For several hours, they stayed huddled at the edge of their own property, observing their own house. Food that Dad referred to as “rations” flowed readily from boxes in the back of their vehicle. Orion kept volunteering to “infiltrate the perimeter” and to “see what was up” – to which the reply was invariably “no.” Finally, after sunset, Dad disappeared into the darkness to do exactly this – returning an hour later in a grumpy mood.

“Empty,” he said. “No evidence whatsoever.”

Mom tried to cheer him up by pulling up the video evidence on her phone – but, for some reason, the device was dead.

Moments later, the Humvee was rumbling off into the night. From within, Cassandra smiled at her reflection in the dark window.

***

Waiting at the check-in location, Aissaba shivered against Tassadu’s warm body. It wasn’t like the Master of Mind to be late.

When finally a crack of a twig sounded in the darkness, it was followed by a man’s voice saying, “Don’t be alarmed. I’ve donned a fresh avatar.”

Into the moonlight beside the icy river stepped a man with a triangular mustache, looking like he was dressed for a business meeting, not a rendezvous in the woods. Aissaba, even while working on her thesis under the Master of Mind, had never quite gotten used to the way avatars could be swapped out like clothing. Heebie-jeebies; every time.

“Tomorrow,” explained the man, “we begin our infiltration of the Johnson’s education system. It will give us new avenues for recruitment and observation.”

Tassadu, who had barely been able to stand still, said, “We may have recruited one of them already.” He went on to explain the day’s events – including both Cassandra’s desire to learn pebble magic and her willingness to help delete the recording of them.

The triangle retained its shape as the lips underneath frowned. “Our initial survey of the Johnson residence revealed neither cameras nor an active alarm system. This is disconcerting.”

Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

Aissaba could almost see the calculations going on behind the man’s eyes – whom to interrogate, whom to torture. Although she had only caught a glimpse of the new post-Styxx Fortress on their way out, Aissaba had gotten the impression that these things were the norm now.

“However,” said the man with the moonlit triangle, “this is good news about Cassandra’s decision. I will pass word along to the Master of Language to determine if an Earth-side recruitment will satisfy the Master of Virtue’s prophecy.”

On the way to the rendezvous, Aissaba and Tassadu had decided to share news of the hidden staircase and the strange book – but not to mention the thumb drive, at least not until they had examined it in more detail. These days, Aissaba trusted exactly two people – Tassadu and her mother. No way she was handing everything over to the Masters before talking it over with Mom.

This did not, however, stop Aissaba from observing the Master of Mind very carefully upon mentioning the book and staircase. “Yes. Interesting,” he said. For several hoots of an owl, this was all – long enough that it seemed he might say nothing else. Then, very quietly, very innocently, not at all like he might torture them if they said the wrong thing: “Did you happen to read any of it?”

“We received your evacuation message before we could,” said Tassadu sadly. He had practiced his delivery on the way here.

“On your next recon mission,” said the Master, “bring back that book. But do not open it.”

Aissaba and Tassadu both nodded in the moonlight. Soft gusts of mist came from Tassadu’s nose holes. The hooting of the owl must have convinced the Master of Mind that some explanation was necessary, because he added: “Odds are it’s Rot Cult propaganda.”

Aissaba couldn’t help herself: “So, the Johnsons are part of the Cult?” The idea that the Cult of Rot might exist beyond the Fortress was new information, and exactly how much new information to dole out seemed to be something the Master of Mind was calculating in real time.

The white triangle quivered – possibly in irritation, possibly in fear, or possibly just because of the cold. “Do not read the book,” was all that came from beneath the mustache, at least on the subject of the Rot. “By the way, your mother wanted me to give you this.”

A pebble came from within the man’s suit coat, glowing blue in the darkness. Aissaba’s heart filled with light. Was her mother still at the top of the Spire surrounded by chaos? Had she slept? Was the strange fire still burning in her eyes? Whatever the answers, one thing was clear: she was thinking of Aissaba. She took the stone and held it to her chest.

“This pebble will destroy itself in 48 hours,” said the Master of Mind. “In addition to your mother’s message, we’ve flashed it with a protocol to disable the alarm system and video cameras. If you see another opportunity to enter the Johnson residence while you have this pebble, you are to take it. Understood?”

“Go in, get the book, don’t read it,” said Tassadu. “Got it.”

“What about the hidden stairwell?” said Aissaba.