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Even now, the way he was walking, each pace measured and falling in pattern on the shattered cobbles so that his heels touched every third stone—this was the mind that had come up with the entire plan to manipulate me into locating the Iron Wood.
    I found myself staring, as though trying to see the mechanisms in Kris’s head, piece them apart the way he could piece apart Nix. I was so distracted that I didn’t even notice when he returned my stare and slowed his steps. It wasn’t until he came to a halt that I found his eyes on mine.
    â€œWe’re raised to believe our blood makes us superior.” Kris’s voice was quiet, thoughtful. “We’re direct descendants of the architects who built the city, who created the Wall. We’re raised to believe we’re the reason the city didn’t fall like the rest of the world during the Wars.”
    â€œAnd yet you left,” I pointed out. “Why?”
    â€œI guess I realized that blood isn’t everything.”
    â€œWhat changed?” A breeze stirred, parading a few errant leaves and petals down the path between us.
    Kris’s mouth twitched, as though at some joke I didn’t understand. “I met you.”
    I realized he was still gazing at me, and abruptly my throat constricted. Even half starved and beaten by exposure, Kris was every inch as handsome as he was the day he first teased me in the Institute.
    â€œKris—” I began, my throat dry. But he shook his head, cutting me off with a gesture.
    â€œDon’t misunderstand me,” he said, with one of those disarming smiles, “I wouldn’t try to edge my way in now.”
    I was about to speak when Kris stepped forward, closing the distance between us to just a pace and a half. “I think you’re more important than that,” he added.
    I slipped my hands into my pockets, hoping warmth would calm my tingling fingers. “More important?” I echoed stupidly.
    â€œGloriette and the others were right—you’re going to save us.” Kris let his eyes move past me, watching some distant moment unfold in his mind’s eye. “You really were the one we were waiting for—we just didn’t know what to do with you when we had you.”
    â€œBut I don’t know what I’m doing,” I protested.
    â€œKnowing what you’re doing is overrated.” The corner of Kris’s mouth lifted a little, though he was still not quite meeting my eyes. “Look where all my plans got me.”
    My thoughts crowded in again. I couldn’t help but see faces half-forgotten, imagining the people I used to know as they must be now—desperate, hungry for a savior. The fears I couldn’t tell Oren came rattling out of me in a rush, eager to find harbor in Kris’s faith. “I don’t know if I’m ready.”
    Kris reached out, his warm fingers encircling my wrist and pulling one of my hands free from my pocket so he could hold it in between both of his. It felt strange to be touched by hands that weren’t Oren’s—to feel no current of magic between us, no constant reminder of what he was. I could feel only the warmth of Kris’s hands, the tiny flutter of his pulse at the base of his thumb.
    Kris kept his eyes on our hands as he spoke. “This is what I meant. You’re more important than me, more important than Oren. This goes beyond any of that. You’re going to lead us; I believe that with all my heart. They’ll follow you like an army. And I—” His eloquence faltered, and he stuttered to a halt. There was no sound, as if even the breeze had stopped to wait for him to finish. “I want to follow you,” he said finally. “I’ll be your soldier. I just wanted you to know that.”
    Though this section of the ruins wasn’t as overgrown as the outlying districts, spindly trees had grown up through the cracks in the paving stones, and