In the tight tunnel, Gregor had to hunch over as the low ceiling threatened to graze his head, but anything was better than staying there with the others.

Kismet had left shortly after Ripred, without saying much else. With only his flashlight, Gregor had practically booked it out of there as soon as Henry had followed her, yet he felt as though the oppressive atmosphere had nestled within his lungs, making it difficult to breathe.

He still heard the echo of Henry's and Howard's enraged voices; forgotten had been that forced truce. Howard hadn't wanted to listen to a single word Henry had said about trusting her. And Henry trusted her—this he had conveyed without a doubt. Not so surprising, considering she had been the one who had taught him echolocation. Howard hadn't given him any chance to elaborate, but Gregor told himself he'd ask for details later.

Gregor thought maybe he could go find Ares and the other bats, wherever they may be, or maybe Henry. As he nearly ran into the wall, he stifled a cry. He had left without any specific goal, but . . . out of all of those who had been in the room earlier, Henry was the one he was currently most willing to talk to.

I owe her my life and so much more. Although I suppose this claim holds no value in your eyes, Gregor heard Henry's words. Still—chalking her in with the hostile rest of the gnawers would be as ridiculous as doing this with Ripred.

In the same way that it would be ridiculous to chalk you in with the rest of us humans? Gregor shuddered, recalling the ice in Howard's voice.

I would prefer her company over yours any day.

Gregor squinted against the dim beam of his light, trying to chase the angry voices.

Rats, and more rats. Are they not those we are at war with?

Once, Gregor thought he may have protested. May have told Howard that he couldn't generalize all rats like that. That they were only at war with the Bane and his followers, and that there were good rats too. But Gregor hadn't been able to say a single word. Just left—ran away—he wasn't even ashamed to admit it.

Gregor swallowed a few times as he stopped to catch his breath for the first time. It occurred to him that he didn't know where he was or where this tunnel led, and he had to swallow again. He hadn't even brought his sword!

Gregor shone the light ahead, seeing it tremble. Then he picked up his pace again, hoping the tunnel would eventually lead somewhere.

He was so occupied with suppressing the steadily rising panic that he only heard the voices when he had almost reached the end of the tunnel: ". . . stayed there for a few days. The colony was deserted, after all."

Gregor halted abruptly. That voice . . . was Kismet's. She sounded like she was in the adjacent cave . . . talking to someone. "A few days later, I started making my way back," she continued. "But then I realized it was so close. So, I . . . had to see."

"The garden?" Gregor's eyes widened when he recognized Ripred's voice—quiet and bitter like before.

"They were not there," said Kismet. "I knew they wouldn't be. I did not honestly believe . . . but I had to see for myself."

"And what did you find instead?" asked Ripred, his voice drenched in even more odd bitterness.

"Ha!" She snorted. "It all still lies underwater, as we left it. No trace of the battle, the bloodshed, or the atrocities remains."

"It's been twelve years."

"And yet I had hope that I would find something anyway."

"Hope?" exclaimed Ripred. "You had hope? If I recall right, the last time you had hope, it doomed not only you but us all."

"You have not been there, the last time I had hope," she hissed back. "And if you do not like my hope, perhaps you should have considered the consequences of your actions better before sending me that boy. I know that you do not fancy thinking your actions through, yet if you had, just that one time, perhaps I wouldn't be running the risk of hope again."

Ripred broke into hysterical laughter. "I can't believe he actually got through to you. After all that time! Oh, oh, we must never let him know."

"He already knows."

"Does he now?" snarled Ripred, then he paused. "Honestly, if you wish to blame anyone for the two of us being here together again, blame him. All of this is his fault."

"Is he conspiring against us too now?"

"You know what he told me?" snarled Ripred. "What he had the audacity to tell me? His words, not mine: "I will bring her back to you.""

There was a long pause. Then Kismet groaned. "Oh, that boy. That boy!"

"You do not sound angry." Ripred's voice was laced with something almost like . . . alarm. "Are you that fond of him? Oh no. You know, I didn't send him to you for an emotional attachment."

"Quit speaking transparent lies," hissed Kismet. "I am not such a fool that I would not know the truth of why you sent him to me. "All impossible things are unachieved, but not all unachieved things are impossible" . . . was it?"

"You remembered that?"

"Sometimes I think I remember every word either of them ever uttered."

"It was not quite the exact same."

"It was . . . "Impossible things are all unachieved, but not everything not yet achieved is impossible"." Kismet paused. "Or was it—"

"Oh, it's been so long; even I don't remember what exactly it was," Ripred cut her off. "Only that I almost had a heart attack when that lad said almost the exact same line to me."

