The day is warm, and light streams into the room from an open window. Curtains dotted with pink flowers flutter in the breeze. Milo is tucked into a bed with clean, white sheets. There’s a vase full of purple irises on the nightstand next to the bed. The hospital room is large, with enough space to walk around without bumping into anything. A door leads to the washroom, another to the hallway outside. Milo gets out of bed and finds a pair of fuzzy slippers waiting for him. He’s always wanted a pair of fuzzy slippers. How had he never realized that before?

Looking out the window, he sees that he’s four stories up. Down below, a car maneuvers around a horse-drawn cart. An office building stands across the street, its roof lined with stone gargoyles. The air smells of salt. There must be a harbor nearby. Altogether, it reminds him of San Francisco.

A woman behind him says, “Finally awake are you? The doctor will be pleased.”

Milo turns around. The woman at the door wears a nurse’s uniform with the name Rugaam embroidered on it. Her face is familiar, but he can’t place where he’s met her before.

“Come with me,” she says. “The doctor is with your friend.”

The hospital corridor isn’t as clean as his room. The light flickers in an odd rhythm, which bothers Milo until he realizes that it’s the Fibonacci series. The nurse’s station is unattended, and all the other doors are closed, except for one. They meet the doctor there.

He wears a white coat and a stethoscope around his neck. He’s in his late fifties, thin, with scarring across his forehead. His smile is friendly though, and Milo feels like he can be trusted. “You’re lucky to be alive,” the doctor says.

“So it was a dream after all,” Milo says.

“A dream?”

“The most ridiculous dream. With dragons and—” Milo shakes his head. “I’ll save the stories for another time. How is Hallon? Was she injured when the Matter Transmission Engine exploded?”

The doctor frowns. “There was an explosion, yes, but it was at Groud’s Factory and Metalworks. Your friend Abdullah was badly hurt, and we need your help to fix him.” He takes Milo by the elbow and guides him into a darkened operating room. A single light shines down on the surgical table. A collection of torn metal is arranged in the shape of a large man.

Milo can’t seem to put his thoughts in order, and a bitter taste fills his mouth. “Oh, Abdullah. Of course. I’ll do anything I can to help.”

The doctor smiles. “Good. Good. Then let’s start.”

Milo finds himself standing next to the table with the doctor handing him a strut. The tube is hollow, which had been Milo’s idea. They’d needed to lessen the weight of the Lion’s frame but still maintain its carry weight. He modeled the adaption after nature—bird bones are hollow to keep them light enough to fly.

“Fly, you say. But surely that’s not possible.” The doctor looks at him curiously.

Had Milo spoken aloud? He must have. “Well, not impossible, just improbable. If there was a transmission tower, you wouldn’t have to worry about the weight of the fuel, and you’d have all the energy you need. But that’s not what the exoskeleton is designed for. It’s for Gloop who can’t use their arms or legs.”

“I see. And these actuators?”

“They magnify strength,” Milo says. “The settings are adjustable, allowing for everything from fine motor control to brute labor.”

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“Fascinating,” the doctor says. “Hypothetically speaking, if I got into this machine, how much stronger would I be?”

“But you’re healthy,” Milo says.

“Humor me,” the doctor says, smiling.

Milo doesn’t need to do the math. All the calculations were in the final report to Mr. Groud. At full power, the Lion generates physical force equal to 9.67 times the human average. Wait. Aren’t they supposed to be talking about Abdullah?

“I think I need to sit down,” Milo says, his stomach feeling wobbly.

“Not yet,” the doctor says. “Your friend still needs you. Tell me about the power source. It’s not obvious.”

Milo sighs. “That’s the one area that had us stumped. The Lion depends on a cable for power, so its range is limited.”

“But you mentioned a tower earlier.”

“Well, I finally convinced Mr. Groud about its usefulness, but he hasn’t built one yet,” Milo says. “It takes a lot in the way of resources, even for an industrialist like Mr. Groud.”

The doctor stares at him. “This tower broadcasts electricity?”

“Yes.”

“That could power this Lion to be stronger than the strongest Red?”

“Yes.”

“That could—with the right engine—even let it fly?”

“That wasn’t part of the plan,” Milo says, “but yes, it’s technically feasible, especially with how we reinforced the frame at the end.”

“I see. I’m afraid I do.” The doctor goes quiet, thinking.

Milo shifts from foot to foot and wonders if the doctor would mind if he performed the First Circle. He’s just about to ask when—

“It’s good that you’re here,” the doctor says. “We’re making great progress. Now, tell me about these alloys. Why so many?”

Milo nods. “I understand the concern.” Each section of the Lion is made from a different combination of materials depending on the stresses it was required to withstand. That way, they could maximize the internal skeleton’s performance. The downside is that manufacturing would be a nightmare. “But Mr. Groud didn’t seem worried about the cost. He told us the project had a benefactor.”

The doctor interrupts Milo. “A benefactor? Did Groud say who?”

“No, it was supposed to be a surprise gift to Dawrtaine.”

“He must’ve given you a hint,” the doctor says. “Some clue to who financed the project.”

Milo shakes his head. He didn’t care who paid for the project—he’d just been happy to be working. The Lion kept him sane those first few months in Dawrtaine. Well, sane being a relative term when one sees and hears a dragon. Wait. Dawrtaine? Isn’t Milo in San Francisco? His stomach turns over, and he feels like he needs to be sick. “I really think I should sit down.”

“Soon. Soon. But not yet. I’m afraid your friend is in real trouble, and we need to know everything to fix him. Now, this is an important—the most important—question. When do you expect to finish your work on the Lion? Pardon, on Abdullah?”

“Oh, we’ve been done for months.”

The room spins, and Milo grabs hold of the table to stay upright.

“But you were still working when…when the factory was bombed!”

“Busy work,” Milo says. “Mr. Groud kept us occupied with small refinements and cosmetic changes, but all the critical features were completed. Ahead of schedule and under budget, I might add. I wanted to host a party for the team—they worked so hard—but Mr. Groud said to wait, because the client wasn’t ready yet.” Milo looks down at the Lion with pride. “It was always just the power supply that was the issue. Once that was settled, there was nothing to stop the roll out. If only Mr. Groud had started work on the towers when I first brought the plans to him, he could’ve had dozens of them built by now. Such a shame.”

“But Abdullah said you still had a year or two to go!”

“Abdullah is a wonderful machinist, but he’s not very smart.” Milo frowns. How can the Lion be a toolsmith?

“You,” the doctor says. “You were so brilliantly clueless. So happy to talk about your research, you were a sieve leaking information, but all the wrong kinds. And then there was Abdullah, who needed such a big favor and was Gloop besides. Damn it all to the nine hells. I bet on the wrong man, and now we need to move up our timetable even more.” He steps into the room’s shadows and disappears, but his voice lingers. “I’m not done with you yet.”

The floor disappears, and Milo falls into a long darkness. He drops onto a bed surrounded by fire. His old bed in his old room, and all around him is burning. Everything is burning.

Milo screams.