The rain had thinned to a fine, cold mist by the time the boat left the campus district behind, and the dusk had thickened until the flooded streets were nothing but gray water and darker shapes. Killian kept the little motor at a low, steady hum. Nobody had wanted to risk the noise, but nobody had wanted to paddle six blocks in the dark either.
"I'm telling you," Kai said, from the middle of the boat, "the sunburned pigs are going to change everything."
"The pigs are not the crisis," Persephone said from the bow.
"We don't have sunscreen for pigs."
"We have four hundred farming books and a barn. I think we can improvise a hat."
Ben's laugh cut off halfway. Victor had gone rigid at the stern, one hand pressed to his temple, the pressure behind his eyes tightening the way it always did before he spoke.
"Cut the motor."
Killian didn't ask. The engine died, and the quiet that replaced it was thick enough to hear water dripping off Erik's sleeve.
"What is it?" Erik asked, low.
