“I’m Adelice Lewys,” I say.

“And you are here to destroy the Guild of Twelve Nations?” He says the last words with mock ferocity, but I hear it in his voice: he’s not mocking our desire, he’s dismissing it. He must have seen his fair share of failed attempts to destroy the Guild over the years.

“I suppose,” I say. “I want to separate the worlds. Not destroy them per se.”

“A worthy ambition,” he notes. “If a foolish one.”

I blink against his honesty. He offers me a mug with a tea bag perched and waiting inside. “You bear my mark.”

I look at my outstretched hand, at my techprint, and nod. “Kairos. Your name.”

“Not my name, but I’m flattered. They called me Dr. Albert Einstein before they called me a traitor and stuck me in here,” he says.

“Dr. Einstein, I’m Adelice,” I say, this time offering my right hand to shake his. It feels awkward given my own preference for the left hand, but we manage it.

“Albert,” he says firmly. “Call me Albert. I have not been called Dr. Einstein in so long it feels I have lost the privilege.”

“We have a lot of questions,” Erik says. He’s juggling the gun and a chipped teacup and it makes me laugh.

“I think you can put that away,” I say, motioning to his weapon.

Erik takes a long look at Albert and then looks back at me. I nod encouragingly and he slips the gun into his waistband.

“Yes, but it will not do to answer them here,” Albert says as the teakettle shrieks its readiness on the stove. “And the tea is ready.”

Albert carefully pours the boiling water into the waiting cups, trying not to spill and apologizing repeatedly for the few drops that splash onto our hands. He’s no threat, but that might mean he’s no help either. I help him with the mugs and we take them into the other room and disburse them to Jost, Dante, and Valery. The three linger, uncomfortably, in the sitting room and Albert gestures for them to sit down while he goes to shut the front door.

When he returns he introduces himself and waits patiently while the others give their names. He repeats each as if consigning it to memory.

“We have a lot of questions, Albert,” Dante says. “Not the least of which is why you’re living here.”

“Instead of the cold prison?” Albert guesses. “A concession for good behavior. The Guild of Twelve Nations views me as a threat intellectually not physically. As long as people are kept away from me, I’m not a risk.”

“And your guard and his family?” Jost asks.

“Lucas and his family are simple people. Lovely supper guests, but not terribly interested in physics and my scientific mumbo jumbo.” Albert pauses, his cup hovering near his lips. His whiskers tickling its rim. “I do hope you have not hurt them.”

“We sent them away,” I assure him. “We’re not here to hurt anyone.”

“A curious method of revolution.”

“We’re not here to hurt anyone who is innocent,” Dante corrects.

“But what is innocence?” Albert muses. “Ignorance?”

“Maybe,” Dante says, shifting in his chair.

“Or good intentions?” Albert adds.

I look across the room at my companions. Only Erik seems at ease, blowing steam off his tea and taking shallow sips. The rest roost with their shoulders hunched, hanging on Albert’s every word.

“Maybe a gut reaction,” I offer. “Lucas was acting on orders. Something we can all forgive.”

“You have acted under orders then?” he asks.

I remember the thick, coarse strand I removed from the loom under Loricel’s watchful eye. I had acted under orders with good intentions, but under Albert’s piercing gaze, I don’t feel absolved.

“I have,” I admit, “but not anymore.”

“And that is how you became a rebel,” he says. “Did you flee from Arras or were you born of Earth?”

“We’re refugees,” I tell him.

“So many of you and so young. How did you discover the truth?”

“I was taken into service,” I begin.

“A renegade Spinster? Delightful.”

“Adelice was set to be the new Creweler, and she can alter.” Erik jumps in. I flash him a look for interrupting me, but it’s clear he thought I should cut to the chase.

“Then you are the one I’ve waited for.” Albert’s words are so soft that I’m not sure anyone else heard them, as though they were meant only for me. “Do you each bear the mark of Kairos?”

“No,” Dante says. “Only Adelice and I do. The true rebellion died out years ago, but we are rebuilding. Although another man pretends to have the same agenda as our predecessors.”

“There is a false rebellion now?” Albert asks questions with the interest of a man awoken from a long sleep. He has no idea what’s happened in the outside world since he was left here.

“A man named Kincaid wants to find the Whorl,” I tell him.

“I know Kincaid,” Albert says darkly. “If he’s fallen from the Guild’s favor, he’s no one to trifle with.”

“Unfortunately we learned that the hard way,” I say.

“So this is it?” Albert asks. “The final withering offspring of rebellion.”

“No, there are more of us, but not enough to stand up to the Guild.” Dante has told me of the expectations he had when he came to Earth, of the stories his mother—my grandmother—whispered to him of a powerful legion of men who could free Arras. But they were only stories, and the rebellion was once a fledgling barely able to stand on its own legs.