Out in the desert, time passes like grains of sand through my fingers.

Without Babel's oppressive dome hanging over me, I am able to think, really think for the first time in countless days. Long runs across the plateaus push my mind and body, the clarity helping Cade's lessons to take root. When the sun is too high to run, I linger in camp and talk with as many people as I can. I keep my manner carefully balanced between upbeat and determined, encouraging my warriors and pitching in with camp tasks. It appears as though the Wasters are content to follow me, at least for now. I don't yet take their support for granted; if Jaron were to suddenly reappear there's no telling where their loyalty would ultimately lie.

The nights are long, divided between practicing with Cade and plotting with the Wasters. Utter exhaustion turns my sleep deep and dreamless and gradually, my courage returns.

My newfound sense of confidence is put to the test when scouts announce that they've spotted a distant, yet wholly sizeable army.

I lead a party South and West. When we draw close to where the scouts first spotted the travellers we split into smaller groups and break apart, watching them from our various vantage points. I squint into the piercing sunlight as Luca and I circle closer and search carefully, ever-weary of the Madam's tricks. Memories of sudden explosions and funeral pyres are never far from reach and I make a grim promise not to let myself be taken for a fool, again.

In the end, it's the accents that give the Miners away. My heart immediately lightens when I recognize the City manner of speech and I peek overtop the dune. Headscarves hide their features but the clumsy tread of people unused to desert travel is unmistakable. I raise a hand, signalling to the other unseen Wasters. Planting a foot atop the dune's summit I stick two fingers in my mouth and emit an ear-piercing whistle.

At once, the Miners halt in their tracks and press their backs into a tight huddle.

"There!" Someone points at me and I grin, placing my fists on my hips.

"Hello there!" I shout into the wind. "You lot are awfully far from home."

The Miners shuffle closer together and murmur amongst one another. When one man finally raises his sabre and waves it at me it's clear even from a distance that he's unfamiliar with the weapon. I marvel that they managed to survive outside City walls for as long as they did.

"We seek the Runner!" The man barks, his voice sharper than his blade.

"Is that so?" I laugh. "Every other hellion wandering this desert seeks the Runner. So tell me," I angle my feet and slide down the hill, arriving in front of the group so suddenly that the leader stumbles back and topples the man behind him.

I cast a pointed glance at the sprawled Miner and then back at the first man, quirking an eyebrow. He gulps audibly, now clutching the hilt of his sword with both hands.

"Why should I tell you where she is?" I finish.

"I-" His eyes dart madly to the left and right. "We heard she's gathering an army. Look," His sword hand quivers as he digs into his pocket with the other, withdrawing a crumpled piece of parchment. I have to bite back a smile when Frye's Follow the Runner poster greets my eyes.

"We want to join up with her." The Miner finishes.

I rock back and forth on my heels as I survey the ragtag ensemble. "And why would she be interested in taking you on?"

A look of offense crosses the man's face, which I count as a point in his favour. "We might not look like much, but we're brave and we're loyal."

"Both admirable traits." I reply. "But what I really need to know is what makes you brave. What have you got to fight for?"

"Our home." He answers without hesitation. "The Runner is from the City, she'll understand."

I keep my tone light, not wanting to betray the sudden knot twisting inside. "What's happening in the City?"

He swallows. "It's nearly bone-dry. We've heard rumours that all the freshwater sources are depleted and that we're now reliant on our reserves. The Queen has everyone from the academy to the temple scrambling for a solution but it's likely the reserves will run out long before."

"Gods." I murmur, no longer smiling. "Worse than I thought."

"There's another city though, isn't that right?" The man is speaking eagerly. "That dome the Runner invaded once already, we heard it's packed with plenty of food and water."

"Taking another city's goods won't save you." I warn him. "It will only prolong your survival for a time."

"Time is all we need." Passion colours his words, earning him another point. "The Queen is in support of every effort we make to grow our own food back home, we know it's just a matter of time until they figure out how to do it."

"Hmm." I make a noncommittal noise, tapping my chin with my finger. "I think you may have some promise, after all."

"Do you know her? The Runner?" The man finally lets down his guard, lowering his sword with his eyes wide and searching. "Are... are you her?"

"It's her, alright." A sullen voice speaks up from the rear of the group before I have a chance to answer. Curious, I crane my neck to see a vaguely familiar form shuffle his way forward. It isn't until he raises his arm in a half-hearted greeting that I register who it is.

His arm ends in a grotesque stump.

Gordy.

I take no pleasure in recalling my snivelling former acquaintance. A greasy, unpleasant fellow, I fight the urge to recoil as memories of his and Lara's alleyway encounter come flooding back. His hand was taken as punishment for petty thievery while the City was still under rule of the King and from the looks of him, he hasn't fared well since.

"Gordy." I nod cordially and take a small step to the side, signalling to Luca that he has a clean shot should he choose to take it. "It's been a while."

