Mysterious fires and relentless storms wear down an already dwindling population, but as the fires grow more focused and destructive, a young messenger is compelled to seek out answers that have been hidden from him for twenty years. When I saw smoke rising again, I knew it was Renner, because he didn't care to hide it. It was a message. A reminder that nowhere was safe. Outside, the storm could pluck us from the world. Inside, we'd just as likely be burned away. He wanted us to feel it. The terror. The restlessness. The waiting. But what he didn't account for was our mantra. Maybe he forgot we grew up mired in the kind of suffering that numbs a person. He didn't see the calluses formed at birth, and he didn't hear the words we hammered into our youth. Forward as always. We, the Commonhope, embodied that phrase down to our bones. Not just because we had to, but because of the pride we shared. For me, it meant being a Packbrat, a messenger of sorts. We delivered whatever was needed all across Galilei. We learned to count the seconds behind the thunder and familiarized ourselves with the terrain. Run or hide. That's all we were supposed to do, because we were the only connective tissue between the disparate parts of the Commonhope body and its head. Unfortunately, I was too damn curious and prone to getting myself into sticky situations. So, when given the chance, I followed the smoke. And I ran toward the screams. And I left my post. Some of it was fruitless, as far as answers, but it always led to trouble. Which is where Clark came in. He'd been keeping an eye on me for quite some time. It helped that he was seven feet tall, made entirely of metal, and had a penchant for showing up just when I needed him. Though, he wouldn't appreciate me mentioning the metal. He'd turn in all his strength for a human body in a heartbeat. I couldn't understand why. All the worst people I knew were human. And Clark. Well, he was one of the best. That's probably why I spent so little time in the mountains of Commonhope proper--too many warm bodies. Not to mention, the answers wouldn't be found in our little pocket of false security. I had to be out in the world, searching, eyes open. And patterns were emerging, loosely. While the other Packbrats were content running their monthly routes, I was taking detours and studying our insufficient maps. The tight-lipped Luminators were hiding something from us. I just couldn't figure out what it was, and they didn't have a persuadable