Waiting outside by the same dumpster where they’d first found the porcupine was a short, skinny brunette otter in a windbreaker and faded green scarf. "Paul Lutra," he said as way of introduction. "Philosophy student and Spotlight of Lighthouse Beacon Radio…occasionally."

  He tried—unsuccessfully—not to stare at Buck’s partially-exposed jaw.

  "So," Buck said, arms crossed. "Is the radio broadcast still on the table?"

  "It is—if you still want it." Paul glanced at the others. "Spotty can be…uncomprimising. I'm not here to apologize for her. She's not a bad person, just adamant when it comes to getting the Truth out there. She also asked me to tell you that Truth doesn’t mean ‘alone.’ If you’re willing to work with us, we’re willing to help." The otter’s stomach growled audibly. "…after some food."

  Hazelnut grinned, grabbed him by the sleeve and dragged him back toward Grenda’s. They took over their usual booth. Paul inhaled a stack of pancakes while the others filled him in on the new plan. The conversation felt…normal. Food. Jokes. New faces. A brief respite between catastrophes.

  The diner's bell jingled softly and Krouri looked up—and froze at the sight.

  Her grandfather sat alone at the counter.

  No one else seemed to notice. Hazelnut was laughing at something Paul had said, Buck sipping his coffee, Zywrath exchanging some quiet comment with Sparks. Their movements slowed, like a phonograph winding down.

  Krouri rose and silently crossed the room. She eased herself onto the stool beside him. Deception—still wearing her grandfather’s face—stared at the dregs of coffee as though searching for something in them.

  "This plan is dangerous," he murmured. "For both you and the city. There's no telling what the outcome may be."

  Krouri knew better than to trust the Eidolon but seeing her grandfather's face so clearly and unfogged by time lifted her spirits. "I know," she said quietly. "But I won’t stand by and do nothing. We have a plan. We'll be together and we'll have help."

  Deception chuckled softly. A low, gravelly rumble in his chest that reminded her when her grandfather was recovering from a nasty chest cold. "I'm sure you've heard the saying. 'The best laid plans of mice and men…' Do you know the rest?"

  Krouri frowned, but shook her head.

  "It's from an old poem about a farmer who while ploughing his fields, accidently destroyed the nest of a field mouse." He cleared his throat and recited:

  "The best-laid plans of mice and men often go awry,

  and leave us nothing but grief and pain, for promised joy."

  A beat of silence passed between them.

  "If this is another attempt to derail me," she began.

  "This isn’t a deception." The Eidolon’s voice cracked. Honesty, for once. "Not everything I say is a lie. You don’t have to trust me, and I don’t expect you to. But…since bonding with you, I've had a lot of time to appreciate your memories of him. Maybe he's starting to rub off on me. I just don't want to see you hurt. And if you think any of you will come out of this unscathed, you're lying to yourself. That's the worst kind of deception." He winced as he finished his sentence. The power of Truth burning through him in order to be spoken.

  Krouri’s throat tightened. A memory of childhood music. Her father spinning her around the kitchen. Her grandfather laughing beside the stove...

  A hand touched her arm. She blinked.

  "You all right, Krouri?" Buck asked.

  The diner was bustling again. No sign of her grandfather at the counter. "…Yeah," she said softly. "Just a long day. I think…I think I’ll call it a night."

  "You speak the truth," Sparks said with a chuckle. "We have a big day tomorrow and I still need to find a place to sleep. While I appreciate the accommodations, lieutenant, the cot in my cell isn't exactly up to my standards."

  "You're staying with me," Hazelnut declared. It wasn't an offer. "I'll keep an eye on him for you, Zywrath."

  As they filed out, Krouri glanced one last time toward the empty stool. Deception whispered in her mind—an echo softer and more sincere than anything he’d said before.

  He would be proud of how far you’ve come.

  *  *  *

  On the walk back to her apartment, Hazelnut slowed as they approached a street corner. Sparks kept going, hands in pockets, humming to himself—but she came to a full stop in front of an old payphone. The little light above the booth still glowed. Functional.

  "Go on ahead," she called after Sparks. "I’ll catch up—just need to make a call." He shrugged and disappeared around the corner.

  Hazelnut stepped inside the booth and pulled the misprinted coin from her pocket. It didn’t slide into the slot. She wiggled it free—and a folded scrap of paper dropped out of the coin return.

  A phone number. Written in her father’s hand.

  Her heart leapt. She slipped the coin back into the slot, dialed, and pressed the receiver tight to her ear.

  One ring.

  Two.

  Click.

  "Hazelnut?" The voice on the other end sounded tired. Familiar. Heartbreaking.

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  She swallowed hard. "Hi, dad."

  "I see you got my letter." A faint smile in his tone. "It’s good to hear from you."

  "Where are you? Are you okay?"

  Pause. "I’m in the Stairs… Are you alone?"

  The concern in his voice reminded Hazelnut of the phrases he had taught her if she was ever being coerced.

  "Juniper. I'm with friends."

  "What friends?"

  "The people named in the radio broadcast earlier. The Spotlight broadcast."

  Another silence. Then a heavy exhale. "Hazelnut… I can’t protect them. I’m sorry. I left to protect you."

  Her cheeks flushed hot. "V already knows who I am, dad. He knows where I live. You leaving didn’t keep me safe. It just left me alone."

  "I'm so sorry, Hazel."

  "Then come back!"

  "I can't." His voice broke just a little. "I can protect you. I can't protect them."

  Hazelnut blinked away tears. "If you can't protect them…then I don't want to be protected."

  "Hazel, please—"

  "No. You listen. I don’t know why you left. Maybe you had a good reason. But I have a new family now. People I care about and they feel the same for me. I won't hide while they're in danger."

