BETWEEN CADENCE’S GUIDANCE and Ravel’s memories of the map and his journey out, we manage to forge our own path back to the city without running into the squad from Nine Peaks. We even make it before dark, if only just, though we’re weaving on our feet and faint with hunger and exhaustion by the time we stand at the edge of the water and look out—and up—at the barrier before us.
The ocean laps at the gritty shore, deceptively calm. The dome over the city looks like a dingy sheet of glass slicing the water in two. It juts high above our heads, just the faintest suggestion of an arc catching the setting sun and scattering its bloody hues across that vast surface, obscuring what lays within.
“You’re sure you can cross?” I ask.
Ravel shrugs. “I did it once before, didn’t I? The real questio
