“Miranda,” I called quietly, taking in the nervous flick of her eyes as she scanned our pale faces, the quick swipe at a strand of her dark-red hair.
She looked tense, her gaze lingering a little too long on ourscrapes and bandages. Her eyes darted to Robert, then Nico, then to Jessie, who had her arms wrapped tight around her own body, and finally to Rosalie, who kept glancing at the shadows just beyond the station.
“These are my friends,” I said, forcing my voice steady. “Robert, Nico, Jessie, and Rosalie.”
Miranda’s expression pinched. “You all look like you’ve been through hell,” she whispered, searching my face for an explanation. “What happened?”
Nobody answered.
I forced a thin smile. “It’s a long story,” I said. “Not really for now.”
Miranda’s gaze lingered, concern flickering across her face, but she let it drop, sensing she wouldn’t get more. Instead, she nodded toward the dark exit at the end of the platform. “Come on. I brought a flashlight. The path’s not easy at night.”
The group fell in behind her, wordless. Even as we moved off the concrete and onto the narrow dirt path, I could feel Miranda’s questions trailing us like a second shadow.
I slipped ahead to keep pace with her as she switched on her flashlight, its narrow beam slicing through the shadows. Every crunch of gravel underfoot seemed too loud in the quiet.
“So,” I said, “are you going to tell me what this is about?”
Miranda’s face was set, eyes scanning the darkness. “I will. But it’s easier if I show you.”
We pressed on, the path steepening as the scrub closed in on either side. No one else spoke. Jessie stuck close to Rosalie and Robert, and I could hear Nico’s uneven breathing just behind me. We ducked through a gap in the brush, Miranda’s light sweeping the way, branches clawing at our clothes.
For five tense minutes we trudged in silence, the sea wind growing sharper, saltier, the crash of waves closer now,somewhere just out of sight. Miranda finally slowed, then stopped and crouched, motioning us all to stay low.
She angled her flashlight toward a cluster of jagged rocks at the base of a looming cliff, its face glistening faintly with mist.
“Watch that space,” she whispered, eyes flicking to her ring for the time. 11:54 p.m.
The group huddled together in the dark, breaths coming short. Whatever we were waiting for, it was apparently not ordinary.
The seconds stretched. Jessie, fidgeting with her sleeve, broke the silence first. “So… where are you from?”
I glanced at Miranda, unsure if she’d want to share, but her eyes lingered on the rocks as she answered. “We lived by the Andes,” she said quietly. “You know where that is?”
The word stirred memories—maps from old lessons. “Mountains,” I murmured, “to the south of where we grew up. Not that far, really.”
Miranda’s mouth twitched, almost a smile. “Practically neighbors?”
Nico, trying to lighten the mood, added, “But you speak English?”
She nodded. “My heritage is a mix—immigrants from the North, locals from the South. Spanish and English, mostly. Sometimes a little Portuguese, when my abuela got mad.”
Robert’s voice cut in, rough-edged. “We’re from the Amazon. Our founders were from the North.”
Miranda turned to him, her eyes softening. “The Amazon? That’s…” She paused, searching for the word. “Bold. Not many would choose it. At least, not if they had a choice.”
Robert gave a crooked half-smile. “Yeah, well, we didn’t exactly choose it. Got stuck there thanks to whoever thought it was a good idea.”
Miranda hesitated. “What happened?”
A shadow passed over Robert’s face. “Nomads. Found us. Forced us out.”
Miranda’s voice was barely a whisper, almost lost in the wind. “I’m sorry.”
I remembered hearing her in the furnaces, something about floods. I found myself asking, “What made you leave?”
Miranda’s face tightened, the memory close to the surface. “A storm. The worst in generations. The flooding…” She shook her head, her words trailing off, shoulders rigid with remembered terror. “It washed away everything. Home, family. We barely escaped.”