"And you haven't changed." He tucks his ruined wrist into his pocket. "Still as swaggering and as arrogant as ever."

I laugh, affirming his claim. "You haven't changed either. In fact, I believe I've even seen that soup stain before."

More than one person laughs as Gordy's face turns beet-red.

"Hold on now. You know the Runner?" The first man cuts in, casting a glance disbelievingly between the two of us.

"Unfortunately." Gordy sighs nasally and I resist the urge to roll my eyes.

"How could you not have said?" The first man's entire demeanour changes at once as he clumsily attempts to sheath his weapon while simultaneously extending his hand to me. "I'm Evin. I'm just...gods...I can't believe it's really you. Gordy, how could you not have mentioned that you're mates with the most famous person in the world?"

"We're not mates." Gordy mumbles.

"Not yet." I wink, giving Ervin's hand a hearty shake. "Now, while I'd love to remain here and reminisce, I've heard a rumour that we're at war. If you'd care to follow my friends and I, we can take this reunion somewhere a little more discrete."

"Your friends?" Evin asks, confused.

"Didn't I mention them?" I whistle two shrill notes in quick succession. At once, Luca and the others arise from their hiding places, revealing that the Miners were hopelessly surrounded.

Laughing at the Miners' surprised shouts, I turn on my heel and gesture for them to follow. "Come on, we'll do introductions later."

Over the next several days, groups of Miners and Wasters continue to drift into our camp. I recognize faces from my city days and various travels and make sure to greet each new arrival, pretending not to notice when they dissolve into whispers as soon as my back is turned. Stories of my exploits are what drove people here, are what keep people here. I can feel the heavy sense of expectation everywhere I go, unnervingly demonstrated through awed looks and hushed conversations. As our numbers grow, I help to orchestrate the mapping of several routes into the cave entrance that Mia first showed to us. Any lions or Brutes we encounter during our expeditions are dispatched with relative ease, any useful scrap preserved and sent back to the camp for immediate consumption. Piece by piece, we steal back the desert.

I intensify my runs, sprinting further and faster, embracing the old wildness, the old freedoms. Some mornings Luca joins me but more often I choose to run alone, allowing the wind and my thoughts to take me where they will.

One evening, I finally break a long silence with the five words I've dreaded saying since arriving at the camp. "It's time I went back."

Cade places his cup gently on the ground before sitting back and regarding me fully. "Do you feel ready?"

"As ready as I can be." Honesty comes easy in the privacy of this comfortable tent. "If I wait until I'm completely ready, I'll be waiting until the next Burn."

"A bit of unsteadiness can be helpful." Cade replies. "It will keep you sharp."

"That's good to hear." I shift from side to side, the old restlessness making itself known. "I need to know what you think."

"I think that so long as you remember everything we discussed here, you will be fine."

"I remember it all."

"Tell me, then."

I draw a deep breath. "I am not trapped." I recite. "When it feels as though I am being dragged under, I can choose to break free."

"And what else?"

"I am not alone." Saying the words bolsters me.

"Good. And then what do you do?"

"I reach out." I assert. "I take hold of what is outside the red cloud and I pull myself through."

"Excellent." Cade nods his approval. "Now, tell me the most important part."

"If it doesn't work." I swallow, then straighten. "I run."

"You run away." He echoes firmly. "You run today so that you may fight tomorrow. Do not trust that cloud, Kay. It is not your friend, no matter how welcoming it may seem."

"I know." I promise. "I'll remember."

Cade scoops up his teacup and takes a long sip. "If that is the case, then I think you are ready."

I exhale slowly. "I want to thank you, Cade, sincerely. I'd be lost without you."

"Sweet girl, you are most welcome." He pats my hand fondly. "I am pleased that you came to me."

I duck my head, frowning at how frail his hand appears atop mine. My decision to head back belowground reaffirmed, I clutch his gnarled fingers in mine. Once Babel is in our possession Cade will have more than enough to eat.

After bidding Cade goodbye, I push my way through the tent flaps and venture out into the night. Despite the late hour and utter exhaustion, I allow the sounds of several loud voices to draw me towards the campfire. There, doused in an orange glow and lit by the heat of sputtering coals, I find Jaron.

The Waster chieftain seems to sense my approach long before I arrive. His eyes, black where Luca's are blue, pierce me mercilessly while I force one foot in front of the other.

"Speak of the devil." His voice is deafening.

"Talking about me, were you?" I adopt my trademark nonchalance, drawing to a stop with the flames of the fire between us. Distantly, I register that the other various conversations are steadily dropping off.

A smirk pulls at his mouth. If it weren't for the lingering effects of Cade's tent, that simple gesture may have been enough to incite me directly through the fire and into the cloud. As it is, I remember my lessons.

I have a choice.

Jerking my chin into the air, I opt to turn his game into my own. "I hope that your travels proved fruitful. As you can see, we've been extremely busy in your absence."

The smirk never falters. "My travels were more than fruitful."

