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“Buckle up,” he whispers.
I nod, not bothering to tell him the harness is the only thing convincing me to ride in the crawler.
“You don’t like these things, do you?” Dante asks.
“I do not,” I admit.
He grins at me, but I notice his own harness is buckled. “You aren’t a fan of many vehicles,” he says. “You didn’t like the motocycles either, and something tells me you’re going to like this even less than last time.”
“I am?” I whimper, tightening the straps that hold me in. Erik’s hand comes to rest on my shoulder but it does little to abate my fear. Dante is right. I don’t like being in the open air or the wild momentum of vehicles like this. A motocarriage is a smooth ride and, perhaps more important, it has a roof. But motocycles and crawlers feel out of control. There is nothing to grip, so I focus on Erik’s hand when the crawler lurches forward.
The name crawler made sense from the moment I saw the vehicles. They look like metal spiders, after all, and I saw the way they rumbled over the rocky terrain when we went Sunrunning, but now I really understand where they got their name.
The tunnel is rounded, but there’s no road, only broken tracks, and as we progress down the shaft we zip up the side of the concave walls instead of navigating the old tracks. Dante drives the crawler farther and farther up the wall, accelerating until my hair is whipping against my face. It’s almost painful, but given that we’re now riding parallel to the tracks below us, I can’t convince my arm to reach up and pull it back. My hands are frozen to the harness, clutching it, but Erik’s hand stays on my shoulder. I focus on it, using its warmth as an anchor.
We rumble back down to the floor, riding over the broken tracks, zooming through the tunnel. We’re moving too fast and my voice won’t carry over the rushing wind, but when Dante finally starts to slow, approaching a cluster of lights, I ask, “What was that?”
“They used this tunnel to shanghai men into slavery on boats during the last century. Now we run refugees through it. One second you’re drinking a whiskey, the next second you have an exciting new life at sea.”
My legs shake as I pull myself out of my bucket seat. I cling to the frame of the crawler and take Dante’s hands when he offers to help me down. I tentatively step over the side, but I can’t bring myself to let go of the bar. Dante reaches up and grips my waist, bringing me to the ground. I wobble a bit, but Erik steadies me when Dante lets go.
“You didn’t like that ride,” Dante says.
“No, I don’t exactly have a fondness for death traps,” I admit.
“That’s funny given how often you throw yourself into dangerous situations,” Erik says. We follow Dante to stairs that take us to a bustling dock. A large glass dome rises over us and through it I can see the Interface. When I look out into the distance, the ocean stretches before me, infinite and black.
Workers run back and forth, shouting over steam that’s blowing in from a round hatch in the side of the dome. Through the hatch, the dock extends. I spy something tethered to the end of it. I make out a door and a couple of windows set into a blue metal wall. Men pass us in a hurry, but even in their haste they stop and raise a fist to their left shoulder, bowing their heads to Dante. He raises his fist in response but doesn’t nod.
A man in a gray jumpsuit rushes past us and skids to a stop. It’s Jax.
“Dante,” Jax says, his face splitting into a grin. He doesn’t welcome him with the same formal greeting as the others; instead the two men grip each other’s arms.
“Is she around?” Dante asks him. “I should probably get this over with.” His eyes flick to us. Nothing like making someone feel welcome.
“Yeah, Falon hates surprises,” Jax says. He pushes his goggles up onto his forehead a bit higher, grime smearing across his skin as he does it. “Last time I saw her she was checking some passenger manifests.”
“Why is she interested in passenger manifests?” Dante asks, frowning at this bit of information.
“Ask her yourself,” a voice snaps behind us. I turn and find myself face-to-face with a girl. I take a step back as her eyes narrow to focus on my face.
“You,” I say, recognizing her almost immediately. It’s the girl from the night of the crashed aeroship—the one who encouraged Jost and me to make a run for the Icebox.
“I looked for you in the Icebox like I said I would,” she says. “I thought you had disappeared.” There’s an edge of recrimination in her voice.
“Dante found us first, but you’ve found me now,” I say.
“Dante found you, huh?” She looks to him, cocking her head to the side and raising an eyebrow. “You might have mentioned that.”
“Don’t start, Falon,” Dante says, his voice low. “You know our channels are being watched.”
“And what’s his excuse?” she says, pointing to Jax.
“I didn’t need any more info getting out about Adelice. Jax was following orders,” Dante explains.
Falon’s nostrils flair but she turns her attention to me. “Adelice, huh? So you’re the one that’s got half of the Guild in an uproar.”
“Only half? I must be slipping,” I say, giving her a small smile.
