Page 12 of Storm Caller

“Sounds good,” Rook says. “Thank you again.”

I figure out which backpack is mine and pull out the contents. I find a pair of my school uniform pants, a casual tunic, and some clean underwear and socks. At the bottom, I see Teddy crumpled among my things, a little flattened but reminding me of home with such clarity—both the good and the bad—that I suddenly can’t breathe.

“Poet?” Rook asks, pulling me out of a spiral. “You all right?”

I stare at him. He packed Teddy for me. I was paralyzed. They were chasing us. We were about to die, but . . . he remembered.

I’m not sure why that hurts so much.

“Poe?”

There’s such tender concern in his face that I feel something crack, tiny striations forming across my skin. What if I simply turned to dust?

“I’m fine,” I say, shaking my head and scooping up some clean clothing.

Balling everything together, I hold the bundle to my chest and kick my boots into a standing position. Rook retrieves his own set of clean clothing before we follow Safira across the small clearing to a white rectangular building.

Inside is a row of stalls, divided by partial wooden-and-metal walls. A stack of towels sits on a bench, and I grab one before making my way to the farthest stall.

Rook takes the stall at the opposite end, giving me space.

Quickly, I strip out of my dress, watching it fall to my feet in an airy cloud, crusted with blood and dirt. It’s completely ruined. I kick it aside and turn on the water, groaning when a firm blast of heat meets my skin. Industrial-size containers of soap and shampoo sit on a ledge, and I squeeze out generous portions of each before cleaning myself off. Everything smells fresh and light, without extra perfumes or scents.

I’m still wearing my necklace, and I clutch it in my hand, grateful I didn’t lose it during our escape. I might never see my mom again, but I’ll always have this piece of her with me.

Once I’m finished, I towel myself off, wrap my hair in a knot, and dress. When I exit the stall, Rook is waiting in a fresh shirt and pants, leaning with one foot planted against the wall and his arms folded over his chest.

“Better?” he asks.

“Much,” I answer. “I feel almost human again. Why are they doing all this for us?”

“It’s our way,” he says. “Despite any personal feelings, we take care of our own. Out here, it’s us and the elements, and the only ones we can truly rely on are each other.”

“That’s . . . commendable.”

I chew my lip as I think about the city and how much disparity exists between the Societies and everyone else. How we don’t take care of anyone but ourselves.

Rook’s eyes shift, almost as if he can tell what I’m thinking.

“C’mon,” he says, pushing off the wall. “You must be starving.”

He reaches for me, like he wants to take my hand. I nearly grab it and then pull back, leaving him hanging for an awkward second before he does the same.

I hate this.

Quickly, he turns away and opens the door. We step out into the cool evening, where Safira waits for us.

“Where can I toss this?” I ask, holding up my ruined dress.

“Toss it?” she asks, her brows climbing.

“Yes?” I confirm.

Rook takes the dress from me. “We never throw anything away here. Everything can be repurposed into something else.” He drapes it over the doorway. “We’ll ask around to see if someone can make use of the material, at least.”

My cheeks warm. “Right. I’m sorry. Of course.”

“It’s fine,” he says before gesturing to Safira. “We’re ready.”