“I’m just here to say goodbye. It’s…he’s my brother. Please.”

Up until now I’ve been silent, not just because my sister has things under control, but because I wasn’t sure how much she wanted to show. She’s trusting this runner with the truth that Michael, the de facto prince of the Rurals, has defected.

“You’re more polite when you need something,” he says.

“Last time we met, I thought you were stealing from me.”

He laughs a little at that, maybe surprised her distaste hadn’t just stemmed from his occupation, or maybe just surprised she felt she had a right to be mad about theft.

    “We’ve not skimmed from the Rurals in over a decade,” he says.

“I know that now,” she says. “I’m sorry I was short with you, but you have to let me see him.”

I step forward. “He probably hasn’t even taken marks yet. You don’t owe him sanctuary,” I say. “Name your price.”

Mr. Cheeks stiffens. “Keep your money,” he says before turning on his heel and disappearing.

We’ve been waiting for five minutes when I get the feeling Mr. Cheeks isn’t coming back.

“This is my fault,” I say.

“No,” Esther says. “It is most decidedly mine.”

“That other world? The place where I got stuck? Michael was a runner there. I should have warned you it was possible. When I heard the message, I should have known they weren’t just coming for powder they didn’t even know how to use.”

She smiles for me, a kinder and less all-knowing version than she shows the world. “I have always known it was possible.”

“If they bring him out here, do you have a plan?”

She pats her bag. “Of course.”

Finally, the door opens. Michael enters with Mr. Cheeks following close behind. No, not Michael. He’s gotten marks, one on each arm, which means he can never be Michael again.

“Esther, we’re too late.”

Her eyes are wet, but she’s still smiling. “It’s been too late since we were ten.”

The two runners stand opposite us. Michael doesn’t reach for his twin, and to her credit she doesn’t reach for him. She holds her head high. From the outside, they could be strangers, representatives from bordering territories negotiating a contract.

“Mr. Cross, I presume,” I say.

He flinches, and in his uncertainty I finally see a hint of the boy I’ve known for years.

    “How did you know that?”

“Big sister knows a lot of things, like what a shit runner you’ll be. You know they only want you because of the pyrotechnics. Runners haven’t had explosives in years and you’re too oblivious to know they’re using you.”

I don’t pretend I won’t hate him for this. This will tear apart Esther and my parents. Not to mention what it will do to Daniel’s reputation. They’ll say he was such a bad father his own son chose the life of grit and blood and oil.

He’s going to yell at me, maybe for the first time in his life, but Esther moves.

“It’s okay,” she says, touching his arm. Her palm has landed on his mark. “Will you tell me what they mean?”

He looks over his shoulder to check with Mr. Cheeks.

“The one on the left is loyalty.” I say. “It’s always the first. The one on the right…” I squint, trying to remember a language I was last fluent in when I was Nik Nik’s. “It means he has a partner in the field, I think.”

“No,” he says. When had his voice gotten so deep? When had he grown up?

He looks back at Esther. “It means half to a whole. Some runners get it to commemorate their partner, but I didn’t.”

Esther understands the tattoo is for her the same moment I do, and now it’s easy to see the water in her eyes, though she seems determined not to cry.

“You’ll need to stop using words like commemorate. I want you to fit in,” Esther says. She manages to sound like she means it. She opens her satchel and pulls out a woven bag. “Food. I know they tend toward meats and bread and you’re used to produce. It’s just a little to help you while your body adjusts. I made you gloves. You should have gloves.”

Inwardly I cringe, expecting the pastel gardening gloves Ruralites are known for, but the gloves Michael takes out of the pack are black and thick. They can’t be leather, Ruralites don’t do animal work, but she must have taken the material from their bright-day tarps. I can see a hint of silver dust adorning the knuckles.

    “They’ll protect your hands if you get near anything too hot.”

She knows, I realize. She must have known he would go, and what he would do for them once he left. I wonder if she’d known this was an option the moment explosives went missing and she just chose to believe it was all the runners’ doing.

“I thought you had a plan,” I say.

“I do. I plan to love my brother, whatever life he chooses.” He gasps at that, and she goes weak. She takes his hands. “The tunic has a high collar and long sleeves for a reason. Anything at all can be covered over.”

He jerks away, but he keeps her package pulled tight against his chest. I make out the hard edges of something that is definitely not fruit or clothes. Because he never publicly preached I don’t know which holy book Michael favored, but I’m guessing the book she’s hidden in his things already has his name inside.

Michael doesn’t hug her. He nods goodbye, then turns his back and stomps away. His steps are an awkward mimicry of the runners’ march, but I’m sure he’ll master it soon enough.

That leaves us with Mr. Cheeks, who looks no less bewildered than when we dared him to drive to the bogs.

“He came to us,” he says. “We didn’t poach.”

She nods. “I know. I don’t blame you. My father might, but I won’t.”

After that they just stare at each other. I look from one to the other, but neither is looking at me. I clear my throat. Esther blinks. I liked it better when she couldn’t conceal her hatred of the runner. This new mutual respect is dangerous.

“Thanks, for letting us see him,” I say, and usher Esther out. Once we’re in the car, I say, “I thought you’d be more upset.”

“I couldn’t possibly be more upset,” she says, and I know beneath the affected calm, she’s telling the truth.

    “Surprised, then,” I say. “You’re definitely not that.”

“Do you know why Michael took on the ritual of explosives when he was a boy? I asked him once. He said he liked not knowing what was going to happen. He didn’t hope for it to go well or for it to go poorly. He didn’t care either way. He liked that uncertainty. That kind of curiosity is ill fit for people who are supposed to want only the best in all things for everyone, all the time.”

“What about your rituals? If only one person is allowed to hold the knowledge at a time, how will you cope without Michael?”

“We’ve been without a bombardier before. After my grandfather died, my father wasn’t allowed to practice it, because he was an only child. The congregation did without for twenty years before Michael declared that he would read the texts and began practicing. We’ll bring back the simple fire bowl. It will be enough.”

“You won’t practice, will you?”

When she looks at me, she’s lost the fight against tears. There are fresh tracks on her face.

“I’m an only child now. It would be forbidden.”

I think about Michael, drawn to a runner’s kind of danger even at ten. And about Cheeks and Esther, the way they froze as if seeing some greater part of each other. Maybe I’m not the only one who feels the tugs of my other lives. Maybe they hover over us, steering us, constantly. I told Esther before that nothing was inevitable, but that was before I felt so helpless to change absolutely anything at all.

* * *

DELL CATCHES ME sleeping at my desk the next morning. I’d stayed too late at my family’s house, first to comfort Mom, then to help Esther and my stepfather arrange a prayer to send Michael safely into his new life. The whole thing felt like a funeral, and if you judged by my mother’s wailing, you’d think it was. By the time I drove back to Wiley City, it was already late.

“I was just resting my eyes,” I say, wiping at my mouth.

    She sets a cup of coffee in front of me. Usually Jean brings me coffee, but he’s kept his distance since our discussion at the restaurant and Dell must have noticed. I look from her to the cup. Dell lives and works on the eightieth floor, but this is the second time she’s been down here, like my desk is somehow on the way.

“I take it things did not go well with your family emergency?”

I shouldn’t hesitate to tell her, but with everything I’ve learned about Adam I can’t help but think she’s down here so often now because she’s spying on me. In the end, I remember Nelline’s funeral, only possible because of her, and the sight of my undamaged collar drifting down into oblivion.

“Michael joined the runners. We tried to talk him back, but it was too late.”

“Wasn’t that dangerous?”