The House of Teeth's warehouse is tucked behind their main complex on Dead River's edge. The river used to be named after one of the extinct dragons, but the new name took hold when the black sky's reflection turned the water into an inky darkness rumored to be laced with death. There's no proof that part though.

The warehouse is one of the taller buildings in this part of the district, wide and windowless with one ladder stretching down the back of the building for roof access. My crew is nestled close inside the parked, double-wide zoomer Macon picked us up in, and Gidget is typing away on her portable mediadesk she's set up in the open backseat area. We've waited until late into the sleeping hours to make our move, the time finally arriving once Gidget stops typing on her glass keyboard.

"I'm done hacking the exterior cams," she says as she pops her knuckles. "I've got the last half-hour playing on loop, so we only have thirty minutes until every cam returns to normal. Let's hope we're long gone by then." She reaches into a small bag and pulls out three ear-pieces, handing them to Macon, Tiny, and I. "We'll be able to communicate with these. I won't have eyes on the inside, so keep me updated while I keep the Teeth's cybershield down."

"Aye-aye Captain," Macon says with a mock salute. We're all so close together that he nearly pokes Tiny in the eye.

I twist the circular earpiece into my ear, cringing when a high-pitched beep nearly shatters my eardrum. Tiny squeals as he rips the piece from his ear and Macon lets off a string of curses.

"Holy shit, Gidget," he says, his breathing heavy. "What was that?"

"Sorry," she says, her face twisting with guilt. "Mic feedback. I should've turned the earpieces on before you put them in." She glances at her screen which now says twenty-nine minutes. "Clock's ticking people. Get out."

Macon opens the back door and three of us exit the zoomer, leaving Gidget and Zero behind to keep watch.

Tiny hikes two thick white ropes over his massive shoulders, his fingers trembling as we move forward toward the warehouse. Without thinking, I reach out and take his clammy hand in mine. He looks down at me, surprise filling his bottomless black eyes.

"You don't have to go in there if you don't want to," I whisper to him as we creep forward. "The Nether should knock them all out, so Macon and I should be able to handle it. In and out."

"I-I can't let you guys go in there alone," he whispers back. "W-What if something goes wrong?"

"Then maybe it will be better if you're watching from above. Do you think you can do that? Watch our backs? Get the zoomer early if anything goes wrong?"

"I can do that." Tiny gives my hand a squeeze before dropping it, then grips the ropes draped over his shoulder as we reach the ladder.

"Would you like to go first?" Macon asks me with a wag of his scarred eyebrow.

"So that you can look at my ass?" I lightly shove his chest and he catches my fingers.

"Careful, Lovely," he teases.

He lets go and turns away from me, grabbing the ladder railing and hauling himself up the steps. I climb up after him with Tiny behind us, the iron creaking and groaning with our combined weight. Wind whips the edges of my violet hair across my eyes as I gaze up, eyes on the next step, fingers gripping the cool railing with my life.

Macon glances down at me over his shoulder. "You like what you see?" he asks before taking another step up. His soft chuckle carries on the wind.

I don't look up anymore and instead focus on the steps in front of me, willing my nerves to settle, but the nerves only seem to tear at my skin harder, making me sweat even though the Evernight is ever-cool. Soon I'm at the top and Macon offers a hand to steady my balance.

I hesitate, but I take it.

His fingers are warm, a prickling heat that spreads across my skin, my wrist, my entire arm. I jerk my hand away. From this high up, out in the open like this, the Aura above is close enough to feel the warmth of its magic. The buzzing glow flashes against Macon's full-tooth grin as he turns and heads toward the two giant fans across the rooftop.

Tiny emerges from the ladder, huffing and puffing as he readjusts the ropes on his bulking shoulders. We follow Macon to the fans, and Tiny drops the ropes onto the stone with a soft thud. The three of us are all breathing heavy as we peek over the side of the nearest fan and down into the spinning blades.

"You guys make it yet?" Gidget says into the device in my ear.

"Barely," Tiny answers, his voice only an exasperated breath.

Macon moves first. He snatches one of the ropes from Tiny's feet and drags it across to the other fan, tying the one end around the safety railing. I mirror his movements with the fan in front of me, then clip the loose end of the rope to my belt. Macon gives me a thumbs-up when he's done the same.

"We need you to switch off the fans," I tell Gidget, gazing back over the side. The blades are a blur, but they start to slow, the loud whir dying with it.

Time is precious now. Luckily, orcs don't have the best hearing, so that will buy us extra time before they notice the sound of the fans missing. Maybe even more time if some of them are arguing.

