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she casts her most beguiling look Fortin’s way. The Manager’s eyes, despite appearances, see all too much. But those eyes are also certain others don’t notice. And that’s his failing.
    â€œYou did very well,” Willum assures her.
    â€œI know. I love these visits,” she replies.
    â€œSo you said, but today you seemed different.”
    â€œOnly tired. The speeches are always the same. I find the repetition a challenge.”
    Willum sips the air, as if he’s testing the temperature of a hot drink. “Well, Stowe, you’re about to face an even greater challenge.”
    Ah, here it comes. “And what might that be?” Stowe asks.
    Willum looks away, his hands balled tightly into fists.
    â€œCome now, Willum, you’ve piqued my interest.”
    â€œA trek.”
    â€œI trek every day, looking for my brother.”
    â€œYour assignment’s been modified.”
    â€œYou mean I won’t be looking for my brother?”
    The cleric opens the car door but Willum does not get in. “No. Not any longer. At least not for the moment.”
    â€œThen who will?”
    His eyes lock on hers. “No one.”
    â€œWhat do you mean, no one?”
    â€œDarius informed me this morning that Roan has been declared dead.”
    â€œHe is not dead,” she states emphatically.
    â€œI’m sorry, Stowe, truly I am.”
    â€œDarius is in error.”
    Willum looks fiercely at Stowe. “Recall that your father is the Eldest. Keeper of the City, Archbishop of the Conurbation, the Great Seer. No matter what happens, consider that before you speak.”
    â€œOf course, Willum, I was not thinking.” Stowe feels her whole body begin to shake. When did they find out Roan was dead? How could they know?
    â€œGood then. We will begin to prepare for your new assignment.”
    For more than two years she’s searched for Roan. Three hours every day in the amplification booth, eating Dirt, crying out to a brother who never comes. The mythical brother who holds the keys of destruction and salvation in his hands. And now they’re giving her a new assignment because they think Roan’s dead. But it’s not possible. She would have known.
    â€œIt is expected that you will do your duty,” Willum warns.
    â€œOf course it is. What does it matter to you? Just another Farlands boy, dead! My brother. Dead!”
    She lets the anger rise through her body, red hot—she has an excuse now, and a chance to see what happens when she explodes.
    â€œYou know nothing! Nothing! NOTHING!”
    She lets her fury surge until it shrieks out the pores of her skin, out the pupils of her eyes, her guts, her lungs, her heart. Their driver falls to his knees, then onto the ground, writhing. The other clerics sink down in agony.
    â€œDon’t, Stowe.” Willum winces, then covers his ears. It’s very subtle, but she notices a glow around him. He’s creating a protective aura to shield himself from her!
    â€œStop it, Stowe, now!” demands Willum.
    But she doesn’t stop. She doesn’t want to stop, the release feels too good, so gratifying. All the fear, the loneliness, the pathetic wheezing apprehension in her chest, gone, gone.
    Willum is far stronger than she thought. She imagines Darius’s face and her rage builds, pushing against Willum’s aura, knocking him backwards.
    â€œEnough!”
    Stowe exhales until there is nothing left. Nothing left in her at all. But she felt it, Willum’s aura pushing her back. He can push her back.
    She looks around her. All the clerics are lying on the ground moaning, contorted from the pain she’s inflicted. But the driver, blood oozing from his ears, is silent and still.
    â€œHave I killed him?” asks Stowe, curious.
    Willum’s aura vanishes. Bending over the body, he gives her a cold look. “He still breathes.”
    â€œAh,” she says, a trace of excitement