On the sixth day, a jackrabbit staggered into Broken Rock with blood on her flank and the Purists' scent burned into her fur.

  Dorn was sitting outside Mossback's lean-to, a low-slung structure built of scavenged corrugated tin and sun-bleached timber. He was testing his legs—the muscles felt thin, like frayed rope, but the tremors had finally stopped. The morning sun was a physical weight on his fur, a reminder of the heat that had nearly claimed him. He pressed his back against the cool stone of the cliff and watched the light crawl across the wash, turning dust to gold.

  He was alive. Three days ago, he'd been crawling on his belly, tongue swollen, vision tunneling to nothing. Now he sat in the sun and watched the world go about its business. The irony wasn't lost on him.

  From inside the lean-to, Mossback's voice rose and fell in quiet conversation with someone. A patient, probably. One of the settlement's walking wounded. Dorn didn't listen. The words were none of his business.

  Then he heard the sound.

  It wasn't a scream. It was the sound of a body hitting packed earth after running until its heart was about to explode. A heavy, wet thud followed by the frantic, high-pitched whistling of a rabbit in terminal shock.

  Dorn was on his feet before his mind gave the order. His claws clicked against the stone as he moved toward the well, his body screaming protest with every step. He ignored it.

  A crowd was already gathering. Settlers—rats, squirrels, a few scraggly foxes—pushed in close, then pushed back when the smell hit them. Dorn pushed through, and they parted for him. A wildcat was still a predator, even half-dead.

  Then he saw her.

  The jackrabbit—Jin—was a mess of matted grey fur and jagged breathing. She lay splayed against the lip of the well, her long ears torn and drooping like wilted leaves. Her ribs moved in short, desperate bursts, each breath a battle. A bullet graze ran the length of her flank—a cauterized, ugly line where the lead had cooked the meat. The wound was days old, but it had never stopped bleeding, just slowed to a seep that matted her fur dark.

  But it was the smell that made Dorn's stomach turn.

  Ozone. Burned insulation. Gun oil. And underneath it, the sour stink of terror so thick it coated his nostrils.

  It was the scent of the Fingers. The scent of Silus's breath. The scent of the Preacher's silver eyes watching from the rocks. It clung to her like a second skin, thicker than the dust of the trail.

  Mossback was already there, kneeling, her massive gnarled paws moving with a surgeon's precision. She pressed a sponge of cool water to Jin's nose, but the rabbit recoiled, her eyes rolling back to show the whites. She wasn't seeing the well. She wasn't seeing Mossback. She was seeing whatever had chased her for three days.

  "Jin." Mossback's voice was an anchor, low and steady. "You're in Broken Rock. The gates are shut. Look at me. Look at my face."

  Jin's mouth worked, her jaw clicking. "Low pass..." The words bubbled through a throat clogged with grit. "The gorge... they were waiting. Like they knew the trails better than the ones who made them."

  "Who shot you?"

  "Purists." The word came out cracked, barely there. "Would have finished me, but a rockslide... startled them. I ran. Ran three days."

  Dorn stepped forward. His shadow fell over her.

  Jin's eyes found him. Widened. And then she screamed—a thin, whistling thing that died in her throat as she tried to scramble backward. Her wounded leg gave out, sending her chin back into the dirt.

  "Coyote!" she wheezed, her eyes fixed on his feline face. "Mossback—get back! He's one of them! He's got the smell, he's got the—"

  "He's a guest, Jin." Mossback didn't look up from the wound. "Ease your heart. He's the one crawled out of the flats three days ago. Remember? I told you about him."

  Jin's nose worked. Her terror didn't fade, but confusion bled into it. "You... you smell like the flats," she whispered. "Like salt and dying."

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  "I crawled across them." Dorn kept his voice low, steady. "Three days without water. I know what you ran through. I'm not going to hurt you."

  He didn't move closer. Didn't loom. Just waited.

  Jin stared at him. Her breathing slowly shifted from panicked gasps to something almost human. Almost.

  "The smell on you," Dorn said. "It's fresh. How long since they hit you?"

  "Three days," Jin gasped. "Ran for three days. Didn't sleep. Couldn't. Every time I closed my eyes, I heard the click-click of their rifles. Felt the magnet pulling at my fur." She shuddered, a violent tremor that shook her entire frame. "They weren't trying to kill me. They could have. Easy shot. They were playing."

  Dorn looked at the bullet wound. Four inches to the left and it would have punched through her lungs. Instead, it had just grazed. Just burned. Just hurt enough to keep her running.

  "They're not just patrolling anymore," Jin said. "They've stopped moving. They're dug in at the box canyon—the one the Old Ones used for the iron-vaults."

