Clink, clink.

Gwil slammed the spiked end of the pickaxe into the gash he’d been working at. Again. And again. His neighbors, shadows in the haze, did the same.

“This fucking sucks,” he muttered. The shittiness of working in these mines was worse than anything he’d ever known.

An endless stream of gritty black phlegm crawled up his throat, so he constantly needed to spit. It felt like he’d huffed a pile of glass dust. Aches rang through his bones every time the pickaxe hit the rock.

His feet felt like frozen chunks of meat. Bits of his sweat had frosted.

It wasn’t just that the conditions were brutal, though. After all, Gwil had only been at it for a few hours. Some of the prisoners must have suffered this for years.

No, something else plagued him. Nirva. He suffered the deficiency.

The deprivation had deep roots. Gwil felt weak. Lesser. He had grown unaccustomed to enduring even minor discomfort.

The pickaxe rose and fell, rose and fell. That stupid cowboy sheriff and his ropes. The Burger and his idiot son.

Gwil would get rid of them. Whatever it took.

A glistening speck of blue, peeking through a crack. Kaia.

A nodule, they called it. This was the second one he’d found. Gwil shifted his grip on the pickaxe so that he could chisel more precisely.

The nodules were like walnuts in both size and texture—lumpy and venous. But the shells were gelatinous and translucent, squishy but impenetrable.

Suspended within the globes were a few tiny blue beads of Kaia. They looked like fish eggs.

All this for specks of dust.

A whip cracked beside Gwil’s ear as he pried the nodule out.

The guard snatched it away before Gwil could hand it to him.

“Quit glaring at me, you fuckin’ animal,” the guard said, his voice muffled behind his gasmask.

Clink, clink. A song of falling coins. The pickaxe would punch through the man’s ribcage with ease.

Not yet. Gwil had something loftier in mind.

He turned away from the guard. Back to work. He raised his axe over his head.

“A Hallowed slave,” the guard said with a chuckle. “That’s what they call irony. Brought back to life just so you can eat dirt until you die again. Your kind don’t do well here. Dirty monsters.”

Gwil ignored him.

“It’s been a while since we had one. And I get a kick out of watchin’ the blood spurt from your necks like a goddamn fountain!”

The whip cracked again. Warm blood dripped down Gwil’s back. The end of the whip was barbed and weighted.

Gwil clenched his jaw, swinging the axe against the pain. He knew the Nirva wouldn’t come.

“Disrespect on your first day?” the guard barked. “You should know—I got a bad temper. You ain’t gonna last long.”

Gwil grinned through bared teeth. No, that’s you.

The guard went away, probably to find someone who’d give him a better reaction.

Sixteen hours on, eight off, Gwil had learned. He had no idea how long it had been. It was maddening.

So, this is the World. Strap on the yoke. Steal the fruits.

Why do they need so much?

Time crawled.

Clink, clink.

***

A bell tolled. Joyous relief.

Disgusting. This worthless sliver of respite. Dangled bait.

Gwil joined the others at the foot of the scaffolding. Sunken eyes bugging out of gaunt faces. Glowing skin. Rattling chains. The fucking buzzing, wheezing breaths filling the pit.

He dropped his pickaxe as he clutched his hair with both hands, fingernails digging into his scalp. He wanted to scream. No more.

A gentle hand squeezed Gwil’s shoulder. He turned and saw the man who’d been working next to him.

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The man held out Gwil’s dropped pickaxe. With his other hand, he held a finger to his lips. Quiet.

Gwil took his pickaxe back, gripped the handle tight. He should’ve been able to crush it with his hands. He needed to get this collar off.

He wasn’t worried. Not a single drop of doubt. Leira was out there. She’d come up with something clever. He just had to meet her halfway.

Gwil inched closer to the scaffolding as the procession made their way up and out of the pit.

As Gwil climbed, he saw the big redheaded man standing at the edge of the pit. He had a bundle of pickaxes in his arms.

Gwil liked that guy. When he reached the top, he tapped him on the shoulder.

The man turned, looked down at Gwil, and said, “Fuck off.”

“Huh?”

“Fuck off.”

Gwil frowned. The redheaded guy was nice to everyone else. He’d been hoping they could wreck this place together.

***

Back in the Sty. One hundred people collapsed.

Sat against the cavern wall, Gwil stared at the heap of bodies. They couldn’t have been stripped of their wills. Not fully. Embers remained. The fact that they got back on their feet every day proved it.

They just needed a chance.

Gwil would get every single one of them out.

It wasn’t so much that he made a decision. The way he saw it, there was no other option. No matter what Leira might’ve been planning, he wouldn’t leaving until that was done.

He wanted to see them free. He wanted them to ransack all those fancy stores and restaurants. He wanted to hear them laughing as they feasted. He wanted them to know that it was finally over.

He just needed to get the collar off.

As he sat down in his spot, Gwil watched the redhaired guy helping whoever he could, however he could.

Gwil leaned over and tapped Diom’s shoulder. The old man jolted awake, wide-eyed with fright.

“Hey, Diom. Sorry. But who is that guy?” he asked, pointing.

Diom’s smile transfigured his face. “That’s Cort. He’s a gift. Compassionate. Tireless. Got here about a month ago.” He squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head. “There’ve been a lot like him. People like that keep us going. Until they fall apart. They can only wear the mask for so long.”

