“I’m not in pain,” she said slowly.

She could hear the dull, flatness of her words. Séverin turned toward her. Once, she would have been able to feel the force of that gaze. Now, it did not signify. She forced herself to stand. Every movement was like the indifferent jerk of a puppet string.

“Laila,” said Enrique. “You were the only one who wasn’t affected by the mind Forged siren music,” he said.

He made it sound as if it was a good thing.

“Because she’s a goddess, naturally,” said Hypnos.

“It’s because I’m Forged,” said Laila. “Manipulation by mind Forging only affects normal humans, it seems.”

She tried to make it sound light, but her voice came out flat. The smile dropped from Hypnos’s face.

“You’re more than human,” said Enrique, reaching out and taking her hand. “And if you weren’t, we’d all be strangled to death by those skeletons.”

Hypnos shuddered. “At least we got to the other side of the lake.”

Zofia frowned. “Our supplies did not.”

“So then what are we going to do about … this?” asked Hypnos, unhooking his Forged lantern from around his waist and shining it on the cave wall.

The crudely hewn obsidian towered dozens of meters above them, and appeared to stretch at least thirty meters in either direction from where they stood. Ragged boulders jointed over the seams where the obsidian wall met the craggy walls of the cave. The wall was definitely a Tezcat of some kind, judging by the glow of Zofia’s necklace, which meant it needed a trigger to open fully to the temple they believed was concealed behind the rock. It would have been a difficult task even with their tools … but now?

Laila was almost grateful she could not feel her own panic. It could not reach her when she was like this.

“What do we have on hand?” cut in Séverin loudly.

The five of them proceeded to rummage through their pockets and pat down their garments for Zofia’s hidden inventions. Minutes later, a not insignificantly sized pile lay in front of them. There were three pieces of rope which could be tied together, two broken lanterns, one stick of dynamite, three knives, four packs of matches, the gilded box holding the empty mind Forged bottle that had led them to Poveglia, and a lace fan.

Enrique turned to Hypnos. “Why did you bring a fan?”

“I get hot easily,” said Hypnos defensively.

“It’s February,” said Enrique.

“I remain hot year round, mon cher.”

Séverin stared at the pile and then at the wall of rock. He walked to it, running his hands over the shining jet. “Can you tell if it’s Forged?”

Belatedly, Laila realized Séverin’s question was directed to her.

The others stepped aside, clearing a path from her to the wall. Laila opened her mouth, closed it. Horror used to be a slow creep of cold up her spine. Humiliation used to scorch her face. Now, there was nothing but the dull thud of knowledge that her own emotions felt submerged and distant.

“Laila?” asked Séverin, taking a step to her.

But she was spared answering by Zofia. “The wall is Forged,” she said. “I can read and hear metal inside it.”

Laila gave silent thanks for her friend.

“I cannot determine which metal runs through this wall, though—it’s a combination of alloys I’m unfamiliar with…” said Zofia, splaying her hands across the rock. “And it’s fire resistant.”

“So even if we could blow it up, it wouldn’t open?” asked Enrique.

Zofia shook her head.

“The wall reacted to something earlier. There was a moment when it went translucent,” said Séverin. “What was it? What happened?”

Zofia: “Water?”

Enrique: “Singing?”

Hypnos: “Hopefully not the wave of the undead?”

“Many Forged objects come with a release mechanism, some sort of hint between artist and audience—” said Séverin, reaching for one of the matches and the lantern.

“Those are the rules set forth by the Order of Babel,” said Hypnos. “This place … it feels different. Even that mind Forging song of the sirens was unlike anything I’ve ever heard. It was … alive?”

Enrique shuddered. “It’s almost as if this place has a consciousness of its own.”

Séverin rapped his knuckles on the wall. “The intensity might be due to its proximity to the source of all Forging … and if the place has a consciousness of its own, then that’s good.”

“How?” demanded Hypnos. “This cave could just as easily decide that it’s done watching us dither about, and have the lake swallow us whole!”

“It’s good because … like any living thing, it possesses a desire for self-preservation,” said Séverin. He raised his torch light to the craggy walls of the obsidian cave. “I imagine that if any part of it were truly threatened, there would be hints to free whatever lay inside or access it so that the knowledge would not be lost forever.”

The wall of rock stretched out like a shorn mirror. Laila’s face reflected back a thousand times, and she sucked in her breath as she stared at her bruised cheek, the cut along her lip, her sunken eyes, and her lank hair.

Broken doll, broken doll, chanted a cruel part of her mind. Dimly, Laila remembered every evening she’d spent dancing in the Palais des Rêves, her face made up to perfection, her reflection glowing in the champagne room lined with mirrors and chandeliers. But beneath all the shining smiles and pearls stood the real L’Enigme: bruised and too sharp, death on her hand and mysteries in her blood. The cave was not showing her anything she did not already know about herself, and Laila refused to be cowed.

For the first time in the past hour, feeling flared into the tips of her fingers. She curled her hand, feeling the pinching stiffness of cold. She smiled and then reached forward. The moment her skin touched stone, an alien awareness shoved against her hand.

Laila recoiled instantly.

“What was that?” she said loudly.

Séverin frowned. “What was … what?”

Laila’s glance slid to the wall.

“The wall … it has emotion to it. It’s like Enrique said. There’s a consciousness at work here.”

Hypnos whimpered. “I hate this place.”

“What emotion are you reading?” asked Séverin.

Hesitantly, Laila placed her hand back against the rock. She expected that rush of alien awareness to be annoyed … hostile, even. But it was warm. Yielding.

“It’s … it’s worried,” she said, turning to the others. “About us.”

Hypnos blinked, then threw up his hands. “Am I flattered? Disturbed? Both?”

Slowly, light gleamed across the rocky surface. It was nothing at all like the suffusion of translucence and amber they had glimpsed while they ran from the false sirens of the lake, but more like a vein of unexpected gold shimmering roughly six meters up from the ground.

The light zigged and zagged across the rock, illuminating a string of letters.

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