Dawn found them in a wound between rocks.

  The crevice was barely wide enough for the group—a gash in the mountain's flank where centuries of wind had carved a shallow shelter. It faced away from the canyon, away from the fires, away from the Preacher's silver gaze. The stone still held the night's cold, and Dorn pressed his back against it, letting the chill seep into his fur, numbing the fire in his shoulder.

  He hadn't slept. Couldn't sleep. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw the tunnel. The weasels. The box swinging through the dark. The coyote's leg snapping under its weight.

  Beside him, the survivors slept in fits. The squirrels were curled together, their breathing shallow but steady. The raccoon had finally stopped talking, his eyes closed, his body still. Cricket lay with her wounded flank pressed to the stone, her ears twitching at every distant sound. Kestrel was gone—scouting the backtrail, watching for pursuit. She'd left without a word, her scales already shifting to match the rock.

  Flint sat with the box.

  He hadn't moved since they'd collapsed. The lead-lined mass sat between his paws, his missing claw resting on the lock. His eyes were open but seeing nothing—staring at the box, through the box, into whatever waited inside.

  Vex was beside him. Watching him. Watching the box. Watching Dorn.

  "You should sleep," she said.

  Dorn shook his head. "Someone needs to watch."

  "I'm watching."

  "You're watching him." Dorn nodded at Flint. "Different thing."

  Vex was quiet for a moment. Then: "He hasn't spoken since we came out of the tunnel."

  "Shock."

  "He's seen worse."

  "Has he?" Dorn looked at her. "Seen friends die? Seen his own blood? Seen a box that hums and glows and draws metal through solid rock?"

  Vex's jaw tightened. "He's my brother. I know what he's seen."

  "Then you know he needs time. We all need time." Dorn shifted, his shoulder screaming. "The question is whether the Preacher will give it to us."

  Vex looked toward the canyon, hidden beyond the ridge. "You think he's following?"

  "He doesn't need to follow. He has the magnet. He has the box's signal." Dorn touched his Lead-Sight eye. "I can feel it. A pulse. A beacon. Every time the lock fails a little more, it gets louder."

  Vex's gaze dropped to the box. To Flint. To the lock that was slowly, inevitably, giving up.

  "How long?"

  Dorn shook his head. "No way to know. Could be days. Could be hours." He looked at the sky. "We need to move. Find somewhere safe. Somewhere the signal can't reach."

  "Is there such a place?"

  "Mossback mentioned the Dry Settlements. High country. Old ones who remember things." He met her eyes. "She gave me salt. Trade goods. Said to find the mountain herds if we needed help."

  Vex nodded slowly. "The yearling. His herd is up there. If they're still alive."

  Dorn looked at the pronghorn yearling, sleeping at the edge of the crevice. He'd followed them through the night, silent and certain, asking nothing. Dorn still didn't know his name.

  "The Dry Settlements are days away," Vex said. "Maybe a week. Through country the Purists know better than we do."

  "Then we go quiet. Go fast. Leave nothing to follow." Dorn looked at the box. "Except that."

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  Vex followed his gaze. "We can't leave it."

  "I know."

  "Then what?"

  Dorn didn't have an answer. He watched Flint's paw rest on the lock, watched the faint pulse of warmth that escaped the lead lining, watched the way the silicon haze in the air seemed to bend toward it.

  "First," he said, "we need to know what's inside."

  Flint didn't look up when they approached.

  His eyes were still fixed on the box, his missing claw still pressed to the lock. The skin around the lock was warm—hot, even, radiating a heat that had nothing to do with the sun.

  "Flint." Vex's voice was gentle. "We need to talk."

  He didn't respond.

  She knelt beside him. Touched his shoulder. He flinched—a full-body jerk, his head snapping toward her with eyes that didn't quite focus.

  "Flint. It's me. It's Vex."

  He stared at her. Blinked. Slowly, the recognition returned.

  "Vex." His voice was cracked, barely a whisper. "The box... it's getting louder."

  "I know."

  "I can hear it. In my teeth. In my bones. It's asking something." He looked at the lock. "It wants to open."

  Vex's grip on his shoulder tightened. "Then we open it. Together."