"And so, you sent him to me," said Kismet incredulously. All animosity had vanished from her voice, and only then did Gregor comprehend that it hadn't been genuine. "You have no right to be surprised about how fond or not I may be of him. You scoundrel sent him to me, knowing exactly what his obnoxious light might do to me. Knowing exactly how much he was like—"

"Uh, um—"

When Gregor stepped into the cave with them, both rats twitched around to him as if they had been too distracted to pick up by his scent that he was there. But even if they got mad . . . Gregor didn't understand exactly what they were talking about—what he did remember in that moment was that he was pretty through with eavesdropping on conversations not meant for him.

"Are we growing careless?" Ripred asked Kismet incredulously.

"Perhaps," she said, eyeing Gregor keenly. "Was it so bad in there, pup, after the lot of us left?"

"I—" Gregor stammered, only then realizing the awkward spot he was in. He'd left because he hadn't been able to stand all the arguing, but . . . He eyed Kismet up and down. What side was he even on? As the seconds went by, Gregor made a face, thinking he was done with having to pick sides. He wanted to be on everyone's side. The most draining part of all this arguing was having to pick sides among his friends, whom he all loved.

An image of that happy group photo they had taken during the last quest flashed before his inner eye, and he suddenly regretted not having brought it along.

"Do not be so hard on yourself, Overland-pup," said Kismet unexpectedly. "Lest the scent of your fear rob us of all our sense of smell. At least you cover your despair not with rage, as Henry still likes to do more than is good for him."

In the lone beam of his flashlight, Gregor stared at her gruesomely marred but contented face, and suddenly, he desperately wanted her to be a good guy. He couldn't explain why, but the urge to let go of all suspicion washed over him like a tidal wave. Gregor barely held against it, unable to release the mental image of Twirltongue and how easily she had made him drop his guard. He couldn't have a repeat of that!

As if he had read his mind, Ripred snarled, "You appear in his life at a bad time. He has just gone through a rather embarrassing episode with our late friend Tonguetwist's daughter Twirltongue; ever since, I imagine trusting rats has become far harder for our dear boy."

"Tonguetwist had a daughter?" asked Kismet. "Oh, just when we thought we were finally rid of the likes of her."

"And unfortunately, she is all her mother's like," added Ripred. "She had the boy there wrapped around the tip of her tail in minutes."

Gregor squinted against the obnoxious, embarrassed flush coloring his cheeks and glared at Ripred. Did he have to announce that publicly?

"Oh, cease shaming him," said Kismet, and Gregor's head shot up. He had expected much, but not for either of them to defend him. "He is only a boy, and barely anyone resists the lures of their like. Not even you, if I recall right, were always this opposed to everything Tonguetwist had to say."

Ripred gnashed his teeth, letting out a low growl that made Gregor flinch. "That was one time, an exceptionally long time ago!" His tail quivered and coiled into the air, and his talons dug into the stone floor. Gregor frowned; was Ripred . . . embarrassed? "I was young. I lacked experience and wisdom, and—"

"And she was oh-so convincing," Kismet finished his sentence; on the surface, she sounded spiteful, but Gregor could have sworn there was a bitter undertone in her voice.

Ripred's tail lashed the floor in aggravation. "As we established," he hissed in a low voice.

Gregor stared at them, still digesting the impossibility of seeing Ripred be embarrassed, then gave Kismet a grateful look. Oddly enough, after that, he was more inclined than ever to believe that she was genuinely nice.

"Then again," Ripred resumed speaking, apparently having recomposed himself and prepared a counterstrike. "If we are currently listing fatal past mistakes that would be best to remain unmentioned, why do we not speak about how your oh-so-fatal infatuation with that asshole Gorger started?"

Kismet twitched; now her tail coiled in embarrassment. "It was not an—"

But Ripred let her not deter him. "Oh, how could it be anything else? Do you not recall what you told me about him? Those words you said to my face. Shouldn't we repeat them publicly as well? Just for good measure."

"I will drag you to hell with me if you dare!"

Gregor looked back and forth between the two rats, positioned on opposite sides of the small cave and exuding an undeniable aura of danger and strength that sent a fearful shiver down his spine. They glared at each other like they were about to attack, and Gregor retreated until his back hit the wall, suppressing a sigh. Why were even they fighting? Who was not fighting anymore?

"Oh, take ease, you two." Gregor flinched around when a new voice spoke from the other entrance, directly across from where he had come. "We have all understood that you are an old, married couple. You must not frighten Gregor to death in an attempt to prove it," said Henry leisurely, leaning in the doorway with crossed arms. "The crawlers too," he added. "They are already coming to me, questioning the wisdom of the decision to let you two stay here."

