“What?” he said, his body tensing.

“To free Father,” Alice said. “Why did you fail to bring him home the first time? What happened?”

“I . . .” Oliver trailed off. “Well . . . I . . .”

He seemed to be making a decision right then; a decision that would say quite a lot about the direction of their friendship. Would he trust Alice with his insecurities? Could he dare to be vulnerable in her presence? Which would it be, hmm? Truth or omission, truth or omission, truth or—

“I just wasn’t good enough,” he finally said.

(Ah, a bit of truth, then. Refreshing.)

“I hit a dead end. The final steps stumped me, and I knew I needed help.”

“And you needed my help?” Alice asked, flattered and suspicious all at the same time.

Oliver stopped walking and locked eyes with her. “Yes,” he said softly. “But you know why, don’t you? You can imagine why?”

“Because he’s my father?” Alice guessed, searching Oliver’s face for answers. “Because you need to know something about him only I can tell you?”

Oliver’s gaze faltered. He offered her a smile and said, “Well, we’ll talk more about it later, won’t we? For now,” he said, perking up as they walked on, “we should pay close attention to where we are. Furthermore is always awaiting our distraction. There’s always a trick, always a catch, always a danger smarter or sillier than you think. It’s a strange and terrible land to get lost in,” he said. And then, more sadly, “It’s probably why your father couldn’t get out.”

“Right,” Alice said, startled. “Of course.”

It was another tiny pinch of a reminder, but it was enough. Alice had worried and wondered about Father for three years, and now here they were, so close, so close.

And still, so very very far.

Alice had dreamed of a reunion with Father the way some people dreamt of fame and glory; she’d acted out the motions hundreds of times; she’d imagined every smile, every tear, every clinging hug. And yet, somehow, it was much easier to dream of Father from afar, because being this close to him now only filled her with fear. What if their journey went terribly wrong? What if she ruined everything with a simple mistake and Father stayed gone for good? It would be infinitely more difficult to live with loss if Alice had herself to blame for the lack.

She wore her worries like a cloak clasped tight around her throat but, come fear or failure, Alice would tread cautiously into the night. There would be no turning back.

Alice didn’t know where they were going now, but the farther they went, the darker it grew; and the darker it grew, the colder it became; and the colder it became, the quieter it was; and the quieter it was, the more there was to hear.

“My goodness,” Oliver said. “Your stomach has quite a roar.”

Alice felt a blush creep up her neck. “It’s no fault of mine,” she said. “I’m not to blame for needing food.”

“And how are you feeling?” he asked. He’d come to a complete stop, so she did, too. There was nothing but darkness all around them; not a single thing in sight.

“I’m feeling alright, I think.” Her stomach sang another song, and she sighed. “I’m feeling a bit faint, really.”

“Are you quite empty, do you think?”

Alice raised an eyebrow at Oliver.

“Empty,” he said again. “How empty are you feeling?”

“Very.”

“Well I’m thrilled. This is excellent timing.”

“Why Oliver Newbanks, what a rude thing to say. My hunger is not a thing to be happy about.”

“Hunger is not one but two,” he said. “Emptiness is not three but four.” He was whispering to the moons, his eyes on the stars, his hands reaching up into the dark, searching for something.

“What?” she asked, eyes wide. “What are you doing?”

But then there it was.

Oliver was tugging on a chain in the sky. He pulled once, very firmly, and it made a scissor-like sound.

A lightbulb illuminated.

It was hanging free and clear, right there, right in front of her, suspended not ten feet off the ground—she wouldn’t have been able to reach for it, not even with a stool—right in the middle of nothing.

She was still gaping at the lightbulb, even when Oliver looked back at her. “Are you ready?” he asked.

“Always,” she said. “But whatever for?”

And then he took her by the waist and tossed her in the sky.

Alice thought maybe she should scream—it seemed like the right thing to do—but it didn’t feel honest. The truth was, she wasn’t scared at all, and besides, it was much warmer up here. She’d flown straight up, light as a bulb, and it was only once she’d stopped and stood around that she understood why lighting that first light was so important. It was awfully dark in the clouds.

She looked around for Oliver and it was only a moment before he was standing beside her, both their feet planted firmly in the air.

“It’s quite nice, isn’t it?” he said.

Nice wasn’t the word Alice was searching for. It was not uncomfortable, no, but it was strange, certainly. The cloud they stood on was fairly insubstantial—and she feared she’d slip through at any moment—but when she mentioned this to Oliver, he only shrugged and said, “As long as you’re hungry, I wouldn’t worry. It’s always best to float on an empty stomach.”

Oliver was positively beaming.

He kept reaching out around them, touching the dewy cotton of the clouds, running his fingers through their tangled strands. Occasionally he was too rough, and he’d rake his hand right through a stubborn knot of cloud, and the whole thing would burst into rainwater. This seemed to delight Oliver in a most particular way, as the water would then pool in the palm of his hand, and he’d proceed to drink up its contents.