  Flint shook his head. "Not yet. Not here. If we open it here, they'll feel it. The Preacher. His magnet. They'll know exactly where we are."

  Dorn spoke from behind them. "Then we find someplace they can't feel it."

  Flint looked at him. For the first time, his eyes focused fully. "You don't even know what's inside. Why do you care?"

  Dorn thought about it. The question deserved an honest answer.

  "Because I crawled across the salt flats to reach Broken Rock," he said. "Because Silus shot my water. Because I watched your sister swing that box like a weapon and save my life." He met Flint's gaze. "Because I'm here now, and here is where I'm going to stay until this is over."

  Flint stared at him for a long moment. Then, slowly, he nodded.

  "The Dry Settlements," he said. "Mossback told you about them?"

  "She gave me salt. Said to find the mountain herds."

  Flint's eyes flickered to the yearling. "His people know those trails. If we can reach them, we might have a chance."

  "Then we reach them." Dorn stood, ignoring the protest of his shoulder. "We move at dusk. Rest during the day. Travel fast, travel quiet, leave nothing behind."

  Vex looked at him. "You're giving orders now?"

  "Someone has to." He looked at the survivors, still sleeping, still broken, still alive. "Unless you want to do it."

  She almost smiled. "I'll follow. For now."

  "Good." Dorn turned to face the mountains. "Wake everyone. Check wounds. Count supplies. We move in an hour."

  They moved at dusk, just as he'd said.

  The survivors shuffled out of the crevice like ghosts, their eyes hollow, their bodies moving on instinct. The squirrels carried the raccoon between them—he'd started shaking again, his eyes rolling, his mouth forming words that didn't exist. The yearling walked alone, his gaze fixed on the peaks ahead.

  Kestrel reappeared as the last light faded, materializing from the rock so seamlessly that Cricket jumped.

  "They're not following," she said. "Not yet. The Preacher's pulled everyone back to the canyon. Counting bodies. Burning the dead."

  Dorn nodded. "How many?"

  "Twelve. Maybe more." Her voice was flat. "The tunnel-rats. The guards at the winch. The ones you killed on the slope." She looked at him. "You did a lot of damage."

  Dorn felt nothing. "They would have done the same."

  "Yes. They would have." She fell into step beside him. "The Preacher's angry. I could feel it from the ridge. He's not just hunting you now. He's waiting."

  "Waiting for what?"

  "For the box to lead him to us." She glanced at Flint, walking ahead with the box between his shoulders. "He knows we can't hide it forever. The signal's getting stronger. Every hour, it pulses a little louder. Eventually, even without the magnet, he'll be able to follow it by feel."

  Dorn looked at the box. At the faint glow escaping the lock. At the way the silicon haze bent around it like water around a stone.

  "Then we need to move faster."

  They moved.

  By midnight, the canyon was a memory.

  The terrain had shifted—from bare rock to scattered juniper to the first stunted pines of the high country. The air was thinner here, colder, cleaner. The silicon haze had faded, leaving only the sharp smell of pine and the distant promise of snow.

  Dorn called a halt in a stand of trees, where the shadows pooled deep and the ground was soft with needles. The survivors collapsed without being told, their bodies finally giving out.

  Flint set the box down in the center of the circle. For a moment, everyone looked at it. The hum was audible now—a low thrum that vibrated in the chest, that made the teeth ache.

  No one spoke.

  Vex sat beside Dorn, her shoulder touching his. It was the first time she'd voluntarily closed the distance between them.

  "What happens," she said quietly, "when we reach the Dry Settlements? When we find someone who knows what this is?"

  Dorn looked at the box. At the lock that was slowly, inevitably, failing.

  "Then we find out if it was worth it," he said. "All of this. The blood. The dying. The running." He looked at her. "And then we decide what comes next."

  Vex was quiet for a long moment. Then: "You could have stayed in Broken Rock. Let us rot in that pen."

  "I know."

  "Why didn't you?"

  Dorn thought about it. Thought about the water skin. The salt flats. The silver eyes watching from the rocks. Thought about his mother, dying alone somewhere in the wastes, her body never found.

  "Because I'm tired of losing things," he said.

  Vex didn't answer. But she didn't move away, either.

  They sat together in the dark, watching the box hum, waiting for whatever came next.