I stand flanked by the three Waster brothers, watching the flames lick the bodies resting within the funeral pyre.

Nine lives extinguished. The loss is greater than any one battle we have fought in the past six months and I feel the sting of failure acutely. The Mech's underhanded tactic of detonating an explosive is unprecedented; never before have we been forced to contend with such a level of firepower. As I stare at the bonfire raging before me, my mind wanders back to the previous night.

The memory of seeing Will is foggy, the details blurred. The more I imagine him marching alongside the army of Mechs, the more improbable the idea seems.

And yet... as day turns to night I become convinced that my mind didn't conjure up a ghost.

I glance over at Luca. His arm is covered from shoulder to wrist in a heavy bandage and I catch a whiff of the Waster salve beneath as it works its magic on his burned skin. I consider telling him what I witnessed; while the other members of camp have reason to doubt my sanity, Luca has always kept his trust in me. If anyone were to believe my claim, it would be him.

The words play on the tip of my tongue. I saw Will. It sounds ridiculous, even in my own head. I resolve to keep my discovery to myself, at least for the time being.

Turning back to the fire, I straighten my spine and add my voice to the others in singing the Waster death song.

Return, dear friend unto the night,
Give up this body, this life, this fight.

Though our paths diverge, this is not the end,
We will speak of it all, when we meet again.

Our words float up into the early dusk, joining the sparks of the inferno and ashes of the deceased. I utter my own goodbye and step away, joining Jaron, Luca and Noah in a huddle around a small cooking fire.

Noah motions for me to lean towards him, pulling aside the bandage he's wrapped around my temple and inspecting the gash running across my eyebrow.

"How does it feel?" He asks.

I shrug. "Getting better."

"Are you still dizzy?"

"I'd be better off if you'd let me get some sleep." I stifle a yawn, doing my best to remain still while Noah applies more of the Wasters' medicinal balm to my cut.

"Look into the fire." Noah instructs, his face close to mine as he watches my eyes.

I do as he says and eventually he sits back.

"Your balance appears improved and your pupils are not dilated." He sits back, returning the balm and bandages to his rucksack. "You may sleep now, if you like."

"Thank you." I say.

He nods. "And you, Luca. How is your arm?"

"It itches."

"That is the medicine doing its work. Come find me in the morning and I will change your dressing." Noah makes to stand, clapping a hand down on Jaron's shoulder. "And finally, you. How does my big brother fare?"

"Be gone, pest. I sustained only a few scratches in the blast, I am not injured." Jaron's voice is more gruff than normal.

"What of your heart?" Noah indicates the funeral pyre smouldering behind us. "You do not take these losses easily."

Jaron's expression becomes a mask, his eyes at once growing hard. "Death is an inevitability of war. One day I hope to claim as honourable an ending for myself."

"As you say." Noah rolls his eyes at Luca and I before bidding us goodnight and heading off in the direction of his tent.

Jaron, Luca and I remain by the fire, hunched over ourselves as the night grows colder. The scent of charred flesh surrounds us, turning my stomach and causing another bout of nausea. I rest my chin on my knees, cursing my injured head and fighting my way through the lingering haze, once more recalling Will's blank face and the conspicuous metal gear grafted onto his chest.

"Where did that explosive device come from."

It takes me a moment to register that Jaron has spoken. I lift my head, looking towards the chieftain.

"Within the outpost." I reply tonelessly. "It was as though someone knew to wait until the ideal time to strike."

"It was a trap." Jaron finishes for me. "That would explain why there was no food or supplies to be found inside."

"How did they know we were coming?" Luca asks. "Did they see our scouts?"

"They didn't have to." I reply. "The Madam knows that we've been raiding all the Mech parties and outposts. All she had to do was set a snare and wait for us to walk into it."

"Then why did they not slaughter us all after the blast?" Jaron's large hands clench into fists. "It does not make sense."

I recall the ground shaking beneath the Mechs heavy tread as they strode past us, as well as the eerily slow turn of Will's head when he looked at me. There was something deliberate about their movements. Something... calculated.

Almost as if someone wanted to be certain that I saw him.

