Two plucked a cobweb from his hair, wincing at it. Thirteen swatted the equally ghastly clumps of dust and ash from settling on his sleeves. After escaping Five and Eight, he and Two went straight for Seven and Slate's coordinates. They haven't moved for the past two days. Must be because they've already set the stage for Eight and Five. Seven had a good head on his shoulders. Thirteen should give credit where it was due.

That was why it was necessary to drop by for a visit. One puppetmaster should have a productive talk with another. Maybe even exchange trade secrets. Thirteen had to know how Seven convinced Five. The girl's head was harder than a wrecking ball.

"Are you sure they're here?" Thirteen asked, despite his companion picking up the question before he even uttered the first word. "It's empty."

"I sense thoughts by the pantry," Two answered. "That's...a right and a left from this room."

Thirteen craned his neck up. Black spots had eaten away at the majority of the ceiling, littering the room with clumps of wood and dust. They were everywhere—the tops of ornate, glass-paneled shelves, moth-eaten and stale chaises, ashen fireplace, and low-lying wooden table. Sheafs of magazines with faded pages rustled with the stray breezes flitting past the chipped arched windows. The early morning light sipped the color off a predetermined shape on the floorboards. It could have been a lovely villa. Not that Thirteen cared.

He peeled from the doorframe and gave the splintering jamb a few taps. Debris dislodged from the top casing and rained all over him. "Let's go," he said through gritted teeth. Two must have sensed the annoyance rippling in Thirteen's gut. The esper knew better than to comment, though.

They rounded a corner. Muffled voices rang from the doorway to Thirteen's left. He exchanged glances with Two. The pantry. He stepped forward. His boot sank into a loose floorboard. A squeak tore through the entire villa. Oh.

Scuffling sounds rumbled in the pantry. Seven and Slate burst into the narrow corridor, bearing weapons they found lying around. Was that a butter knife on Slate's hand? Well, never mind. He raised both hands, nudging Two to do the same. The boy, thankfully, didn't argue and copied his stance.

"What are you doing here?" Seven never lowered the knife pointed in Thirteen's chest. He could dodge that even without Abelle's ability. He leveled his gaze at the younger boy. Seven would be at a disadvantage considering he didn't know what abilities Thirteen have or what was equipped in the reader. Judging from the cornered glint in Seven's eyes, he knew that as well.

"I'm visiting a friend," Thirteen answered, tilting his head to one side. "I can't do that around here?"

Seven's hand tightened around his knife. This house wasn't used in a long time for it to end up in this dilapidated state. His weapon wouldn't be as effective as he hoped. "Which friend?" he asked. "It can't have been me."

"Hmm. Perhaps Slate, then?" Thirteen said. His arms started going numb from being raised this long. He should really start exercising more. "How are you doing?"

Slate's scowled. "Whatever it is you're doing, stop it."

Thirteen cocked an eyebrow. "What am I doing? Do tell me."

The girl's eyes ticked. Oh, she was pissed. Thirteen never bothered wasting time with pleasantries, but if it was as amusing as this, perhaps he should do it more often. He never realized riling people up was fun.

Slate was on to something, though. He was doing something. Bonds within the Game were fragile, prone to snap at the slightest stretch. Playing with Seven and Slate's sense of loyalty was to test how strong their alliance had become and how hard Thirteen had to pull for it to start fraying in the middle. People were simple creatures. Understanding how to tear them apart was easier than baking a pie.

"I won't ask again. It would serve you better to answer," Seven interjected. "What are you doing here?"

Thirteen kept an eye on the blades pointed at him. Dull blades could still puncture a limb or two. He rummaged inside the pockets of his jacket and drew out Slate's chip. The flimsy board of plastic clattered across the meager space between them, skidding to a stop inches from Slate's boot.

He jerked his chin at it. "You know what that is," he said. "Take it back. It's yours in the first place."

Slate crouched and plucked it from the ground. She turned it against the light as if looking for some clue Thirteen might have scribbled in it. When she found none, she stuck it into her trouser pocket. Left. "What was that for?" she asked.

"A show of goodwill," Thirteen replied, raising his other arm up. His shoulders tensed. He fought to keep it off from his expression. "I don't go around stealing abilities anymore. And the ones I have are all from those who have passed."

"Is that all?" Seven prodded. The distrust radiating from the boy could have fried a pastry. "You came all the way here to give her that?"

"A truce." Thirteen lowered his arms, thanking whatever gods were there he could finally do it. Even as he stepped closer to Seven, the boy didn't move nor throw his knife. "I know you sent Eight and Five in our direction, and yet, I won't retaliate. Instead, I'm going to ask you to stop for a while."

Seven scoffed. "Why would I do that?" He waved a hand in Slate's direction. "You will kill us as soon as we start trusting you."

Thirteen probably would, but wasting time on vermin wasn't how he imagined the rest of his life to be. "Believe it or not, I'm not here so I can win whatever the fuck the Game is," he said. "I discovered another way out, and we don't have to shed blood for it. If you value your lives, you would agree to my proposition. Having peace is better than spending your days wondering which of us would kill you next."