  Mossback's paws went still. Just for a heartbeat. Just long enough for someone watching to notice.

  "The bunker," Mossback said. Her voice was carefully flat. "That place is a tomb of rusted steel. There's nothing there but sickness."

  "They're digging it out." Jin's voice dropped to a whisper. "Dozens of them. Scavengers, mostly. Rats, squirrels... even some of the stray dogs from the salt flats. They're using them as labor to clear the rubble." She swallowed, winced. "I saw the Preacher. Saw him standing on the ridge with that chain in his hand. He wasn't preaching. He was waiting."

  Dorn's claws slid out, scoring the dirt. He forced them back. "The prisoners. Did you see a pair of badgers? A female with a scarred muzzle? A male with a missing claw?"

  Jin's eyes focused on him—really focused, for the first time. "The ones with the box. The heavy box."

  "Where are they?"

  "In the pens." Her voice broke. "Near the excavation site. The female... Vex. She wouldn't stop fighting. They had to pin her with the Magnet. I heard her screaming when the metal in her harness started to pull." She choked on a sob. "The male, Flint... he's just sitting there. Staring at the box. They haven't been able to open it yet. The lock is holding, but Silus... he's got a torch. He says he'll melt the lead off if he has to."

  Dorn felt something cold settle in his chest. He looked at Mossback. The old badger was staring at the ground, her face a mask of ancient worry. Her grip on the poultice had tightened until her claws pierced the fabric.

  "It's not just a bunker, is it?" Dorn asked.

  Jin shook her head weakly. "The scavengers... they whisper about what's inside. They call it the 'Source-Prime.' They say the Preacher wants to burn it, but the hounds... Silus and Pulse... they talk different. They talk like they want to wear it. Like it's the key to the whole Frontier."

  Her eyes fluttered. Closed. Her head fell back against the well-stone, her breathing turning shallow and ragged.

  "She's out," Mossback said. She stood with a grunt of effort, her old joints cracking. "She's lucky to be alive. Most things would have had their heart burst ten miles back."

  Dorn didn't answer. He was looking toward the mountains, toward the box canyon where the ruins of the Old Ones still poked through the earth like broken teeth.

  That night, Dorn sat alone in the shadows outside Mossback's door.

  The settlement had gone quiet. Fires banked. Voices stilled. Somewhere in one of the hovels, Jin was sleeping—or screaming, depending on what her dreams brought her. Somewhere in the mountains, Vex and Flint were in a pen, waiting for a torch to melt through lead.

  He owed them nothing. He'd told himself that a hundred times since leaving the Fingers. Guided them. Been paid. Moved on. Silus shooting his water skin—that was between him and the coyote. Not the badgers. Not the box. Not the Source-Prime.

  But Jin had said they were still alive. And Vex had fought the magnet. And Flint was still staring at that box, still trying to protect whatever was inside, still believing it mattered.

  And the Preacher was digging up something that could change the Frontier.

  "You're thinking too loud."

  Mossback's voice came from the darkness. She settled beside him, her old bones creaking, and stared out at the stars.

  "The badgers," Dorn said. "You knew they were headed for that bunker. You didn't tell me."

  "I told you they were alive. That's all you needed to know."

  "I need to know a lot of things now."

  Mossback was quiet for a long moment. Then: "Jin's news change something?"

  Dorn thought about it. Thought about the water skin. The three days of crawling. The silver eyes watching from the rocks. Thought about Vex screaming while the magnet pulled at her harness.

  "No," he said. "Nothing's changed."

  "Liar." The word didn't carry any heat. It was just a statement of fact, as cold and heavy as a river stone. "Something changed the minute Silus pulled that trigger. You've been a solitary hunter for ten years, Dorn. You know how to vanish. If you really didn't care, you'd be five miles into the scrub by now, headed for new territory."

  Dorn looked at his paws. The pink, new skin was still tender. He thought of Vex fighting. He thought of Flint staring at a box that was probably the only thing keeping them alive.

  "The badgers are a liability," he said, his voice a low rasp.

  "They are," Mossback agreed. "And that box is a curse. But the Preacher isn't just digging a hole, Dorn. He's looking for the Source-Prime. If he opens that vault, there won't be any 'new territories' left to run to. The Silicon won't just be in the ruins anymore. It'll be in the wind. It'll be in the water."

  She leaned back, her shell scraping against the lean-to's wood. "You can keep lying to yourself until the sun comes up. But eventually, you're going to have to decide if you're a wildcat... or just another scavenger waiting for the magnet to find you."

  Dorn didn't answer. He stared at the stars, and the stars stared back, cold and indifferent.

  Somewhere in the mountains, a lock kept failing.