The naked man, washed up from the sea, watched Misaki from a crouch on the snow-covered shore. In the gray light of early evening, she thought he looked like Michelangelo’s David, carved from obsidian.

Misaki’s breath steamed from her hike down the rocky shore to the harbor. Beside her, her dog growled.

The man’s breath didn’t frost in the air. His naked black limbs didn’t tremble in the cold wind off the sea. Misaki’s hope of companionship withered.

And Man created android in his own image.

Behind him in the harbor, seawater surged over drowned piers. The derelict remains of the island’s defense platform were no more than a breakwater now. Waves crashed against the slagged framework, revealing no hint of its iceberg-like bulk in the depths.

“Calm, Akira,” whispered Misaki, her gloved hand trembling on the dog’s back. She felt the rumble of Akira’s growl, but wind and surf snatched away the sound.

The android’s eyes held hers. She bowed, a useless gesture. How had he gotten here? The only boats were her yellow kayak, dragged up on the harbor shore, and storm-smashed boats on the rocks behind her. She couldn’t outrun him.

Her dog slipped free, advancing toward him, fangs bared.

“Akira!”

She caught up, pulled off her glove, and grabbed a handful of dark fur. She forced Akira to sit, kneeling beside him in the snow.

The android was only a few arms lengths away. His head tilted slightly, studying the dog, not Misaki. Above high cheekbones, the android’s eyes had internal facets like liquid origami. Snowflakes danced over his dark skin without melting. The skin had no cuts, no bruises, no abrasions of any kind. Misaki’s long hair was going prematurely gray, and she had more scars than she could count. Most were from the past two years, since the Singularity had left her alone on the island.

“Sorry for my dog,” she said. Even as she said it, she realized how futile that was. He had as much in common with her as a submarine had with a shrimp. And was just as dangerous.

“Dog,” he repeated, mimicking her voice exactly.

She shuddered, remembering deceptions during the war. “Yes, this island is our home.”

Maybe he came from the west and only knew Russian. No, he must be networked, fluent in every language. And he certainly wasn’t here by accident. She had a good idea why: the island’s lighthouse. That didn’t bode well.

“Why are you here?” She kneaded her hand in the nape of Akira’s neck, trying to calm him and herself.

The android turned his attention back to her.

Instantly she regretted speaking. He was handsome and powerfully built, a foot taller than her. Her heart was pounding, her mouth dry.

She stood, pulling Akira back, fighting the instinct to run.

He stood as well.

“We won’t bother you,” she said, trying to sound calm.

“You,” he echoed.

An accusation or a question?

“Misaki. And my dog, Akira.” She wondered if he’d been damaged by the recent storm. Could he be offline? A disconnected fragment of the AI hive mind?

She retreated up the shore, head turned to watch him. Her pulse raced as she dragged Akira by the scruff of his neck.

The android followed like a wolf stalking stragglers of a herd. Akira’s head was turned like Misaka’s, growling. Misaki breathed shallow and fast. She fervently wished she hadn’t come down to the shore. But it had been over two years since the Singularity. She’d grown complacent. What could she do now? It wasn’t safe to lead him to her cottage, but was anyplace safe? She couldn’t outrun him, couldn’t hide. Her only hope was that he’d think she was like the birds on the shore: harmless wildlife. She tried not to think about the weapon in the lighthouse, afraid her body language would give her away. The weapon was as likely to get her killed as save her. She’d be like a garter snake attacking a mongoose.

She walked up the shore stooped over, afraid to release her grip on Akira to put her glove back on. The wind was cold on the back of her hand, in contrast to her fingers warm in his long fur. She sang to him, voice threatening to crack. She didn’t dare let go, or the fool dog would get himself killed. The path rose toward her cottage overlooking the harbor.

She’d moved in after the last refugee boats had left and the island was abandoned. At the time she’d been too sick to leave. Afterwards she’d been alone until she found two other left-behinds: Akira and a starving cat, Mao.

And now the android.

She glanced behind. He still followed but wasn’t looking at her. His focus was on the houses up the hill. Most were storm-damaged. After two years, hers was the only one in good shape. She’d replaced windows blown out by storms, cannibalizing other houses. It was a good cottage. It was her cottage. She cursed the android, working swear words into the song she sang Akira.

When she reached the door to her cottage, she unlatched it, pushing Akira inside. She considered darting in after him and locking the door. Pointless. The android could rip it off its hinges as easily as she could close it.

She stepped inside. He followed, and she shivered at the danger of this naked man in her refuge.

The cottage was a single level: one main room, two smaller ones and a bathroom. She had running water from a gravity tank and a system of pipes she’d built. There was a fire pit in the center of the main room, with a wide-flanged stove pipe suspended above.

Mao came over, purring against her leg. Unlike Akira, he didn’t recognize the android as a threat.

“Mao,” she explained. “My cat.”

“My cat,” said the android in her voice.

She could lead him out now, leaving Akira and Mao here. Lure the android to the lighthouse where the weapon was. Destroy him. But if he defeated her, what would happen to Akira and Mao? She wasn’t brave enough. Here, she had the comfort of her companions. Perhaps the android would lose interest and leave.

Mao, still rubbing against her, meowed.

“Are we starving, poor thing?” Her voice shook. She rubbed under the cat’s chin.

She glanced at the android. Behind him, the windows looked out on the harbor. The light had faded enough that she could just make out the beam from the lighthouse sweeping out to sea.

Akira settled onto his bed by the fire pit, watching warily.

“I make a fire every night,” Misaki said to the android. She wondered if he understood anything. Was talking to it good or bad? “I found a wood stove in another house but couldn’t loosen the bolts to take it. An open fire isn’t very efficient. You know all about that, don’t you? Efficiency.”

