The sun had set. But the stars were out. Thousands of them. Billions. All that ancient, scattered, peaceful light.
The thing raised an arm, pointing past Leo, back toward the fork. “She chose right.” Into pitch black
“You brought the wrong light,” it said. Not with a mouth. The words simply appeared inside Leo’s skull, cold and precise. The sun had set
Mira. She’d had the old camping lantern. The one that took six D batteries and could signal ships. Leo’s stomach dropped. “Where is she?” pointing past Leo