Starlight in the Soil

The elevator cable snapped somewhere between Floor Seven and Floor Eight.

Sprout heard it before he felt it, a sound like a giant's knuckle cracking, and then the whole car lurched sideways and his teeth clacked together hard enough to send a jolt up through his jaw. The emergency lights flickered from their usual soft amber to a strobing red. Beside him, Cosmo grabbed the handrail with both hands and made a small, strangled noise that he would later deny making.

"Okay," Sprout said, steadying himself against the wall. "Okay. That's not great."

"That's not great?" Cosmo's voice climbed half an octave. "The cable snapped, Sprout. The cable. As in the thing holding us up."

"Technically there are like six cables. Redundancy systems. Dandy's not an idiot about infrastructure."

"Don't say his name down here. You know how that feels."

Sprout didn't answer, because Cosmo was right and because the car had stopped swaying and because somewhere below them, in the dark throat of the building, something was moving. Not the mechanical grinding of gears or the hiss of pneumatic doors. Something organic. Wet. Like a throat swallowing.

He pulled the flashlight from his belt and clicked it on. The beam cut through the red haze and landed on the elevator's control panel, where the floor indicator was spinning through numbers that didn't exist. Floor Twelve. Floor Negative Four. Floor Blank.

"We're not on the map anymore," Cosmo whispered.

"We were never on the map. That's the point of this floor." Sprout pressed his palm flat against the doors. Cold metal. No vibration. The car had gone dead still, which was worse than the falling. "How much ichor do we have left?"

Cosmo unslung his pack and started counting vials with the frantic efficiency of someone who'd done this a hundred times and still hated every second. "Four. Maybe five if I scrape the residue from the empty ones."

"Scrape them."

"Sprout, that's disgusting."

"It's also survival. Scrape them."

The thing below them made another sound. Closer now. A kind of wet clicking, like teeth being tapped against a window. Cosmo stopped arguing and started scraping.

Sprout had been running floors for two years, ever since the elevator first opened and Dandy started sending toons down into the dark to bring back ichor, that strange luminous fluid that powered everything in Gardenview. Most runs were routine. You went down, you avoided the Twisted, you filled your vials, you came back up. The Twisted were predictable in their unpredictability. They lurched and moaned and chased anything that moved, but they were slow and stupid and you could outrun them if you kept your head.

This run had gone wrong from the start.

It started with the roster. Dandy had paired him with Cosmo, which was normal, and then at the last minute had swapped Cosmo's usual partner for someone else and put Astro on the team instead. Sprout had argued. He'd stood in Dandy's office, that too-bright room with the too-big desk and the too-wide smile, and he'd said, I don't work with him.

And Dandy had said, You do today, and that was that.

Astro Novalite. The moon toon. Tall and pale and quiet, with those silver eyes that seemed to look through you instead of at you, and a way of moving that was almost too smooth, like he wasn't quite subject to the same physics as everyone else. He'd been Dandy's favorite for as long as anyone could remember. Not in an obvious way. Dandy didn't play favorites, he said, he treated all his toons equally. But everyone noticed how Astro got the good assignments, the extra ichor rations, the private meetings behind closed doors. Everyone noticed how Dandy's smile got a little wider when Astro walked into a room.

Sprout noticed most of all.

The elevator shuddered. A long, slow groan that traveled up through the floor and into his bones. Cosmo had finished scraping the vials and was now staring at the ceiling, where a thin line of something dark had begun to seep through the seam between the panels.

"That's not ichor," Cosmo said.

"No."

"Ichor glows. That's not glowing."

"No, it's not."

"So what is it?"

Sprout didn't have an answer. He was busy trying to remember the emergency protocols, the ones Dandy had drilled into them during orientation, the ones that involved pulling the manual override lever and climbing out through the roof hatch and making your way to the nearest safe floor. But the manual override was on the other side of the car, and the dark seep was spreading, and somewhere in the back of his mind a small voice was whispering that this wasn't an accident. That the cable hadn't snapped. That it had been cut.

"Where's Astro?" he asked.

Cosmo blinked. "What?"

