“Dawnslight didn’t want his utopia to fall if he did,” I said, stirring my soup. “The fruit?”
“Still glowing,” Megan said. “The city will survive. He was warming the water somehow to keep the place from getting too cold, though. He’s going to have to find another way to deal with that.”
Other people moved about us. The people of Babilar were banding together in what they saw as a crisis, and we were just two more refugees. If any who passed saw something different about me, recognized me from one of the fights, they didn’t say anything. At least, nothing more than a few hushed whispers to their companions.
“So,” Megan said, “this theory of yours …”
“It has to be fear,” I said, exhausted. How long had it been since I’d had any sleep? “I faced down the waters, and then was immune to Regalia trying to make me an Epic. You rushed into a burning building to save me, despite your terror, and you awoke free from the corruption. Epics are afraid, at their core. It’s how we beat them.”
“Maybe,” Megan said, uncertain. Sparks. How was it that someone could look so good simply stirring soup? And while wearing clothing a size too big, her face red from the chill? I smiled, then noticed she was staring at me too.
That seemed to be a very good sign.
“The theory makes sense,” I said, blushing. “It’s like oatmeal on pancakes.”
She cocked an eyebrow at me, then tried her soup. “You know,” she said, “you’re not actually bad at metaphors …”
“Thanks!”
“… because most of the things you say are similes. Those are really what you’re bad at.”
I nodded thoughtfully, then pointed my spoon at her. “Nerd.”
She smiled and drank her soup.
As good as it was to be with her, I found the taste of my soup bitter. I couldn’t laugh. Not after what had happened. We ate in silence, and as Megan stood she put a hand on my shoulder.
“If either of them had been told,” she said softly, “the cost they would have to pay to save the city, do you doubt they’d have agreed to it in a heartbeat?”
I reluctantly shook my head.
“Val and Exel died as part of an important fight,” Megan said. “And we’ll stop it from consuming others. Somehow.”
I nodded. I hadn’t confronted her about Sam yet. There would be time for that eventually.
She went looking for a refill. I stared at my bowl. Sadness gnawed at me, but I didn’t give it free rein.
I was too busy planning.
A moment later I picked out a voice from those around us. I stood, lowering my bowl, then pushed my way past two chatting Babilarans.
“He’s a goofy-looking fellow,” Mizzy was saying. “Tallish. Terrible fashion sense …” Then she saw me, her eyes opening wide. “Um … he has some good attributes too.…”
I grabbed her in a hug. “You heard the broadcast.”
“Yeaaaah,” she said. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“I asked some people to broadcast a message to you and Tia, hoping you’d pick it up on your radio and … You didn’t hear it?”
She shook her head, which was annoying. I’d wracked my brain trying to come up with a way to make sure Prof didn’t get to her. I’d thought the radio idea would be a good one. After all, we’d been able to use the shortwave to reach Abraham in Newcago.
Missouri held up a small slip of paper and showed it to me. Fortune cookie paper. Missouri, it read, hide. Hide now.
“When did you find this?” I asked.
“Last night,” she said. “Right before dawn. About a hundred of them said that. Creeped me out, I’ll tell ya. Figured I should do what it said. Why? You look sad.”
I’d have to tell her about the others. Sparks. I opened my mouth to explain, but at that moment Megan returned.
The two of them locked gazes.
“Uh, could we not shoot one another?” I said, nervous. “For now? Pretty please?”
Mizzy looked away from Megan pointedly. “We’ll see. Here. I think this one is for you, maybe?” She held up another slip of paper. “It was the only one that was different.”
I hesitantly took the paper.
Dream good dreams, Steelslayer, it read.
“Do you know what it means?” Mizzy asked.
“It means,” I said, folding the paper in my hand, “that we have a lot of work to do.”