She watched his handsome face and those liquid origami eyes that she couldn’t read, wishing he were human: kind and gentle. Not a killing machine. She turned away, kneeling by the fire pit. Her shoulders tensed, knowing he was behind her. She brushed the old ashes aside and picked up her knife and a stick, whittling a pile of wood shavings.

While royal blood soaked into the whitewashed planks of the gallows, I ran.

I didn’t bother to pack up my cart. Leaving it in the palace courtyard meant losing my good shovel, ten sacks of fertilizer, and the half dozen mulberry sprouts I’d hauled all the way up here. But hanging around in the aftermath of an assassination would be much worse for me in the long run.

I hurried towards the gate as quick as my weak knees and heavy work boots would allow, waiting to hear cries of “Stop, Master Acton!” or “Seize that gardener!” from behind me. Luckily, the red-cloaked guards hadn’t noticed my exit. Even at the best of times, a worker from the lower boroughs wasn’t worth a second glance from them or any other Perch-dwellers. Now, with the sovereigns dying at their feet, I might as well have been invisible.

Fine by me.

Before I slipped out of the courtyard, I chanced a look back. There, King Phillipe and Crown Prince Rillin Verling were splayed out in the hooked claw shadow of the gallows. Crossbow bolts stuck out from their bodies, and my stomach twisted. Grief and confusion won out over my desire to run. Were they dead? Was the assailant still here? Was the princess the next target?

I scanned the parapets lining the courtyard, searching for unseen villains. Nothing.

Then, a flash of movement to my right, a shadow disappearing into an alley. Was it the killer? Maybe. If I took the main street, I could head them off at the intersection, tackle them, bring them before the Royal Guard, and–

Stop.

I gripped the cold metal of the courtyard gates. I didn’t know who wanted to murder the two most important men in the city, but it wasn’t my responsibility to find out, much less track them down. This wasn’t my world anymore. I’d left the upper borough years ago and returned today for a job. That’s it. And I wasn’t even staying to finish it. Whatever came of this morning, it didn’t concern me. I needed to cut my losses and let the shrikes up here deal with it.

I turned my back on the courtyard and started the long journey down from the Perch.

I find hidden worlds everywhere. Tiny ones in tea cups, spelled out in bloated leaves to weave fortunes. Quiet ones under bridges, whispering riddles and bubbling bargains. Some I discover beneath the thunder of crashing waves, seeping into porous cliff faces. Others are plain as day, staring back at me through reflective glass.

The only one I wanted to find was the one that took you away.

No matter how many worlds I discovered, that one eluded me.

I paced around the ancient oak in rings, just as mom taught me, murmuring the ‘right’ words to coax out hidden depths within the brittle bark. My eyes traced the rotten crack splitting the trunk in a long, vertical fissure. I could imagine stepping through.

Mom had warned us not to enter other worlds. Gazing was safe, but trespasses rarely ended well.

My ringed steps tightened their circuit around the oak, heart fluttering in my chest as browned leaves crunched to dust under my toes. This was surely the world you inhabited now. I whispered the final phrase, hand grazing the rough trunk, thumb curling just inside the deep crack.

Whispers deep within the tree answered back; far deeper than a tree ought to be.

Holding my breath as if ready to plunge into the ocean, I stuck my head into the fissure.

A shiver ran down my spine as if someone dumped a bucket of warm water on my head. Stars rained down like flakes of snow, sparkling tails hissing as they passed my ears. I couldn’t tell if I was too big for this world, or if the stars were just that small.

A golden carp swam by as if the black void were nothing but ink in water. Its tail trailed streams of gold like honey, and a strange buzzing filled the air. The longer I stayed, the stronger the buzzing grew. It grew and grew until the fish itself seemed to vibrate in my wavering vision, my eyes watering as I strained to see more in this world of ink and fallen stars.

Something hot leaked from my eyes, but it was too thick to be tears. The popping in my brain turned to crackling like it was cooking.

Strong hands on my shoulders yanked me out, and I gasped and sputtered, coming up for air I hadn’t realized I needed. Still, my heart beat more from exhilaration than panic.

“What are you doing?”

My brother’s deep voice was laced with more than irritation. Now that you’re gone, there’s always a touch of fear in Samuel’s tone.

“Looking for dad,” I said.

“You aren’t going to find him in a tree.” Samuel reached out to wipe my cheeks. His hands came away red. “You were supposed to be helping me check the traps.” He was trying to hide that he was worried, as if I wouldn’t see. I always let him think he succeeded.

“Better to look there than nowhere,” I muttered.

“One day, you’re going to peek in a crack and fall straight through the center of the world.”

Anger prickled at the back of my scalp, white-hot and indignant. Samuel didn’t have the right to lecture me. He gave up looking into other worlds when you left. I didn’t understand why; he was better than me at finding hidden places, other realms. If I had his help, I’d find you in no time. I think he likes being in charge now.

After promising to do something productive with my day, I climbed our cabin’s steps as Samuel trudged back out into the woods with his bow in hand, quiver slung over his shoulder. Your flannel shirt hung on a nail just inside the door, breeze flapping the red and black checkered sleeve in greeting. I took it down and pulled it on, hugging myself and inhaling pine and cedar, imagining it was your arms embracing me.

The pockets were deep enough to use for pine nut picking. There was a section of the woods to the west where I usually found a decent amount. The fact that the disappearing hut was in that direction was just a happy coincidence.

Months had bled by and I had already searched all the worlds we used to peek into together. None of them held your buttery laugh or your strong, broad frame. I tried to swallow the burning in my throat. The emptiness in my chest cavity grew more cavernous by the day and I feared examining it too closely. Samuel called it denial.

Maybe Nona would have some advice.