Lydia is a whirlwind. She drags me all over the encampment in the woods, showing me the paths that wind through the underbrush and the stations where supplies are kept. The group in the forest has filled storage spaces with crops and fodder for the livestock; a shed has been converted to a small armory, another converted to a butchery, dried carcasses hanging from hooks in the ceiling.

          “This is where most of our food comes from. We always have people posted here—we built these awesome tree houses to sleep in,” she says, barely pausing to breathe. “But the hotel is nice too. Aiden does a great job running everything. I met him a couple years ago when he became faction leader.”

          “He’s been leader two years?” I ask. Lydia nods, her red curls bouncing.

          “Uh-huh. He’s come a long way,” she says. “You should be proud of him!” She leads me back to the fountain plaza. Silas sits atop a picnic table near the cluster of lean-tos. His hair is tied half up, lifting the black locks from his eyes as the rest falls down the back of his neck.

          “Asher went ahead,” he says. He stands from the table, slinging a duffel bag over his shoulder. It’s stuffed full, the tufty ears of corn sticking up from between the zippers.

          I blink as he steps around me, toward the path where we came in. “Uh, okay,” I say as I follow him. I turn and give Lydia a little wave. She bounds back to the crop fields, wiggling her fingers at me. She calls goodbye, her voice undulating in a singsong melody.

          I jog a few steps to catch up with Silas. “Lydia said Aiden has been faction leader for a couple years now,” I say. He glances at me.

          “Yeah,” he says.

          “How did it happen?” I press.

          Silas runs a hand over his hair. “He was stationed in the infirmary at the hotel for a while. Our old faction leader took him on as his third eventually, then his second. Saw something in him, I guess,” he says.

          I smile a little. “That sounds like Aiden. He was always in charge when we were kids,” I say. A huff of a laugh escapes me. “I remember him playing doctor with our little cousins.”

          “Did they know he was a remedy?” Silas asks.

          I shake my head. “No one did, except for me. Did he tell you how he healed me when I was six?”

          “No,” he says. I think I hear the ghost of a chuckle from him.

          “I fell out of a tree in our backyard and broke my arm. Before I could even yell for Mom, he came running and healed me,” I say. I smile at the memory, rubbing my forearm where Aiden had knitted my bones back together. We exit the woods through the fence and make our way back to the hotel in the afternoon heat. The sunlight stretches across the slums of the city.

          Silas is quiet for a long time. He shifts the duffel bag of food on his shoulder. “He’s a good man,” he says quietly. I look at him, but his eyes stare straight ahead as we approach the hotel.

          We turn down an alley and Silas suddenly stops. I pause next to him.

          “Silas?” I begin, but he raises a hand, silencing me. He hurries to press his back against the dusty brick wall, setting the duffel bag on the pavement. I follow suit, feeling cold sweat bead on the back of my neck. “What’s going on?” I hiss.

          “Shut up,” he growls. His eyes are cast skyward. I follow his line of sight. At first, I don’t see anything, but then—

           A small shadow darts across the sky. It flits above the decrepit buildings. I duck into the shadow of the alley.

          “Jesus, is that—?”

          “A drone,” Silas mutters. “Usually they don’t touch us, but sometimes the police will do sweeps.” He watches the drone as it flies above the buildings. We’re only a few blocks from the hotel—the drone is dangerously close.

          Silas raises a hand, his eye trained on the drone. As I watch him, I feel the prickle of his power. It raises the hairs on the back of my neck. His fingers, long and pale, twitch a little, and the drone spasms in the air. Something pops and sparks, and the drone smokes as it wheels downward, crashing into the asphalt before us.

          “Get the bag,” he says shortly, before crossing the alley to the fallen drone. He picks it up as I heft the duffel bag onto my shoulder.

          He rushes along toward the hotel, clutching the dead drone in his hand.

          Inside the lobby, he shouts for Aiden, who emerges from an office behind the main reception desk with Asher.

          “What’s going on?” Aiden asks. Silas sets the drone on the desk.

          “Police sweep,” he growls. “Got this one down but I don’t know how many more might be out there.”

          Aiden frowns. “Shit,” he mutters. “Get every psyche out on the streets, I want eyes everywhere. If you see something, bring it down.” Silas nods and heads back out the door. Asher approaches and takes the duffel bag from me. She calls for Cook and takes the bag into the kitchen. Aiden looks at me.

           “Finn, we’ll need your help,” he says. “Come with me.”