Dwayne woke up.

  He was still on the floor, but it was warmer now and he no longer stank, his filthy clothes having been replaced with a simple smock, his body bathed. That only left him hungry, thirsty and weak.

  “You’re up.” Something clicked. “Here.”

  Two bowls, one full of porridge, the other water, were placed in front of him by a girl in a simple brown mask. She placed a spoon in the porridge. “You need to eat.”

  Dwayne grabbed the spoon and dug in. The porridge was tasteless, and the water tasted of the river, but they banished his pangs of hunger so he didn’t complain.

  “I’ll go get Granite.”

  Once alone, Dwayne put down the bowls and spoon and finally took in where he was: the basement of the Scaled Tower. Bruce had removed his materials and equipment, brought in a wooden cabinet full of gears and springs, bolted shackles to the floor to keep him from moving, and placed four wooden boxes around him in a square array. Less than a moment’s glance at the chunks of burnt orange crystal hanging inside the boxes and Dwayne knew what they were: tytumber.

  Dwayne curled up. If he hadn’t been found yet, then Magdala, Mei, Lady Pol, Rodion, none of them, had guessed that he was trapped here. He didn’t even know how long it had been. Hours? Days? Weeks?

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  “Dwayne,” Bruce came down the stairs, the masked girl at her heels, “you must have a weaker constitution than I…” Her eyes flicked to the bowls and spoon. She scowled. “‘della.” Her magic pulled at the girl’s head, made her tumble down the stairs. “You gave him a spoon. Why?”

  The girl sat up, holding her now cracked mask to her face. “It came with the bowl?”

  “Idiot. He could have used it to escape. Get it away from him.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” The girl scrambled to retrieve the spoon.

  Dwayne let her. He had no idea how to free himself with a spoon, so he wasn’t surprised the girl hadn’t thought of that.

  “Now, let’s get started.” Bruce took the chaperone’s seat, well outside the tytumber array. “Administer it.”

  “Now?” The girl cringed under Bruce’s glare. “I mean, yes, ma’am.”

  She turned to Dwayne, her eyes apologetic under her cracked mask. Then she moved, her right hand catching Dwayne’s nose, her left shoving something purple down his throat. Then she forced his jaw shut.

  “Swallow.”

  Dwayne glared at Bruce, his fists tight at his side. If not for the tytumber, she would be a pile of ash.

  “Swallow,” Bruce leaned forward, her eyes cold, “or you’re no use to me.”

  The threat was clear. Dwayne swallowed and the girl released him.

  Bruce relaxed. “Good. This time we should be able to have an actual conversation. We’ll skip this,” she brandished the License Key again, “and start with your project: creating a Ri core.”

  Dwayne stared at her. “What? Why?”

  Bruce leaned back in her seat. “You don’t need to know that. All you need to know is that you have a limited amount of time to complete this project, at which point your usefulness to me will be at an end.”

  “How…” A slower lethargy was settling into Dwayne. “How long?”

  Bruce failed to answer before Dwayne fell into the dark.