The morning sun still hadn’t risen by the time Pyre approached the enclave gates. And yet, to her growing confusion, she heard sounds of polite drotling revelry echoing inside—a quiet, delighted chirping, the churn of abundant clay spinning on the wheel, the grilling of vegetables—all typically daytime activities.

Also, even stranger—their gates were wide open.

She had read up on drotlings in her encyclopedia of Kodra’s monsters, and everything she was hearing and seeing ran contrary to the basic facts: firstly, that they were incredibly protective, territorial animals, and secondly, that unlike many forest creatures, they worked and gathered in the daytime, as to avoid the predators of the night.

Only under abnormal circumstances did they wake before the sun.

It would appear these were, of course, abnormal circumstances.

It hardly surprised her. In fact, it just cemented the fact that Akemi had to have gotten here first. Wherever that girl went, normalcy combusted.

That thought burned the dynamite stick in Pyre’s stomach, and her hands clammed up into fists as she stood on the precipice of the enclave. Still, she refrained from pounding on the bark of the enclave door, even when it was wide open, knowing they would take that as an insult. Instead, she did as was customary—she kneeled down, packed dirt and mulch into her hands, and smeared it over her face, grimacing as she did so.

The amount of dignity I’m losing over this fool is unprecedented.

She began to walk gingerly into the enclave, expecting at the very least a greeting, but the drotlings seemed unusually distracted—half of them were busying themselves at the wheel, crafting what seemed like celebratory pottery, and the other half had collected around a giant wooden contraption, watching it as if it might explode at any minute.

Pyre paused just behind them. The runes that littered the cage caught her eye—they were all Locking runes. A nervous chill ran up her spine. Had they locked Akemi in here?

She could see the logic in that. She had wanted to do it on more than one occasion herself.

And, unless Akemi did something monumentally stupid, like attacking the entire drotling hive in broad daylight, the creatures tended to not attack unless threatened. Maybe they had caught her sneaking in and trapped her in their equivalent of a jailhouse.

“Excuse me,” Pyre said, dropping into rotlish. She had heard enough of their quiet murmurings in the last few minutes to get a feel for the language—something that seemed inconceivable to her earthly brain, but here she was. “Can I ask what’s in the cage?”

The drotling boy glanced up at her. Taking notice that she was, in fact, human, he soundlessly alerted the other drotlings, who all turned eerily like owls to face her.

“She did not mention that there were more of you,” the boy said quietly, but did not make any moves to apprehend her. “You are with the other human, yes?”

Pyre swallowed. Now that was a difficult question—what answer were they looking for? No, I’m not with the thief you stuffed in the huge cage. Or yes, I know her, but I’m actually here to slit her throat and drag her body back to Grimguard, if you wouldn’t mind.

“Is she inside the box?” Pyre pried, hoping they wouldn’t fault her for answering a question with a question. She knew the drotlings were particularly hostile towards liars—but at the same time, they didn’t mind or notice awkward speech. Their own way of talking was incredibly stilted, and often ran around in circles.

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The drotling boy blinked, eyebrows furrowed. “The human girl? No. Master Mort has taken her to the place that is forbidden for outsiders. But she proved her loyalty to us in capturing the demon, so she and her party have been allowed entrance.”

Pyre’s eyes widened. “So the thing in the box—”

“The demon,” the boy cut her off. “He will burn soon, she tells us. When the sun dawns.”

“And how about the girl? How recently did she and Mort leave for this… place?” Pyre asked hurriedly, her heartbeat picking up.

What the hell was Akemi after? Why would she be making deals with drotlings? What did he mean by forbidden place? Pyre knew that Nocturne had sent powerful people after her, but this hardly seemed like the ideal place to hide. That was unless the drotlings were hiding some sort of underground escape route—shuffling people in and out of the Plains.

She had read nothing like that in her monster research, but she knew from experience that outside research on insular communities was hardly all-encompassing. She had read plenty of external reports on the barrio she grew up in—prints by gringo political journalists that rattled on for pages and pages about the endless cycle of murder and poverty—but no outsider actually dared to look beyond their true crime podcasts and unearth any ingenuity.

“They departed just a moment ago.” The drotling turned his head north, where the huts thinned out and the tall weeds of the forest sprung up again. There seemed to be a small path there, going deeper into the woods. “But Mort did not speak of a second human woman. Only the first human. And the bat. But you were not mentioned.”

And that just about confirmed things for Pyre. She didn’t know a single other human in Kodra with a chimera sidekick. Unfortunately, the validation she felt was tainted by the drotling’s current expression—one of growing skepticism—and the way the other drotlings had begun to slowly encroach around her, so slightly and insignificantly, with their eyes deliberately pointed in other directions.

Which, if you knew anything about drotlings, should have you running for the hills at a full sprint. Because drotlings didn’t need to speak in drotlish to communicate. Drotlish was simply how they talked to drotlings from other enclaves, a common language amongst the species, but within their own groups, they had a telepathic sense. Or, to put it in modern terms—an enclave-wide group chat.

“As of two beats ago, Master Mort is not responding,” the drotling said, and she knew it was for her benefit, and no one else’s. He was signaling that something had gone wrong—very wrong—and she was about to answer for it.

Several more seconds passed, and the drotlings pressed even closer.

“Four beats,” the drotling said coldly. “It can be assumed Master Mort is dead.”

Pyre froze, breath hitching.

Once again, Akemi’s mistakes had ricocheted like a boomerang straight for her.

Panic rising in her chest, Pyre reached for the flint in her gut—the ever-awaiting match to light her fire. She had wanted to avoid a confrontation like this at all costs, but she knew what was coming if she flinched. The skin on the drotlings’ faces had begun to peel ever-slightly at the lips, and she could see the rot underneath.

Fortunately, escape wouldn’t be difficult. She could use a flare to distract them, then shadow step out of sight. Then, with her head in her hands, she’d return to the carriage, face the stinging embarrassment of coming back empty-handed, and return for Akemi with reinforcements. Enough manpower to level the whole village.

“Human. I—I can make better terms. A pact that is good for the both of us. I’ll survive the curse of daybreak, and you will have no problem taking out these filthy creatures.”

Pyre’s head—and the heads of all the drotlings—snapped to the front of the cage. A tired, foreboding voice was echoing from inside. She had been so distracted by Akemi that she had forgotten that they had indeed trapped something in there, a demon, allegedly.

But Pyre knew better than that. Demons didn’t go around offering pacts. A pact required consent, and that was not part of the demonic equation. That didn’t make pacts great deals, of course—they were usually offered when one party was being heavily coerced—but that still meant they did usually have something of worth to offer.

Something to change the tides.

She squinted her eyes, focusing on [Mind Paper].

On the inside of the beast’s cage, lettering began to inscribe itself on the animal furs.

I’m listening. But you only have three seconds.