Page 116 of The Space Between Stars

The boy dropped a linen package in front of him. “Clothes. Antiseptic. Bandages,” he panted. “I need to tell Atti. This is going to fall back on her… she probably already had a plan in place in the case that it did.”

Dex rummaged through the Red-Wing-issued gear and pulled out a loop of wire with a thumbnail-sized plate affixed to it. Beneath it clung a bead of glass-encapsulated Ruxechorin.

The boy began tapping on it.

Calver signaled slowly once, then again.

“I’m telling my sister the plates have been altered. I…” Dex trailed off, staring at Calver’s hands as he gestured for the boy to explain further. The only messages permitted in or out of the encampment were by command-owned carrier birds. “This works as a part of a remote set. The other is in Seraphinden.” Again with the remote activation: a whole separate distortion concept Calver would quickly need to master before it made him its fool. “When I was a kid, it was just her and me. She taught me light codes to check in with her when she had long work shifts and I was home alone and…”

Calver’s furious signaling stopped him short again.

Dex shifted like there was something unpleasant beneath him. “Ahm. She does.”

“I’ll tell her.” Dex looked at him very carefully. “Thank you,” he added. “Do you know how they did it?”

“You mean, one that isn’t Aetech’s stratum?” The rest of the question hung unsaid. As far as the rest of the world understood, there was no other stratum.

Calver wasn’t the only one reeling at the implication.

Cryptic as cryptic came, but its meaning was easy to assume. Ruxechorin had been synthesized from a single Ruxian nearly a century ago. Pulling from another stratum meant pulling from another Ruxian. Calver swallowed. It shouldn’t be possible, and yet three months ago he’d brought a Ruxian into his confidence. He wouldn’t have thought that possible either.

“How?”

Dex blew air from his cheeks. He crossed and uncrossed his arms. “He was telling the truth, Meyernes. Wasn’t he?”

Calver confirmed in his usual way.

“Fucking asshole.”

Who knew what sort of trials Niklaus would face after what had transpired. The mess supply wagon wasn’t the only that had been damaged; at least a half dozen others had been rendered useless by the blast. Damage notwithstanding, if Thyatira knew about the Tera’thian interference—and every inch of Calver believed he did—he would know what Niklaus knew.

The dishwasher was dead. Dead, dead, dead, and he’d taken the fall for Calver. Calver wasn’t worth it.

“Are you going to be alright?” Dex asked, brow furrowed.

Calver waved a hand. There was only one path forward.

A horn sounded in the distance. The recruitment would leave for its daily trek in ten minutes.

“Time to pack up.”

Calver raised himself to his knees. His vision swam. Dex gasped quietly. Calver wondered if the pale, diminutive boy had ever even sustained an injury.

“What can I do?”

“You mean notes?”

Calver nodded.

“Thyatira’s given me access and authority to whatever I need. Unless it involves any martial experience or education—which is the only thing I actually wanted out of this caravan.”