Oh, the irony.

He hates defeat almost as much as he hates Archer. No matter how sweet he can sometimes be, my best interests will never be his main concern.

I sprint back to the square—only to realize I can’t see the square. Zero! What am I supposed to—

Archer appears a few feet in front of me, my backpack slung over his shoulder. Sloan and Clay step forward, suddenly flanking his sides. The former inmates are dressed in winter gear, but Archer hasn’t changed out of his T-shirt and jeans. His beautiful features are twisted in a scowl, the stars branded on the palms of his hands glowing bright blue.

“Killian,” we say in unison.

“Want me with you now? This way.” Archer launches into motion, and we do our best to remain close to his heels.

“Killian...the new kid?” Sloan asks, already wheezing. “Why are we running from him? He’s hotter than Bocher! That’s Bow plus Archer, in case your puny brain isn’t hip to my hop.”

“He works for Myriad,” I explain. While I’m not yet wheezing, every step is more difficult than the last, my thighs burning and straining.

“Know what I just heard?” she asks. “He’s young, hung and dumb. My type!”

“Your standards need work,” I say, and okay, yeah, I’m wheezing now.

“Can’t improve on perfection but ow, ow, ow, blisters! I’m not sure how much farther I can make it.”

Archer grins at me over his shoulder. “Why don’t you recite a poem and distract Sloan from her total lack of stamina? Something uplifting for once. And make sure it rhymes. The best poems always rhyme.”

Is he serious? “One poem, coming up.” I clear my burning throat, as if I’m about to say something profound. “You suck in so many ways, but at least our association pays. You kept us warm and away from the swarm, and you’ve got a really nice form. But you are a major pain in the ass, and that’s not just sass—it’s a bitch slap of truth from a sweet little lass.”

He chokes on his one tongue. “That was not uplifting.”

“Then you must not have been listening. I feel better already.” Sloan clutches at her heart as if she’s having an attack. “Only problem is I think I’m dying.”

Archer glances at her then Clay, and he frowns. “Clay?”

“When we reach the town, or wherever it is we’re going,” Clay announces with no hint of levity, “I’m going sign with Troika. No more waiting. You were right.”

I trip over my own foot, barely managing to remain upright. “Why the rush? Yesterday you said you had time and—” No! Zip it! His future is his own. I have no right to pressure him the way others have pressured me.

It’s just...deep down I want him to wait until I make a decision, want him to pick the realm I pick.

I’m just as bad as my parents.

“I thought about it all night,” he continues, “and then this happened. We’re on the run again. None of us know when the end will come. And no matter how many mistakes I’ve made, I want to be ready for mine.”

His assurance makes a mockery of my uncertainty.

“We do this now.” Archer leads us into a small cave. “There’s no need to wait until we reach the town.”

For several heartbeats of time, no one says a word. We’re too busy panting. And gagging. The canned chicken has challenged my stomach to a blood feud.

Archer types into his arm, a soft blue light radiating from his flesh. Jellyair falls from the top rocky ledge of the entrance, finally hitting the icy ground and sealing us inside. “You ready?”

Clay nods. “What do I need to do?”

“Offer a simple pledge of allegiance. Nothing more, nothing less.”

“But remember,” I say as I clutch my side, “that simple pledge is permanent. There will be no going back.”

Pressuring him again. Stop!

“Don’t be an idiot.” Mist wafts in front of Sloan’s face as she continues to labor for every breath. “The realms only want worker bees and soldiers for their war.”

“Does that really matter? He has to pick a realm. His only other option is Many Ends.” I shudder, knowing I can deny its existence no longer. Something I’d done because I hadn’t wanted to accept the possibility I’d end up there. “The realm is the Prynne Asylum of the Everlife, nothing but punishment and pain. I just... I don’t want to end up as your enemy, Clay.”

He tugs at a lock of my hair. “You won’t. Not ever.”

“You’re both buying into the hype. Many Ends can’t be as bad as Laborers claim,” Sloan says. “Eternal punishment simply for choosing not to sign with Myriad or Troika? Bullcorn!”

Archer looks at her with pity. “A pledge to Troika creates a bond to the realm. Same with Myriad. A bond that grants entrance into the realm. The Unsigned are bondless, so their spirits have only one place to go. Many Ends.”

I’ve heard this before, but for the first time I wonder... “Are the kids of the Unsigned sent to Many Ends?”

“No. Children are somehow bonded to both Troika and Myriad. I’ve often been assigned the task of sitting with a dying child so that I’m there at the moment of death, able to escort the spirit into Troika. At the Age of Accountability, the bonds are broken and the spirit is allowed to choose us or Myriad, just like a human.”

Sloan hunches over and waves her hand as if she has more to say, but she’s too winded to care anymore.

I lean against the ice-cold rocky wall, happy for Clay, sad for me. “I’ll support your decision,” I tell him. “Whatever it is.”

Archer pats him on the shoulder again. “All of Troika will become your family. When you need our help, you have only to ask for it. And when you enter the Everlife, you will be trained in the position most suited to you. Messenger, I think you said.”

Clay is all but salivating. And then he does it. He utters the vow all children are taught by at least one of the Laborers—the vow that will forever decide the course of his life. “With my heart, mind and body, I believe Troika is the realm for me. I pledge my Firstlife. I pledge my Everlife. All that I am is Troika’s, and Troika is mine.”

“And so it’s done,” Archer says with a big grin.

Just. Like. That. A future now forever charted.

I expect bright lights, or cheering to echo from some secret place. Something. Anything! But nothing happens.

Archer cups Clay by the nape and pulls him close for a bro-hug, the two patting each other on the back.

“Welcome to the family, my friend,” Archer says.

“Thank you.” There are tears in Clay’s eyes as he smiles up at the Laborer, and I’m almost knocked over.

This. This is what I was waiting for. The moment is so...momentous. I hadn’t known the heavy weight Clay used to carry on his shoulders until just this second—because it’s gone, the weight is gone. His head is higher, his shoulders no longer hunched but squared and proud. Contentedness radiates from him, as if he’s shed years of fatigue.

I want that. I want that so badly.

“In Troika,” Archer says, “you’ll be rewarded for your deeds in this life. I’m not saying your deeds affect the benefits you receive while you’re here, only that the sacrifices you make for us will never be forgotten.”