"Glad to hear it. What have you brought for us?"

"You tell me." Jaron steps to the side, revealing a dozen giants lingering in the shadows behind him.

The mammoth-like strangers straighten to an even greater height beneath our gaze. Dressed head-to-toe in heavy hammered armor, they appear to have been wrenched free of the very mountains surrounding us. Swords as long as my arm are clenched in their fists and their glittering eyes are only barely visible, tucked far away beneath their helmets and the savage tattoos adorning their skin.

My stomach drops in warning and I pray that alarm doesn't show on my face. Inclining my head slightly, I nod to the group. "Pleasure."

A few grunts are my only reply and so I return my attention to Jaron. "Where did you happen upon your new mates?"

"The mercenaries defected from their society in the far North." Even the hefty chief appears diminutive when standing before the newcomers. I let this thought bolster me and fortitude comes more easily.

"They certainly grow them big in the North." I remark to a smattering of laughter. "And what cause do mercenaries have to fight for us?"

"Only their fair share in our winnings." Jaron crosses his arms. "Not much to ask, when you consider that they are in the profession of making war."

The men and women behind him simultaneously tighten their grips around the well-worn hilts of their weapons. Whether the gesture is meant to be agreement or a threat, I can't be certain.

"Not much to ask, whatsoever." I reply. "You are welcome to what we have, here in the camp but every person is required to pull their own weight." I pause for effect. "That isn't meant to be a slight."

A bit more laughter from the circle, but the mercenaries expressions remain humourless.

"There's plenty to be done before any war making can take place." I continue before Jaron can get a word in. "Hunting, cooking, constructing. When you're with us, you're expected to contribute as an equal part of a whole."

"The mercenaries are free to come and go as they please." Jaron's voice thunders over my own. "We have reached an agreement, already. The Runner speaks out of turn."

My fingers curl into fists. "If someone wants their fair share of our spoils, then they have to do their fair share of the work."

"These warriors will do more than their fair share of the killing." Jaron's premature bravado causes his chest to swell.

"Killing is a very small part of what we're trying to accomplish." I keep my tone even. "We're not sending our people inside the dome to slaughter and be slaughtered. Our victory will come with patience and planning." The painful tug of longing is awakened as I speak Will's words.

Something dangerous sparks in Jaron's eye. I subtly quirk a brow, inviting the challenge.

"The mercenaries do not follow your will." He states. "None of us do."

Ignoring the crimson whispering in my ears, I instead concentrate on staying the course. "Do you speak for everyone?"

"I speak for the Wasters." Jaron fires back. "My tribe has always remained loyal to its chieftain. You are young and you are foolish. You may have gained fame but your success came only through a little daring and too much luck."

"You should listen more closely to the stories. There is little in the way of luck to speak of."

"Your recklessness will catch up with you." He fairly growls the warning, "And your strategy for battle cannot be sustained. Our people need a strong leader, someone who does not believe that theatrics are a match for ruthlessness."

"And you are that leader, are you?" I let the question hang heavy, enticing him, daring him to try and seize a seat atop my throne.

"I have always been so." He affirms. "And I will continue to lead our people to victory, long after you are gone."

My disappointment is replaced almost instantly by an electric shock of delight. So, it has finally come down to this. It almost appears a lovely gift, the chance to spar with one of the giants. I don't bother to wipe the mocking grin from my lips, allowing my adversary see how much I relish his demise.

"If you are unhappy with how this camp is run, then I invite you to vacate." I nod over Jaron's shoulder. "And you can take your overpriced killers with you."

In response Jaron draws himself up, taking full advantage of northerners' fearsome appearance as he aligns himself with them. "I am not going anywhere. This is my camp and these are my people."

I open my mouth to reply when my attention is seized by a cool hand wrapping itself around my arm.

"Kay." Cade has materialized and inserted himself between us. "Jaron, I think that is enough. It is late, let us rest and discuss this matter in the light."

The touch of a friend and the trace scent of strong tea sends me off-balance. I blink, momentarily faltering as I register Cade's curly grey hair and bright eyes.

"You are right, Cade." Jaron speaks before I do, the coldness in his words extinguishing Cade's warmth. I am instantly brought back to the present, my heart once again knowing nothing but a desire to fight.

"It is late." Jaron continues, addressing Cade but staring at me. "This battle should have come much, much sooner."

"Jaron—"

"You will step aside." He commands and Cade releases his hold on me. "This is a fight between myself and the Runner, only."

Meeting Jaron's gaze head-on I allow the danger to drip from my tongue. "If neither of us will leave, then how do you propose we settle this?"

"One guess." Reaching out, his indicates that a mercenary should hand him a weapon. He rotates the massive spear slowly and deliberately, eventually pointing the blade at me and turning it so that firelight licks the hammered metal.

I regard the spear calmly, appearing to consider. "Seems a tad barbaric, even for you."

"The desert is not won with words, Runner. It demands blood."

I smile my agreement. "So be it."