gasping, I spin to see who’s come up behind me, but I’m alone. There’s not even movement to indicate someone is hiding in the trees.

“Take him back to the facility,” another voice commands. “His parents will need to be notified.”

Realization dawns. The voices are spilling from speakers attached to the sides of the mask. I’m now hooked up to Prynne Radio.

“No sign of the girl,” yet another voice says.

The girl. Me? Surely not. There are others out here.

“Don’t worry about her. You see her, you walk away. Without harming her.”

“But, sir—”

“No arguments. The order came from up top. Just...find the others and go silent. Our frequencies have been compromised.”

I pick up the pace and push through a jumble of gnarled limbs. Up ahead, I spot a glow-in-the-dark lump. One I recognize. The Prynne uniform. An inmate! Has to be. Relief gives me the strength I need to run...run. When I’m close enough, I drop to my knees and skid across the ice. I reach—a boy. He’s lying on his side. With a gentle push, I roll him over.

His glassy eyes stare into the distance. Ice shimmers in his hair, and on his nose, mouth and chin. The rest of him is tinted blue.

I’m able to overlook my panic as I cling to hope. This doesn’t mean he’s dead.

With my teeth, I rip off my glove. I feel for a pulse, but...

My hope withers. He is dead. His spirit has already moved on.

Is he in Myriad? Or Troika? Or was he Unsigned, like me?

Is he in the Realm of Many Ends?

A crunch of ice sounds behind me, but I don’t have time to investigate. Or prepare for an attack. Something—someone—collides into my back, knocking me to my face. On impact, a jagged piece of ice cuts my cheek, and my lungs are flattened. I fight for breath I can’t catch, stars winking behind my eyes.

Anger engulfs me. No more abuse! With a roar, I jam my elbow into his torso. A bellow of pain echoes through the night, the heavy weight lifting from me in a blink. I turn and kick, nailing the culprit in the chin.

He falls, landing on his butt, and I look him over. A guard! We’re wearing the same mask, coat and boots. But...why would one guard attack another?

“Big mistake,” I say through gritted teeth.

“Ten?” He tears off his mask, revealing dark hair and a blood-smeared face I recognize. A fellow inmate. Clayton Anders—Clay! Undiluted joy brings tears to my eyes.

He climbs to his feet, very much alive.

“Clay.” I jump up and tear off my own mask, the cold nipping at my skin and freezing the tears. My teeth chatter. “You’re here. You’re with me.” We close the distance and hug each other with complete abandon. “I’m so happy to see you.”

“Ditto, number girl. I’ve missed you every day. Thoughts of you kept me going.” His grip on me tightens. “Why is six afraid of seven?”

I laugh. This boy! He’s always loved to tease me. “Why else? Because seven eight nine.”

He buries his head against my shoulder. Even through my coat I feel something warm and wet. Tears of his own? “I’d hoped you escaped. Sometimes I heard screams...”

“Yeah.” A tremor rocks him and seeps into me. “Yeah. I did escape. I made it outside the asylum, but last time I was unprepared for the cold. A group of Russians caught me. They did... The things they...”

“I know. I know.” I can imagine. I stroke his hair. “It’s over, done. You’re safe now.”

His next tremor is stronger. “The next morning, they brought me back to Vans. I was locked in an underground facility where the guards are trained.”

I pull back and fit my gloves over my hands. “How’d you get free yesterday?”

“Some pink-haired girl came through and opened my door.”

Bow. I owe her. Him. Whatever! “Have you found any other inmates out here?”

His voice is low and filled with countless regrets as he replies, “No one living. You?”

“The same.” There has to be more we can do. I won’t accept failure.

A moan drifts on the wind, and I turn toward the sound. “Did you hear that?”

Another moan, softer but no less agonized.

“Yeah.” He fits his mask over his face. “Come on,” he says and races forward.

I replace my mask, as well, and though I hate to leave the dead kid out in the open, I follow Clay. Take care of the living, and let the dead take care of the dead. The sound leads us to a small clearing surrounded by thriving evergreens, but there’s no sign of the Prynne uniform.

I take a risk, calling, “This is Tenley Lockwood. I know someone’s here, but I’m having trouble finding you. I don’t want to hurt you. I just—”

A pile of rocks rattles, and a trembling, gloveless hand reaches out.

“Here!” I shout to Clay, desperate as I sprint over. I dig through the stones to discover—

Sloan. Her partially frozen face is tinted blue, but she has a pulse. Faint, but there. She’s not shivering, and I know that’s a bad, bad sign.

Clay falls at my side and helps me pull her the rest of the way from the rubble.

My desperation escalates as I grab the coat from my backpack and wrap it around her shoulders, then remove my gloves yet again to shove them onto her hands. “Do you know how to start a fire?”

“No, but even if I did, the guards—”

“If they find us, we’ll fight them, but we have to get her warm now.” The cave is too far away. She won’t survive the uphill trek, and I’m not sure we’re strong enough to make it.

“All right. Okay. I’ll do my best.”

Zero! “We need help,” I mutter.

If telling Archer to stay away actually forced him to stay away, maybe summoning him would force him to appear?

A girl had to try.

“Archer,” I call. “Bow. Whatever your name is. I’m asking for help.” I remember what I shouted to the shadow at Killian’s bidding, the restrictions I put in place, and add, “If you can hear me, you can come closer now.”

“Oh, I can hear you.” Ice crunches in the distance.

I jump to my feet, the scalpel clasped and ready for action. Just in case. Clay moves beside me, holding a rock, just as ready. I remember his withdrawals, how unsteady he was. Now he looks clean and sober.