"Already on it," Gidget says, the clicking of her typing in the background reaching through my earpiece.

The fan stops completely then, leaving only a steel star separating Macon and I from the orcs and warehouse goodies below. I don't mean to, but I imagine what will happen if the blades turn back on while I'm passing through the gap.

"And you're positive they'll stay off?" I ask. I glance across to Macon but he's already stepping over the side of the other fan, testing the pull on his rope.

My fingers and my knees shake, but I do the same.

"Trust me," Gidget says. "Have I ever given you a reason to not trust me?"

"Well..." I think about how Macon ended up in all this as I lift myself over the railing and plant my feet against the slick inside wall of the fan-tunnel.

"Don't answer that," replies Gidget. "Just drop the Nether bombs, get the parts, and meet us at the loading bay."

I nod even though Gidget can't see me and gaze over the siding to Macon. He lifts a Nether bomb he'd had one of his Dusker friends craft for us and watches me expectantly. I reach for the bulging pocket in my belt and slip out the silver cylinder. Together, Macon and I tear away the top of the containers and let them go. Then I quickly grab the rope again, even though it's holding me up firmly.

The makeshift bombs fall, fall, fall for what feels like a moment looped in time. I expect a bang when they land, but there's only a hiss. I pull my black mask up over my mouth and nose as I wait for the dark blue Nether-smoke to creep across the cement floor and cover the area below in a sleepy haze.

Smoke rises, but it isn't blue. It's the orange of a burning sun.

"Ether!" I shriek. In my panic, I knock the clip at my waist and my grip on my rope faulters, sending me falling freely down the inside of the fan tunnel. Tiny's scream echoes my own as he leans over the side, reaching for me, but I'm already falling through the still blades of the fan and into the yellow lighting of the warehouse. I slap at my side until my clip snaps back into place and clinches the rope. I jolt to a stop in mid-air, my body thrashing hard against the whiplash.

"Shit!" Macon's yell pierces my ear.

I'm spinning in one spot from the momentum of my fall when I see Macon emerge from the other fan, hanging securely from his rope like a professional. The orange smoke drifts closer toward us, spreading farther across the floor of the warehouse and up the shelves of clutter. Voices yell in the haze, then fall silent, leaving the space an eerie atmosphere of helpless tension.

What do we do now?

"Alyndra," Gidget says in my ear, worry lacing her tone. "Are you alright? Is everything okay?

"What the fuck, Macon?" I whisper as I attempt to straighten myself in the air. "What happened to the Nether bombs?"

"I-I-I think your Dusker friend doesn't like you very much, Macon" Tiny says.

"Will someone give me some eyes on the scene?" Gidget yells.

"The bombs were Ether," I tell her. I swallow to smother the tremor in my voice as I remember Venjo's haze-induced roar from the Horns' garage. "I don't want to know what happens when orcs go on heavy mind-trips. Not today, not ever."

"We abort the mission then," Macon says quietly. I glance at him, through the wide space between us. The lower half of his face is covered with a black mask like me, but I spot the worry in his eyes before he dashes it away with a cock of his brow.

I open my mouth to agree with him as I glance down at the thinning orange smoke. A few large bodies are moving slowly, but still lying on the ground.

"If we leave now," Gidget says, "We can't come back. This is our only shot. Twenty minutes and we can be one step closer to that race."

I remain dangling in the air, fear creeping over my skin the longer I hang suspended over the orcs, who are rising to their feet. For a moment, all I hear is my heart pounding in my ears, drowning out everything. Macon's mouth moves under his mask as he says something, yelling words that I cannot hear because of the thrum of my blood echoing in my mind.

Don't be afraid of the dark.

I remember the cool voice of my faceless father.

Don't be afraid.

I can be unafraid. I can be fearless.

I reach for the clip at my belt and yank, sending myself falling again toward the floor.

I know what my body can take. I know if I distribute my weight evenly through my feet upon impact, my bones can withstand and hold strong. But I'm not as graceful I'd hoped. I tumble forward when my toes reach the ground, my palms slapping against the smooth slate floor, my legs tangling beneath me—a disgrace to the elegance of the elves before me, a mockery to any watching from above in the Skyscape. My cheeks burn with the failure of my small act of bravery.

"Have you lost your mind?" Macon yells in my ear. I can't see him through the remaining orange haze, but I imagine him pulling himself back up out of the fan to save himself. I ignore his continuing yells, muting his line on my earpiece with the click of a button.