I shake my head, regretting it when the movement sends a jolt of pain through my temple.

"I don't know." I say. "It's as though she's trying to draw us back in but doesn't necessarily want us dead."

"Death is not the only form of punishment." Luca looks at me meaningfully. "The Madam has already shown us that her methods are far more devious."

I twitch, squeezing my eyes shut tight. Once again, Will's face is conjured up through the darkness, his once-vibrant grey eyes lifeless.

"We should leave." I banish the image of Will and turn to Jaron. "The Mechs could lead us to the Madam, we should be tracking them." I can't let him get away. Not again.

"Do you not think that I am angry, also?" Jaron asks. "The soldiers that did this will not escape justice, but now is not the time to chase. Now is the time to mourn and remember our dead."

"I mean no disrespect." I speak through clenched teeth. "But while we sit here licking our wounds, the Mechs are getting away."

"Enough, Runner." Jaron barks.

"Kay." Luca speaks softly to compensate for Jaron's temper. "Haste does not win wars, remember?"

I roll my shoulders back in an effort to loosen them. "It's taken us half a year to get this close."

"If the Madam tried to draw us into a trap before, then she will attempt again." Jaron says matter-of-factly. He sits up straight, drawing his spear from where it rests behind him and examining its point in the firelight. "We will remain watchful, and the next time we will have the upper-hand. In the meantime, we should return to the City. Megra will need to know what has happened here."

"We can send a messenger to Meg." I insist.

"You must watch yourself." Jaron pulls a leather strop from his belt and begins to sharpen his spear. "You forget your place. These soldiers are not your own- they fight for the City and for the Wastelands. It is up to myself and the Queen whether or not they remain in the fight."

"Fine." I rise shakily. "You can meander back to the City and waste more time hanging around a parlour and discussing politics, but I'm going after them."

"You will sit." Jaron has become scarily calm, not bothering to look up from his work. "You wish to be a Waster, Runner? This is the way a Waster fights. I will not lose you to a fool's errand. Wait. Heal. Think. The amount of time it takes to defeat the Madam is unimportant, what matters is that we win."

"The Mechs who killed our brethren are not lost, no matter how far they wander." Luca assures me. "We have never failed to track a beast, before. We will find them. We will find her. I promise."

I look back and forth between the brothers, desperation and a million conflicting thoughts coursing through me. Despite the pull of the desert, I have to contend that now is the time to act with my head and not my heart. I stand a better chance of locating Will with the aid of the Wasters. I've already waited six months, I can wait a lifetime if that's what it takes. Will and I have always managed to find each other.

* * * * *

I pace outside Meg's chambers, my feet scuffing noisily against the tiled floor. Muffled voices ebb through the door before me.

"What do you think they're saying?" I ask.

Luca looks up from where he stands reclined against the wall. He shrugs. "Important leader-of-the-world talk, I suppose. Why do you not listen in from one of your hidden passageways if you are so curious?"

"Because Meg is going to call for me at any moment." I return to my pacing. "It's strange of her to leave me out of these discussions."

"I thought so, also." Luca furrows his brow, listening. "I think they are arguing."

"Really?" I move closer to the door and press my ear up against it. "How can you tell?"

"Jaron is speaking low." Luca crosses his arms and tilts his head up at the ceiling. "He is at his angriest when he is quiet."

"Poor Meg." I jump back just as the door flies open and Jaron storms out. The Waster chief's sizable shoulders are hunched forward, his expression thunder. He gives the barest of glancest in my direction before striding off down the hall, his heavy tread causing the torchlight to shudder. He shouts for Luca to follow and I give my friend a supportive half-smile, watching the pair disappear around the bend before slipping into the study.

"Are you all right?" I ask.

Meg stands facing the window, her back to me. Her posture is ramrod straight, her hair and dress as flawless as ever. She pauses a beat before turning, her expression composed as she gestures for me to sit.

"Perfectly." She says. "Jaron and I had a disagreement. I'm sure that we will be able to resolve it once he has some time to cool off."

"Ah." I sink down onto an overstuffed couch, leaning forward and bouncing my feet. "What were you fighting about?"

