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I were a horse that had gotten spooked in its stall and needed calming. I bristled at that tone—I didn’t need soothing—but I listened. I’d spoken my piece, now I might as well let him speak his.
    “Those who haven’t been arrested are the clever ones,” he argued. “The ones who learn from their mistakes. And they have many new members.”
    “Things have gotten bad in Iceless,” Jullia said softly. “Raine is threatening everyone. Food is scarce. Some have lost their homes. Many more have been punished—put in stocks, flogged, just like I told you before. The villagers all want to do something, but they’re afraid.”
    They all watched me, their gazes sharp as they waited for my response, and suddenly my arms and legs seemed heavy as rocks. Exhaustion burned behind my eyes.
    “I’m going for a walk.”
    I turned and headed for the corridors, my cloak whispering around my ankles.
     
    ~
     
    I wandered through the halls of Echlos, pacing past ruined labs and through crumbling doorways until I reached the place I sought—the echoing chamber that held the gate. The massive round eye slumbered in silence while beams of sunlight lanced the air around it and turned dust motes gold and glittery. Memories haunted this room now—memories of Gabe leaving me, of Atticus urging me forward into the unknown to find him again, of us returning with far more fugitives than anyone had planned for. Now I shouldered a great burden, one I hadn’t asked for, hadn’t wished for. What did they want from me? Did they want me to keep them alive, or did they want me to nod and say yes to whatever idiot schemes they dreamed up next?
    I needed Adam and his advice. The profound hole left by his absence ached within me.
    Footsteps crunched on the debris behind me. I turned.
    Gabe leaned in the doorway, hands in his pockets, eyes on the gate. He chewed his lip, and I could see that he was sorting words in his head. His eyes were tired. The silence curled around me like ice and hardened, holding me prisoner.
    “Do you remember how we felt that night?” he asked. “The night I went through that gate?”
    I exhaled in a shaky laugh. “I remember well.”
    The silence tightened again, squeezing me. I had so many things that I wanted to say. But they were sharp things, and I was afraid.
    “I miss him,” I said finally. The admission made me feel naked.
    His chest rose and fell in a breath. “I know. I can see it in everything you do.”
    The rest of the things I wanted to say seemed too fragile, as if the words would shatter as they left my lips. I laced my fingers together and turned back to the gate. Pain throbbed in my chest in time with my heartbeat. “I’m sorry about earlier,” I said. “You aren’t from the Frost, but it’s your home now, too.”
    “It’s hard to get used to.” His admission of vulnerability was a gesture of forgiveness. I understood that. I stepped toward him, wanting to be near him.
    “Do you miss Aeralis?” I asked.
    “More than I know how to say.” He moved closer, close enough that he could take my hand if he wanted, but he didn’t. We stood side by side, gazing at the gate, a gate that could transport travelers across the world, but couldn’t take either of us home. “My father’s house—the palace—is built of black stone and surrounded by gates of wrought iron. It’s an imposing place, I suppose, but I always loved it. Fog wraps the city in darkness most of the time, so our gardens were all enclosed in glass houses. I played in them for hours every day. The air was so damp and hot that my hair would curl and moisture would drip from my nose.” He paused. “It is so dry here. So cold and dry.”
    I inhaled a lungful of sweet, icy air and let it out. Through the hole in the ceiling, a patch of blue sky glowed like a sapphire. The wind blew, scattering shards of ice that prickled our faces.
    “Steam rises from pipes on the roofs of the houses and fills the air,” he continued,