  A long silence.

  "Do what you believe you have to," Taurence said softly. "You're so much like your parents. They did what they had to as well. I love you Hazel. Just promise me that if you have to…you'll run."

  She pressed a hand to the glass, voice shaking. "I love you too, dad. I’ll call you when this is over."

  "...I hope so. Because I don't think you'll be able to."

  The line went dead with a final click.

  Hazelnut stood there, receiver pressed to her ear, his final words echoing in her head. Finally, she slammed a fist against the glass. Hard. The whole booth rattled. She wiped her eyes, stepped out into the streetlight, and started walking.

  By the time she got home, Sparks had turned her living room into a makeshift tabbi nest—pillows and blankets piled in one corner, Kindling already curled up and purring.

  "Everything all right?" he asked, kneading at the cushy mound.

  Hazelnut didn’t answer. She went straight to the kitchen, opened a cupboard, took down a wine glass. Paused. Set it aside. Pulled the entire bottle from the rack. Without another word, she disappeared into her bedroom and closed the door behind her—hard.

  *  *  *

  The next morning, Paul was already waiting at the bus stop at the edge of The Stairs with a cardboard carrier of coffees held in both hands. He greeted each arrival with a soft "morning" and handed them a cup.

  "Illani told me how you take yours, Krouri. I…guessed on the rest."

  Sparks took a sip and frowned. "This is just warmed milk."

  Paul instantly paled. "Oh! I’ve got real coffee in my thermos, I can top—"

  "It’s perfect," Sparks interrupted, taking another sip. "Thank you."

  The bus groaned to a stop. They boarded.

  The further they travelled into The Stairs, the more the city started to crumble. Single-story houses became skeletal frameworks and abandoned shells. Graffiti was everywhere, faded along with the hopeful rebellious teens who placed it there long ago. A few more recent additions looked like red lotus flowers. Sparks viewed them with saddened eyes.

  The temperature dropped. The streetlamps thinned out until the only light was the weak blue glow of the ceiling above. When the bus reached the end of its route, Paul rose from his seat and led them into a neighborhood of half-collapsed stoops and patched blankets used as doors. Eyes watched from darkened cave homes carved directly into the stone. He turned down an alley that dead-ended at a dumpster and a chain-link fence.

  "…Charming," Buck grumbled. "You sure you didn’t miss a turn somewhere?"

  Paul grinned, slapped the dumpster’s lid—and jumped inside.

  The others peered over the edge. Instead of garbage, stairs led down to a steel security door with a glowing rune panel. Paul pressed his hand to the panel. The door slid open and a soft hum filled the air. "This way," Paul beckoned. Once inside, he tapped a sigil on the wall. The door sealed and the floor lurched—rising. The walls faded from solid steel to glass, revealing an elevator shaft made of nothing but air and light. They were rising above the city, into a hidden hollow near the cavern’s ceiling.

  Krouri brushed her fingertips against the glass and felt an electric tingle. The Unthereal. They were riding between worlds.

  The elevator stopped at a short, carpeted hallway. Three doors on one side, one at the far end. Names scrawled on whiteboards:

  Spotty – STAY OUT

  Illani (written in a careful cursive)

  The third had no name.

  "That one’s mine," Paul said, pointing to the blank door. "End of the hall is the studio." The unlit ON AIR sign above the door barely glowed.

  Inside, the studio felt like stepping into a different world—polished equipment, hanging mic arms, a circular table with six headsets and microphones. Tiny clusters of bioluminescent mushrooms pulsed along the walls in waves.

  "How are you powering all this?" Krouri whispered, in awe. "Nothing this big shows up on the grid metrics…"

  Paul smiled knowingly. "We're not on the city grid. Well, not the grid THEY built. We're tied into the mountain's mycelial network." He gently moved a bunch of cables to one side. Behind them, a wide bloom of grey-blue mushrooms clung to the rock. "The network makes its own power. We're able to plug into it for broadcasts like an amplifier."

  "You found a natural ether conduit… It's genius!" Krouri could barely contain her wonder.

  "How'd you come across this?" Buck asked.

  Paul tapped the side of his nose. "Now now, detective. That's not what we're here for. I will tell you that the network has been here much longer than we have. Longer than any of us."

  Sparks poked at one of the mushrooms on the wall. "These look familiar. I remember seeing similar mushrooms back at Aethercorp."

  "Were they around an ether well?" Paul asked.

  "What's an ether well?" Buck responded.

  "A spot where the barrier between realms is the thinnest. These mushrooms are usually found around such spots as byproducts of dimensional energies. They're completely natural and benign. We believe there's one in the stone of the mountain itself, or maybe beneath it. We think that's why we have the mycelial network and the Skywall." Paul gestured to the mushrooms all along the city's ceiling, twinkling like stars in the night.

  "I'd heard rumors about something that sounds like an ether well in Stoneroot," Krouri said. "It's supposed to be inactive."

  Paul nodded in confirmation. "We've heard the same thing. There was a group operating out of the sewers a long time ago. The well was walled off, sealed from the outside. Maybe whoever is behind Fixer has access to an ether well."

  "Which must be why Pazienza was so anxious to get rid of him," Buck thought aloud. "If the Don knows where it is, Fixer is in the way."

  Paul threw a large switch and the air inside seemed to electrify. "All right," he said, settling behind a mic. "Once I finish the intro, I’ll give you a couple questions, Sparks. After that, it’s all you. Just remember—you can’t lie in here. Truth rules this domain."

  Hazelnut slipped out the door, heading down the hallway toward Illani’s room while Krouri, Buck, and Sparks took their seats. Headphones went on.

  Paul adjusted his microphone and took a breath.

  "We're live in five, four, three..."