“You were probably overthinking it,” Linh told him. “There’s always some light present. If you make your mind believe that, it will amplify it for you.”

“Precisely. Trust your mind, not your eyes. And if all else fails, remember that you have other valuable senses to guide you. I’ll see you at the bottom.” Mr. Forkle’s hefty girth barely squeezed into the cramped tunnel as he shuffled down the ladder.

“I’ll go next,” Tam said, already crouching to reach for the top rung. “Maybe I can thin some of the shadows and make it brighter for you guys.”

“I should go last,” Grizel decided. “To make sure no one follows.”

“Then I’ll go next to last, to keep the rain away,” Linh said.

Which meant it was Sophie or Fitz’s turn.

“What would be easier for you?” Fitz asked. “I can be a few steps ahead, or right behind you. Either way, I’ll be close.”

“I’ll go first.”

She gave herself five deep breaths—wishing they didn’t taste like putrid, rotting trash—before she lowered herself onto the ladder. The metal felt cold and scratchy under her fingers, and she cursed the ruined elevator as she climbed down into the stale darkness.

Her mind was racing way too fast to focus on her night vision, so all she could see were smudges and vague outlines. But she could hear shaky breaths and scraping shoes and feel the vibration in the ladder, proving she wasn’t alone. She counted the rungs to keep calm, and had just reached number one hundred and thirty-four when her foot touched solid ground.

“Over here,” Tam said, taking her hand. “The floor’s uneven, so be careful.”

She still managed to trip. Several times.

Sandor returned from his sweep of the passage, and his balefire pendant cast a murky blue glow around the cavern, bouncing off the low ceiling and rough stone walls.

“Where are we?” Fitz asked as he climbed down behind her.

“I believe the humans call it the Catacombs,” Mr. Forkle told him.

“I was really hoping you weren’t going to say that,” Sophie mumbled. “You know there are dead bodies down here, right?”

Linh froze on the ladder. “There are?”

“Yes, Miss Linh—I stumbled through several of the mass graves the day I found this passage. But they’re quite far away.”

“Still. Mass graves?” Linh shuffled up a couple of rungs. “Why would humans have something like that?”

“It’s what happens when you have a species with a very short lifespan,” Mr. Forkle explained. “As I understand it, they ran out of space to bury all of their bodies. So they moved them down to these old mine tunnels. Some of the bones were even arranged into patterns and decoration. Incredibly morbid, but I suppose some would see it as a tribute.”

“So, how many bodies are we talking about?” Grizel asked as she forced Linh to finally climb down. Linh walked on her tiptoes, like she was afraid of stepping on bones.

“I remember reading that there were about six million,” Sophie said.

“SIX MILLION?” Tam’s too-loud voice echoed off the walls. “Sorry. That’s just a lot.”

“And that’s only the dead from one city, right?” Fitz asked.

“Also from a specific time period,” Mr. Forkle agreed. “Humans have buried billions of their species throughout the centuries. Their population size was one of the reasons the Ancient Councillors chose to leave the bulk of the world to them—if only they put it to better use. But we can lament their missed opportunities another time.”

Sandor used the balefire crystal to illuminate a narrow gap in the far wall and motioned for everyone to follow him. They had to walk single file, so they stuck with their same order, and Fitz kept one hand on Sophie’s shoulder in case she tripped.

She counted her steps, trying to keep her mind distracted. But the memories made her wrists burn with every pulse.

“Okay,” Mr. Forkle called as she took step one hundred and sixty-four. “Ahead is a series of sharp curves, which will lead to what your eyes will tell you is a dead end. It’s an illusion. There’s a weak spot in the stones for us to slip through.”

“What do you mean by ‘weak spot’?” Sophie asked, imagining cave-ins.

“They must’ve had a Fluctuator alter the stones’ density. You’ll understand once you feel them. And try to hurry. This is all taking much longer than I wanted.”

Sophie’s knotted emotions pulsed with every step as she followed the zigzagging path to what looked like a very solid wall of rock. Tam ran his hands over the stones until he found the right spot—then pushed his arm straight through the wall. Sophie flinched, waiting for the stones to crumble, but somehow everything held strong.

“You ready for this?” Fitz asked Sophie as Tam shoved the rest of his body through. “If not, I’ll turn back with you.”

“I’ll go too,” Linh offered.

“I’m not a fan of this place either,” Grizel said. “I could bring you back to the surface while the others search.”

Sophie was tempted to take them up on it.

Very tempted.

But . . . she had to face this.

Before she could change her mind, she aimed for the same patch in the wall she’d seen Tam use and shoved her shoulder through the rocks.

FIFTEEN

SOPHIE COULD FEEL the stones roll across her skin—kind of like walking through one of those ball enclosures she used to play in as a kid. And when she emerged on the other side, it felt like she’d stepped into another world.

Gone were the rough walls and low ceilings. The hallway was sleek and metal and bright, lit by thousands of tiny flames of balefire glowing in the glass walls. Fitz stepped through the stones behind her, and Linh and Grizel followed right after.

“This is the hall you carried us through, isn’t it?” Sophie whispered.

Mr. Forkle nodded. “Mr. Dizznee was kept over here.”

His steps echoed off the metal floor as he led them down the hall. Fitz held Sophie’s hand, tightening his grip when Mr. Forkle slid a panel in the wall aside, revealing a small, dusty room.

A line of thick black bars divided the space in half, but otherwise the room was empty.

Mr. Forkle pointed to the cage’s far corner, where a black scorch mark on the floor made Sophie shudder. “They’d left him tied up over there. He was lying so painfully still when I saw him, I feared he might be . . .”