"We weren't fighting." Meg sits down opposite me. "Jaron and I are separately responsible for a lot of people. When we disagree about what happens to them it isn't a fight, it's politics."

"Whatever you say." I search her face, looking for some small chip in her exterior. "You can talk to me if you need to, Meg. I'm still here for you, even if I'm not around as much as I used to be."

"I appreciate that but I'm fine, really." A trace of my old friend's smile plays on her lips. "How's your head?"

"The inside or the outside?" I joke half-heartedly, scratching at the small scar in my eyebrow. "You know me, an excursion isn't worthwhile unless I receive a bump or two."

"I would expect nothing less." Meg recrosses her long legs. "I missed this."

"What? Me sustaining a head wound?"

"No." Her smile grows. "This. Us."

"Everything used to be a lot simpler, didn't it?" My fingers twist in my lap. "It's hard to believe that there was a time when we didn't have anything more complicated to discuss than a good book."

"I can't remember when I last picked one up." Meg glances towards her desk. "Besides one of those ledgers, that is."

I force a grin, glancing around the room distractedly.

"What is it?" Meg asks.

"Nothing." I look back at her and cease fidgeting. "Well? Shall we jump right into it?"

"All right." Meg releases a barely-audible sigh through her nose. "I'm afraid you're not going to like what I have to say."

"Then maybe you should consider saying something else."

"I'm pulling the troops out of the Wastelands." Meg doesn't mince words, sitting back and waiting.

I remain perfectly still despite the fact that a nervous energy is ricocheting through my body, beginning in my scarred brow and ending in the balls of my feet. Patience, Kay.

"That would be a mistake." I speak slowly, trying to keep my tone easy. We're just having a discussion, that's all. She'll change her mind. She has to.

Meg shakes her head. "I'm afraid it's not open for debate. I told you the last time we spoke that if there was nothing to be gained from the latest expedition, that we would have to pivot and turn our energy towards something else."

"I hardly think that's fair." I argue. "We never stood a chance of getting anything out of that bunker. It was set up specifically to trap us."

"Then perhaps we should take that as a sign." She raises her brows. "Clearly, there is nothing more to be gained by troubling ourselves with the Madam. We've already lost too many of our people to her games."

"Nothing to be gained? How about justice? Retribution?"

"Fancy words for revenge." Meg shakes her head. "I'm sorry, Kay but your personal vendetta is not a good enough reason for my people to risk their lives."

I bristle, the little composure I had slipping away. "Your people, as you call them, don't fight because you tell them to. They fight because we believe in the same cause. I'm not the only person who lost a loved one to Babel."

"I am well aware of that fact." She says tightly. "But unlike you, most of us have the capacity to let go of the things that hurt us, especially when the circumstances are as dire as the one we find ourselves in."

I reel, momentarily stunned by the attack. "Is that really what you think of me?"

"What I think is that you're extraordinary. Everyone does; that's why they follow your causes so readily. But that kind of influence is dangerous, Kay. It's easy to prop yourself up on the shoulders of others, what's difficult is seeing your own way from such a height."

"My, you're ripe with wisdom today." I say dryly.

"Look, I want to show you something." Meg unfolds herself from the couch and moves to the desk, sifting through the papers and extracting a tube of parchment. "Here."

She unrolls the parchment on the low table in front of me. I lean forward, studying the rough lines. "What is this?"

"It's a greenhouse." Meg says. She runs a finger across the plans. "Gus and Marc think that they've found a way to extract water vapour from the air. If we can construct the materials they need to build the greenhouses, then we should be able to grow food." She speaks quickly, clearly excited as she waits for my reaction.

"Meg, this is..." I turn the parchment around, taking in the plans from all angles. "This is incredible. Will this really work?"

"I don't know." She chews on her bottom lip. "There's a lot of chemistry involved. We need to use technology that hasn't been around since before the Burn. Gus has been recruiting volunteers from the Academy to help him work through the problem, but things aren't progressing as quickly as he hoped."

"So, it's a long shot." I say.

"Survival always has been." Meg replies. "But this is our best chance."

