“Sebrina’s house should be another block,” Jost says, switching the topic to something practical to distract us from what we’ve lost.

“What if she isn’t there?” I ask, immediately wishing I hadn’t.

“She’s there,” Jost says. There’s not a trace of doubt in his voice.

I wish I had that kind of conviction. I wish it were as simple as deciding to believe—in our plan, in the future, in who I am. My world is so tinged with little gray lies I can’t be sure I know what to do or what to believe in anymore. The Eastern Sector is playing tricks on my mind.

The darkness creeps around us and I’m reminded of the world I left behind at the Coventry. But here the monster we face cannot be outwitted. It’s simply a matter of being faster than it.

It’s as simple as not being touched.

NINETEEN

THE STREET IS FULL OF HOUSES THAT blend into the night, each perfectly plain and unobtrusive. The trees are dying, their thin branches drooping like broken limbs to the clumps of grass and remains of plants in each yard. What was once precise and pleasing is now a neighborhood of ghosts. Any of these houses could be infested by whatever the Guild has unleashed. There’s no vitality to the weave. Tarnished time threads knit through the brittle, frayed threads that make up the world around us. Only a few hours ago I believed there was no Eastern Sector. Now that I’m here I know that, without looms, there won’t be one much longer. Everything here is dying as time and space slip back into the universe.

We quietly pass each house and I realize I’m holding my breath, waiting for the next attack.

None comes and that almost makes it worse.

The space between fear and anticipation is a waking nightmare of recrimination and doubt. I’m perpetually trapped in the knowledge of my own inferiority.

Could I make the sacrifice Valery did?

Would it even matter in the end?

The farther we walk in silence, the more questions tumble through my head. I have no answers and the lack of finality breeds more doubts until my mind is numb, overstuffed with questions I can never answer. It is a table of plates with no food—a feast of famine to gorge my mind on as we move closer to Sebrina.

I focus myself on this mission. I can effect change. I can save Jost’s daughter.

I can.

I can.

I can.

I repeat it over and over in my head, but I come no closer to believing it.

Jost stops in front of one of the houses and we wait for him to give us instructions. After a few minutes I realize he’s as stuck as I am, caught in a loop of self-doubt.

I take his hand and hold it. “Let’s get Sebrina.”

But he doesn’t move, only turns to look at me. There’s something imploring in his eyes. “What if she’s dead?”

“She’s not.” I channel his earlier certainty and try to sound as confident as he did then.

“She won’t know me,” Jost says. “I’m a stranger, not her father.”

This time Dante is the one to speak. “You will always be her father. Nothing can change that.”

A lump grows in my throat. Poor Dante is the closest to understanding how Jost feels.

I know what scares Jost. He’s worried that after everything he’s gone through to find her, Sebrina will reject him. How do you swallow the truth after a diet of lies?

“Let’s check it out,” Erik says, pushing past us.

I want to stop him because I can’t bear to watch another person walk into the unknown. Instead, I follow him, circling the house to check for signs of people.

The house appears deserted.

“I think it’s abandoned,” I say to Erik.

He gives me a grim look and he doesn’t have to say what I know he’s thinking. Or they’re dead.

“We won’t know until we go in,” Jost says, moving toward the door.

It’s locked. His hand balls into a fist, but before he can knock against it, the door opens a crack.

“Are you the doctor?” a small voice asks.

Jost drops to his knees until he’s level with the child peeping through the crack.

“We’ve come to help.” His voice is husky and I can hear the tears he’s holding back.

“My parents are sick,” the child says. “They won’t come out of their room.”

My stomach turns over. They have the virus.

Does Sebrina?

I bend down and smile at her. “Can we come in and help?”

There’s a moment of hesitation, but the girl nods.

As I stand up, Dante whispers in my ear, “Don’t touch her.”

I don’t like that he said it. Not only because I hate what he’s thinking, but also because I worry what will happen to Jost if Sebrina is ill. And because this is now an introduction layered with fear instead of joy.

The door opens and there she is. Already half my height, I know she has to be nearly five years old with the time we’ve spent on Earth. I expect to see the same calculation in Jost’s eyes when I turn to speak to him. But it’s not there.

Sebrina was a baby when the Guild took her from Jost. Now she’s a young girl, self-sufficient enough to open the door for the doctor. She has wide, curious eyes that are the same blue as her father’s. But her hair is dark and curly. She wrinkles her nose and crosses her arms as she takes us in.

“You don’t look like doctors,” she says.

“We’re not,” I say, gesturing to Jost but adding quickly, “They are.”