Gwil stood up. “Gah, keep it together, old man. I already told you that you’re gonna get out soon.”

He strode over to Cort, the iron ball bouncing behind him.

“Hey!” Gwil grabbed Cort’s shoulder and spun him around. “What the hell are you doing?”

Cort’s expression twisted with fury, and then he laughed. “Touch me again and I’ll kill you.”

“You won’t do shit,” Gwil said. “You’re a coward.”

Cort grabbed him and slammed his forehead into Gwil’s nose.

Gwil shook off tears and blood. “Useless. They should be free, or you should be dead, if you were worth a damn.”

People scrambled out of the way as Cort bull-rushed Gwil into the wall, pinned him against it. “What the hell are you talking about?” Cort hissed.

“You can help them,” Gwil said. “Why haven’t you done it?”

Cort released Gwil, looked around as if questioning his sanity, then palmed his forehead. “Goddamn, you are a special kind of idiot, aren’t you? Keep your fucking voice down.”

“Why?” Gwil said. “You’ll be better off if they hear me. If you had any guts at all… If you die, you die. Why haven’t you tried?”

“You don’t know what the hell you’re talking about, lunatic,” Cort snarled.

“I-,” Gwil started, but Cort jabbed his knuckles into his throat. Gwil fell to one knee, gasping.

“This is a delicate situation,” Cort said. “Not some child’s game. Their lives are at stake.”

Gwil jumped to his feet and shoved Cort away. The large man seemed surprised to be sent staggering backward. Recovering, Cort charged forward, looking keen to rip Gwil in half.

The tattoo-covered woman appeared between them with her arms spread. “Stop it! You utter jackasses.”

“Move, Isca,” Cort said.

“Bite me, you hopped up gremlin,” she said. “Sit down. Let’s act like adults, eh?”

Gwil flopped down. Isca followed suit, and then, after a moment, Cort, grumbling and glaring.

“Now, let’s talk,” Isca said in a condescendingly sweet voice. “What’s the problem?”

Gwil and Cort answered simultaneously.

“I’m gonna get everyone out of here. He needs to help me.”

“I didn’t do anything. This guy is crazy.”

Isca smiled. “Cort, why are you giving the newcomer a hard time? I remember how much bitching and moaning you were doing.”

Cort gasped and sputtered. He seemed too appalled to muster any coherence. Finally, he shook his head. “Drop it, Isca. We don’t want anything to do with him.”

“You sound like the crazy one,” she said. “Of course we do. He’s Hallowed.”

“Ooh!” Gwil whisper-shouted. He leaned in. “You guys were already planning to break out?”

“That’s right,” Isca said.

“I’m gonna have to kill him,” Cort said under his breath.

“What’s the hold up?” Gwil asked.

“It’s only been a month,” Cort said with a sneer.

“A month?” Gwil blew a raspberry. “How many people died while you’ve been sitting on your ass?”

Cort punched him in the face. Isca thumped them both on the backs of their heads.

“Behave! What’s your problem, Cort? This is a blessing. He wants to help us. Look at him. Look how eager he is even after you beat him up.”

“Yeah, running around shouting, real helpful,” Cort mumbled.

Gwil grimaced. “Well, I am sorry about that. I wasn’t thinking. But you wouldn’t talk to me.”

“No shit I wouldn’t,” Cort said. “Every guard’s got their eyes on you cause of that collar you’re wearing.”

“Pssht,” Isca said. “No one’s listening, anyway. Long as we’re locked up, the guards don’t give a flying fuck.”

“Tomorrow then,” Gwil said.

“See?” Cort yelled.

Isca went wide-eyed. “No! No. We can’t do that.” She laughed. “We don’t even know your name. And we’ve been working on a plan, but there’s still a lot to figure out.”

“Oh, I’m Gwil,” he said.

“There’s everything to figure out,” Cort said with a grunt. “If we fuck up, it’s only gonna make things worse for everyone,” Cort said.

“I don’t care,” Gwil said. “We just won’t fuck up. I’m gonna do it tomorrow, no matter what.”

Isca looked at Cort, horrified.

The redheaded man, however, looked triumphant. “Told you I’d have to kill him.”

“No, it’ll be easy,” Gwil said. “I have a friend on the outside. She’s coming for me. She’s smart and magical. And if I get this collar off, I’ll stomp through these guards like they’re bugs.”

Isca grinned wide. “See?” she said back at Cort.

Cort started massaging his temples. “What’s your Invoke?”

“Huh?”

“Your sorcery, your wish. You’re a Hallow. What can you do?”

Erm. “Don’t you worry about that,” Gwil said.

Cort groaned. “Goddammit. I should already be long gone.”

“That’s what I’ve been saying,” Gwil said.

Isca laughed. “Cort isn’t some hero. He’s just a thief with a heart too big for his own good.”

“You guys are thieves? Cool!”

“Not me,” Isca said. “I’m nothing. I’ve been here for two years. Cort popped in for a job, but he got snagged up by that damned little thing called morality. We’ve been working on a way to get everyone out.”

“I’m not a thief,” Cort said, smacking the ground. “I’m a mercenary. And yeah, I got imprisoned on purpose. Some Vermin commander hired me to steal a bunch of Kaia.”

The gate clanged open.

“Dinner time,” Isca said.