Both Ripred and Kismet turned to him, and one moment of meaningful silence went by. Then they exchanged looks. "Together, we could definitely take him," said Kismet.

"And stuff that oversized mouth for good," concurred Ripred. "I blame you for how unbearably shameless he's grown to be in my presence recently."

"I accept responsibility for this gladly," she said.

Henry laughed. "Bringing you two back together is my best scheme to date, truly." He signaled for Gregor to come closer. "But it does not involve Gregor. Say, wouldn't you like to see where the fliers are staying? I promise, they are making a great deal more peace than these two."

Gregor practically sprinted toward Henry under the bemused gazes of Kismet and Ripred. "Thanks," he mumbled, and when he finally turned his back on the two rats, he thought he could breathe out a true sigh of relief.

Even as he followed Henry through the tight tunnel, Gregor couldn't resist looking back a few times. Out of the corner of his eye, he glimpsed what he thought might be cockroach shells in some of the side tunnels. That's right, Henry had mentioned coming to a crawler colony! Gregor concluded that it would be best to wait for the roaches to come out and greet them on their own, so he simply continued to follow Henry through the tunnel as it ascended, until they finally pushed aside a large rock and emerged in a grand cave, at least a hundred yards in diameter, with three exit tunnels on the far side.

"Welcome to the citadel!" exclaimed Henry, spreading his arms.

When Gregor swept his flashlight around, he was taken aback by the sight of the imposing stone structure looming behind them. "Did the roaches build this place?" It looked like something timeless, thought Gregor. Like one of those monuments that was thousands of years old and still standing, still attracting and amazing people far and wide—an Egyptian pyramid or a Stonehenge monolith.

"As far as I know, they did not even have help," said Henry.

At first, Gregor found it hard to fathom that the cockroaches had built such an impressive fortress on their own. Then again, the more he pondered it, the more he could see them as skilled craftsmen.

"We are lucky that Cevian and I saved them from a cutter siege a few months after my exile," said Henry. "If they had not been revering me since then, they would have never allowed gnawers into their fortress. And yet, for me, they would. If you ask any of the crawlers here—or even your resident babysitter, Temp—they might share all the grand things the crawlers spread behind my back since that day—that I am their savior or something."

Gregor smiled. "I bet you loved that status back then."

"Oh, I suppose it was flattering . . . somewhat." Henry laughed. "Yet, obviously, I only saved them to save my own skin. Intercepted during a trade mission, Cevian and I were trapped inside as the cutters gnawed away at the fortress. A death such as this was, naturally, unacceptable. So I devised a plan utilizing the crawlers' ability to block tunnels with their bodies to take the cutters out in groups and break the siege. It was quite an epic battle."

Gregor shuddered. He pictured the five-foot-long ants from the jungle trying to break through that timeless stone and found himself grateful yet again that he had never become lost all alone out in the wilderness of the Underland. He cast Henry a furtive glance and wondered just how terrified he had been at the time—only a few months after his exile. How much difficulty and failure was he leaving out of his account?

"The fliers stay in a nearby cave," said Henry, directing him down the tunnel on the far right. "They hardly fit through the entrance, and even if, they would feel confined within the crawler tunnels."

Gregor nodded. Even he felt slightly claustrophobic in there. "So, uh, Henry?"

"What troubles you?" Only when Henry turned back to face him properly for the first time did Gregor realize that the cheerful tone he had been putting on stood in stark contrast with his sunken cheeks and the visible purple circle under his eye. His hair was half undone, only loosely tied away from his face.

"Uh, so . . ." He swallowed, suddenly feeling self-conscious about bothering others with his problems again. He wanted to ask Henry about the prophecy and about what was to come now, in general, with the war. He wanted to say that he had no idea how he was supposed to face Luxa after what he had said to her and that her state worried him more than his own prophesied death right now. More than anything, Gregor was bursting to unload all the problems he was carrying around with himself, but . . . "What did Ripred mean earlier, when he said that Kismet was . . . infatuated with Gorger?"

It was an honestly insignificant question; obviously, she wasn't anymore, especially if Ripred trusted her. And he must, thought Gregor. He had left them alone with her. Suddenly, he felt exceptionally stupid for not realizing that sooner.

Henry held his gaze for a moment, then sighed. "This is a lengthy story. I was asked not to reveal any of this, actually, but I may tell you the gist of it if that is what it will take for you to trust her."

"I mean . . ." Gregor stammered. "Ripred trusts her."

"He does," said Henry. "And here is why."