Slate hummed. "We can agree on that part," she said. "But we didn't send Eight your way. She did it on her own accord. Five...she stopped communicating when we found her in the Northern region with her hands and feet frozen."

"You think Five's acting on her own, then?" Thirteen ventured. "Why would she want to kill me?"

Seven lowered his knife and straightened. "She came after you? Strange. Out of all of us, she's the only one who defended you," he said. "What did Eight do to her?"

Maybe nothing. Maybe Five was as fickle as Thirteen, saying something one day and doing the opposite the next. The girl must have her reasons, starting from their difference in opinion. She wanted to try and save everyone she could. Would everyone survive without Thirteen around? Then, who would have a stronger chance of getting them all out of here?

"First things first, let's shake on it." Thirteen extended a hand towards Seven and Slate. "No more attacks from now on. I need time to do what I need to do, and I can't have you gunning for me at every chance. Deal?"

Slate was the first to take his hand. "Deal," she echoed.

Thirteen turned to Seven who balked at the prospect before him. He leveled his gaze at the hesitant boy. "Deal?" he repeated.

A sigh ripped out of Seven's lips, but he took Thirteen's hand. "Deal."

Two, who watched the entire ordeal with a silence to be lauded for, chose that time to step into the conversation just to ask, "What now?"

Thirteen ran a quick inventory down his list of things to do. "Now, we find the others."

Thirteen lowered the screen to take in the travesty before him. He raised the screen and lowered it again as if something would change the spread of land before him. Two gave him a quick headshake. His thoughts must be annoying the boy, but that wasn't his cross to carry.

An overrun railroad bled from the tips of their boots, stretching as far as a point in the horizon. It had been a consumer railway, running eight—no, nine—lines simultaneously. Electric poles towered overhead, each one sporting a different swirl of vines, algae, and cracks. Some wires had snapped, dangling and swaying with the wind like limp appendages.

Each line was flanked with lengths of walkways, topped with arched awnings. Sunlight and time had worn the once-green laminated panels to a sickly shade of teal and gray. Thirteen swung his legs over the edge of the first rail, his boots crunching against the gravel and the metal embedded into the ground. Then, their journey started.

The Western region was full of surprises. Never did Thirteen imagine a transportation line of this magnitude would rest in the middle of nowhere while also going nowhere. He checked the map multiple times to confirm that. If Eight's aerial reports were accurate, there should be some ruins of a metro somewhere in the Central region. But he had scoured most of the sites there and had stumbled upon nothing of the sort.

Which was odd, considering nothing went past the borders of the city apart from more forest. A mountain might be along the way, but Eight didn't care to mention any in her reports. She must have not made it that far. Yet.

The clues should have always been there for Thirteen to piece, but the truth to the Game still eluded him. Did actual people live in the grounds before? Why would they leave everything and go elsewhere? How did the Corrector get a hold of this much land?

Questions again. He had as many answers as he had a functional ability. A quick glance at Seven and Slate betrayed his reservations. He hadn't told them about his ability mostly because he wasn't sure if it was one or just a trick of his mind. Seven had experienced it. Twice. The boy would have his conclusions about it. Did Slate know? Did Five? Was that why she was after him?

He sniffed and hefted himself over another walkway. His legs hurt from climbing up and down the endless rows. He glanced at his screen again. Should be close now. "Can you sense them?" He turned to Two who had his eyes closed. The esper was scoping.

"In that car," the boy said after a full minute, pointing towards the nearest metal behemoth they had come across since peeling across the railways. The others were parked at random distances, all at least ten meters away. "They're talking about cake."

Cake?

Not going to ask. No. Thirteen stalked towards the car and searched for a button or something. How would he open this one? "It's locked from the inside," Slate noted, reaching Thirteen faster than the rest of their companions. She pointed at a lever jutting from a control board of some kind. The transparent plastic windows blocked her finger from going further. "See that? We need to pull it."

"Or we can look for another way in," Seven suggested. "These things have emergency exits, right?"

Thirteen followed the side of the car and swung underneath. A mess of metal plates, gears, cranks, and pistons greeted him before vanishing to the shadows. He straightened and faced his companions. "There might be a hatch underneath," he confirmed.

"I'll get it." Seven pushed past Thirteen and slipped under. The three who were left stood in awkward silence as they listened to Seven grunt and try to prise whatever he found. After one final creak, metal dragged against the plastic floor of the train's insides. Seven's mop of dark hair poked back out. "It's open."

Thirteen last, watching everyone's backs. He also didn't want to be the fodder should Eighteen and Sixteen set up a trap for unwanted trespassers. When Slate's feet disappeared through the small, square hole and her face peeked from the illuminated gut of the car, Thirteen deemed it safe and climbed after her. He squeezed through the hole and hauled his feet off. Together, they scanned the inside of the train, bodies tense and locked in guarded stances.

The sound of a teacup hitting a porcelain saucer tinkled in the closed space. They turned to find Eighteen lounging on a train bench, her feet propped across it and crossed at the ankles. "Nice of you to join the party," she greeted. She raised her cup at them. "Care for some tea?"