"It's one of our chances." I correct her, choosing my words carefully. "You and Gus should keep at this greenhouse idea, but in the meantime let me lead the soldiers to Babel. If your plan doesn't work, then taking Babel for ourselves just might."

"For gods' sake, Kay. You have to stop." Meg's perfectly manicured hands slam down on the table, wrinkling the parchment. "What is it going to take for you to give this up? You're needed here, at home. I need you. Frye needs you. The City needs you. Do you know who doesn't need you? The Madam. Yet she seems to be the only one you care about."

"I care about this war because once again, I have to do the dirty work that you're afraid to take on." I jump to my feet, my hands clenched into tight fists. "You sit here behind your glass walls, ignoring everything beyond your borders and pretending that the problems outside don't exist. Guess what, Meg. The Madam isn't going to go away just because you ignore her. If I don't go after her now, then she'll just become stronger and smarter and when she does eventually come for us–and I promise you, she will come for us–we won't survive it."

Meg stares up at me, the whites of her eyes plainly visible. "You don't know that."

"I do. While you've been propped up on cushions, discussing doodles with Gus and Marc, I've been out there, in the sun and the dirt, fighting for you."

"You've been fighting for yourself, for your own selfish reasons. I'm sorry, Kay, but killing the Madam won't bring Will back."

My heart seizes. "I never said a word about Will."

"You didn't have to. He's gone, Kay. It's time to accept it." Meg stands and reaches out a hand towards me.

I jerk back, out of her reach. "Will's not dead."

She comes closer, a look of pity crossing her fine features. "Kay..."

"He's not dead. I saw him." The words fall from my mouth before I can stop them.

Meg halts in her tracks. "What are you talking about?"

I speak quickly. "After the explosion at the outpost. He was there, with the Mechs. They've done something to him, changed him but it was Will, I'm certain of it."

Meg remains perfectly still, staring at me. "You saw him after the explosion?"

"Yes."

"After you hit your head?"

"Yes... yes but I wasn't imagining things. I know what I saw was real." I cringe at my own desperation, wanting, needing her to understand.

"I'm sure that it felt very real," Meg says gently. "It's possible to want something so badly that we can will it to be true."

I step back, stumbling when my leg hits the couch. "You don't believe me."

"That isn't it, I just want you to consider the possibility that your mind played a trick on you again." She frowns. "Like when you saw Harmen below Babel."

I shake my head violently. "This is different."

"It might not be."

Her pitying gaze scalds hotter than fire. "You know what, Meg? I can handle every gossip in this desert thinking that I'm mad, but you..." I trail off, blinking forcefully. "I thought you knew me better."

"I want to believe you, Kay but I was there on that day. I saw him fall, same as you."

I sway in place, the memory of Will's execution playing itself over and over. I see him making his last promise before he disappears beneath the ledge of the balcony. I see the Madam's cruel smirk pull at her face as she brandishes the needle.

I shake my head and Will's steely eyes turn dull. A monstrous metal gear blooms from his chest, clicking rhythmically as it turns in place. A shudder runs through me and for the first time since laying eyes on him at the outpost, I feel a small sliver of doubt.

"Forget it." My words are ice. "Forget all of it, Meg. I don't need your trust. In fact, I don't need you at all."

"I'm simply trying to—"

"You needn't bother. I'll raise my own army and I'll take down the Madam, with or without your help. You might be ready to give up, but I'm not beaten so easily." I turn and march towards the door, feeling my cheeks aflame while the all-encompassing cloud of red thunders from the corners of my vision.

"Kay." Meg's voice breaks through the fog just as my hand reaches the doorknob.

I hesitate, keeping my back to her and fairly vibrating with rage.

"There is always going to be an enemy out there," She says. "It makes no difference whether it's a King, a Madam or an Inquisitor. Until you decide to live for yourself and not for the fight, you'll never be satisfied."

"You're wrong." I tell her. "I'll be satisfied once her blood stains my dagger and I've brought Will back home. Just watch me."

Without another word I step out into the hall, the heavy wooden door rattling on its hinges as I slam it shut behind me.