"Gidget," I say, rising to my feet. My mind runs blank for a moment. "Give me a layout."

She's silent, as if unbelieving that I'd made the leap. Then she gathers herself quickly, her words coming out in a rushed flood, but I still catch every one. "The zoomer parts are on the northern wall. We need a transfigurator, a motion-sensitron, and a sonic-matrix. Do you remember what they look like?"

I pause, recollecting the images she'd shown me hours ago, pointing out their distinct shapes and why midnight iron parts are better than the chrome ones. The definitions are imprinted into my brain from how many times Gidget made me go over them.

TRANSFIGURATOR—a cone-shaped coil that pumps furyon-oxide through the main engine.

MOTION-SENSITRON—dual bars that provide enhanced steering components directly to the wheel axis by an electric-coded fuse.

SONIC-MATRIX—a mega-charged gigacube inserted into the power core below the engine.

I could read the definitions and analyze images of the parts for hours, but when it comes down to it, I'm no mechanic and I'm hoping that the orcs enjoy labeling their inventory as much as they do guarding it.

I don't have very long to gather my thoughts as two shadows move through the dissipating smoke ahead. I crouch low, swallowing my fear as it threatens to creep out again, my open palms ready to unsheathe the knives tucked at my sides. The blades may not be my volted pair, but they will have to make do if I need them.

The smoke clears the area, leaving me out in the open, and two orcs' black eyes descend upon me. They stumble to a halt, the one with a missing ear nearly falling back onto the ground. He catches himself on a large metal crate and straightens as the other orc freezes.

Both watch me with horror drowning their features. Orange Ether is smudged around their mouths and noses, streaking down their sweaty faces like sunburst teardrops.

"A—A Nightstalker—" the frozen orc squeaks out as he stares at me. He blinks a few times before sneaking a quick glance at his comrade.

I don't have much time to react. The orc in front of me reaches behind him and whips out a baton he'd strapped to his back. With a shaky hand, he presses a button and the baton flickers with life, green volts swimming around the metal like electric death. My stomach drops to the floor. A volter.

"Back to the shadows demon!" he yells with a battle cry, lurching forward with his weapon raised above him. The other orc watches on from the security of the crate, his hallucination from the Ether twisting his mouth into a silent scream. His eyes never leave my crouched form.

I tuck my knives and roll out of the way. The orc rushes past, his volter slicing through the empty air, the edge sizzling as green sparks hit the floor. He roars and turns back to me, ready to strike again, but I don't wait for him to swing and hopefully miss. I leap up from the ground and dart past the other cowering orc. Heavy footsteps pound behind me.

Fear slinks up my spine, threatening to reach my mind, but I swallow it down and dash around a corner of towering crates.

You're an elf. You're quicker than them. Graceful. Lethal.

My strides become longer, more powerful, as I push myself to the northern wall of the warehouse. I feel the wind on my bare ears as my short hair blows behind me, but I don't reach to cover the pointed tips—it would only slow me down. Screams and hysterical laughter echo throughout the towering shelves, raising the hair of my arms, pricking my senses and settling into my mind in the most unsettling way.

I round a corner down an empty aisle hidden in shadow and my gut sinks as I realize I can't turn back and have to face the dark. My nerves climb higher at the cool touch of shade on my skin, and I stumble over myself, nearly falling to the ground, but I continue forward—slower, but still forward.

The shadows taunt me, swaying with each step I take like it is living, breathing, bent on swallowing me whole. I quicken my pace again, keeping my gaze straight ahead at the northern wall and the zoomer parts waiting for me.

I pass a stack of crates and an arm suddenly reaches out, gripping me and jerking me to a stop. An orc whips me around to face him, the shadows darkening the features on his face, his eyes two spots of eerie nothingness. His fingers dig into my skin as he pulls me closer to him, taking a deep breath as if inhaling the scent of me.

"It's been a long time since I've smelled elfblood," he slurs, his breath hot on my jaw. I arch away from him and during my movement catch sight of a dark crescent tattoo on his temple. I'm struck with an odd strum of familiarity in its shape. The darkness then twists his features even further, curling his lips into a too-wide smile, sharpening his tusks and peeling away everything that would make him seem real in the light.

A scream stills on the very edge of my throat like a leap about to be taken.

One blink. Two blinks. It's not real. It's not real.

But when I open my eyes, he is still there, his jaw unhinging as his mouth opens into an abysmal hole that mirrors the darkness of the Night. He slowly inches forward as his lips crack open, dripping black blood as his jaw continues to drop.

Real.