We hiked throughout the morning and eventually reached the eastern slope of the Range. The vegetation was easier to traverse on this side, the pines shorter and evenly dispersed, the undergrowth less invasive. When we reached the peak of another hill, I climbed a pile of lichen-mottled boulders, eager to get a good look at the terrain below. But what I saw in the valley made my entire body go still.

At the base of the mountain, the tree line spatout the weathered road we'd chosen to avoid. It hugged a meandering river betweengrassy hillslopes, then vanished into the meadow beyond. Past that, severalacres of land had been cleared for gravel, and in place of an aspen grove, asmall set of stone buildings and canvas tents had taken root. Ellsian flagsrippled like the flames of a candle—torches of red and gold battling the wind. 

We'd reached some sort of base camp. For soldiers.

I was running before my mind could catch up.

"Patrons—wait a second, you welt!" Mason yelled after me, but I was moving with downhill momentum and I couldn't stop.

I wouldn't.

We'd found people. Civilization. Refuge. Which meant I could finally fulfill my father's request. At last, I could prove to him that I was more than a girl to be sheltered, more than a curse to be hidden. And the sooner we alerted the Command, the sooner I could save him.

A few minutes later, I burst through the trees, taking in my surroundings with wild enthusiasm. Men in navy military trousers and white t-shirts stood in small groups, saddling horses and speaking in loud tones. Snorting at one another and passing jokes. Their demeanor was far more casual than I'd anticipated. I'd only seen soldiers in uniform marching through Belgate to and from the Rim, and I'd only met veterans with sober expressions or pompous attitudes like Frost.

I'd never seen a soldier for who he was.

A man.

When they saw me standing there awkwardly, hands on my knees and panting, they abandoned their tasks and drew their swords, knives, and hatchets. I straightened, raising my hands in the air to signal my pacific intentions. Smiling so hard it hurt.

I knew my reaction probably freaked them out, but I couldn't help it. We'd beat the odds and made it to a military base, and Stretch and his demon crew had failed to hunt us down. We'd won.

"It's a girl!" someone yelled, which only spurred more confusion. 

"A what?"

"Hold your positions!"

The voice tugged on my spinal cord, and my head jerked violently toward its source.

A young man approached from the rear of the crowd, wearing a half-buttoned army jacket with several badges sewn into the sleeve. By the manner in which the others parted, I assumed he was in charge.

"State your identity and allegiance," he demanded.

I ignored the question, mesmerized by the voice, consumed by the itch of familiarity. "Who are you?"

The man cocked his head as he drew closer, his features becoming sharper and more distinct with every step: a lean build and broad shoulders, dark hair cropped short around his ears, olivewood skin that hadn't seen enough sun.

Narrow, deep-set eyes.

"Identity and allegiance," he repeated slowly, aggravated. But there was something else in his tone.

Curiosity? Perhaps even amusement?

He halted then, stock-still as he looked upon me. As I stared back at him in stunned silence.

"Al?" he breathed, barely a whisper.

My tongue was leaden. 

"...Tom?"

Save for his eye, theright half of his face was burned featureless, nearly unrecognizable. Pink andragged scars marred him from temple to jugular vein, turning his skin into a quilt ofcrinkled foil and melted flesh. It was a badge of service. A badge ofpain.

The left side, though, remained unscathed.  And unforgettable.

"Tom?" I tried again, louder.  My voice cracked against the ceiling of incredulity.    

How?

How could he have been alive all this time?  A mountain range away?

Tom smiled his crooked grin, and I rushed forward, shocking his subordinates as I jumped into his open arms. He caught me with a startled laugh and lifted me off the ground like I was ten again, spinning me round, holding me tight. Tears were already streaming down my face, and I burrowed into his embrace, tucking my nose into his collar and breathing him in.

Nothing made sense.  This had to be a dream.

Alive. My brother was alive.

My brother. 

Questions and follow-up questions filled my head until I could hardly see straight. How, how, how? How could this be?

Tom set me down and held me at arm's length.  "Look at you, Al. You're so tall. And beautiful. Patrons, you look just like Mom." His gaze dipped to my shoulders and the leather pads beneath his palms. "Except for the armor. Why in the world are you wearing armor?"

I think I laughed, but I couldn't be sure.  I was too emotional to be sure of anything right now.

Between us, Richard wagged his tail, sniffing Tom's boots and whining at the smell he'd forgotten.

So I wasn't crazy then. Richard saw him too.

This was real. Tom was real.

Tears rolled over my cheeks.  "How—? When did—" I punched his arm, and his comrades tensed.  "I thought you were dead! Where the hell have you been?"

His smile wavered. "Al..."

His men unsheathed their swords again as Will came running through the edge of the forest with Fudge and Mason at his heels.  Will slowed as he weighed the situation, and then he stopped just short of our huddle. 

My brother straightened, and when I looked back at his face, I was stunned to see all of the joy drain from his expression. His jaw was set, and his eyes had become dark, murderous slits in a matter of seconds.

It was not a Tom I recognized.

"You," he breathed, and he charged at Will.