The cannery fell silent except for the distant lap of black water against the piers and the ragged breathing of the people crouched in the shadows. The window where Sloane had escaped gaped open, its edges fanged with broken glass, and a cold wind curled through the room like the fingers of a ghost. Corvin lay on the floor, his chest heaving, his eyes wide and wet with tears that had been waiting five years to fall.
"Thank you," he whispered, his voice cracked and raw. "The voices... they're gone. For the first time since they took me, I can hear my own thoughts."
Caleb knelt beside him, the fragment still warm in his hand. "You're free now. But we're not done. There's one more subject out there, and Sloane knows where to find them."
Wren appeared at his shoulder, her face pale but set.
