Chapter 1 The enclave was quiet the day normalcy died. Usually, Thimble heard the hunters preparing for patrol. They had promoted a couple of new bloods to fill out their numbers, and they kept College territory clear of Freaks—the bane of their existence, the reason for the Hunters and the barricades. The feral creatures stalked the underground world where they lived, feeding on anything at all. They ate animals if they could find them, or people or their own dead. The beasts were hideous, other, and only the Wordkeeper knew where they’d come from. As keeper of all enclave lore, the Wordkeeper decided what stories should be told, what information to pass on. He was an enclave elder; though he was younger than Whitewall—the chief elder—he had a meaner air. The Wordkeeper had long, spidery fingers and red-streaked eyes, likely from poring over artifacts people brought him. Thimble had listened to his stories as a brat, and he’d always frightened her. His gaze lingered on her with faint disapproval; he did not support the weakness of permitting a flawed child to draw on community resources, even if she made herself useful, even if she worked twice as hard as the other Builders. From her time at the Wordkeeper’s knee, Thimble knew the old legends—that their people had come underground long ago to escape the dangers of the surface. Water fell