"Astro. He was on this run. Where is he?"

"He was right behind us. When we ran from the Hound, he was right..." Cosmo trailed off. His face went pale, or paler than usual, which was saying something for a toon made of cake and frosting and good intentions. "He was right behind us, Sprout. I swear he was."

The elevator lurched again, and this time it didn't stop. It dropped. A short, sharp fall that sent them both stumbling, and then the car slammed to a halt and the lights went out entirely and the only thing Sprout could hear was Cosmo's breathing, fast and shallow, and the wet clicking from below, which had stopped.

Silence. Real silence, the kind that pressed against your ears and made you aware of your own heartbeat.

Then, from somewhere above them, a voice. Calm. Measured. Familiar.

"Don't move."

Sprout looked up. The roof hatch was open. Astro was crouched at the edge of it, silhouetted against a faint silver glow that seemed to come from his own skin, and he was holding out one long-fingered hand.

"The cable's still attached at the top," Astro said. "If you move too much, the car will swing. Take my hand. Slowly."

Cosmo grabbed it without hesitation. Astro pulled him up through the hatch like he weighed nothing, and then it was Sprout's turn, and he stood there in the dark looking at that outstretched hand and feeling something hot and complicated twist in his chest.

"I don't need your help," he said.

"I know." Astro's voice didn't change. "But Cosmo does, and Cosmo needs you, so take my hand."

Sprout took his hand.

The climb was short and terrifying. The elevator shaft was a vertical tunnel of darkness, and the only light came from Astro, who glowed faintly, a soft silver luminescence that illuminated maybe three feet in any direction. They climbed the maintenance ladder in silence, Astro first, then Cosmo, then Sprout, and Sprout kept his eyes on the rungs and his mind on the fact that they were still alive and not on the fact that Astro had saved them.

At the top, the shaft opened onto a floor that shouldn't have existed. Floor Eight, according to the faded number on the wall, but Floor Eight had been decommissioned months ago, sealed off after a Twisted outbreak that had killed three toons. The hallway stretched out in both directions, lined with doors that were all closed, and the air was thick with the smell of mold and old blood.

"Safe floor?" Cosmo asked.

"No," Astro said. "But safer than the shaft."

They found a room at the end of the hall, a small storage closet with a door that locked from the inside. Astro produced a key from somewhere, which Sprout filed away as another piece of evidence in the ongoing case of Astro Knows Things He Shouldn't. They barricaded the door with shelving units and sat down in the dark, and for a long moment nobody said anything.

Sprout broke first. He always did.

"So," he said. "You want to explain how you knew where we were? Or how you got out of the car before it fell? Or why you have a key to a floor that's been sealed for months?"

Astro was sitting against the far wall, his glow dimmed to a faint shimmer. In the dark, his silver eyes looked almost black. "I heard the cable snap. I climbed out through the hatch before the car dropped. I followed the shaft down until I found you."

"That's not an answer."

"It's the truth."

"The truth is you were gone. You disappeared. We were running from the Hound and you were right behind us and then you weren't, and now you're here with a key and a story that doesn't add up."

Astro's expression didn't change. That was the thing about him. He never got angry, never got defensive, never gave you anything to push against. He just sat there with his calm moon face and his calm moon voice and let you wear yourself out.

"The key is mine," he said. "Dandy gave it to me. I've been mapping the sealed floors."

"Why?"

"Because someone has to."

Cosmo, who had been quietly inspecting his vials, looked up. "Wait. You've been going down to the sealed floors? Alone?"

"Not alone. Sometimes."

"Sprout, did you know about this?"

"No." Sprout's voice came out harder than he intended. "I didn't know about this. Because apparently Astro doesn't tell anyone anything."

Astro's gaze shifted to him. In the dim light, it was hard to read his expression, but there was something there. Something patient and sad and old. "I'm telling you now."

"Now that we're trapped on a dead floor with no way out and something in the walls that's been following us since the elevator fell? Yeah, thanks. Great timing."

"I didn't want to scare you."

"You didn't want to scare me." Sprout laughed, a short, ugly sound. "You didn't want to scare me. Astro, I've been running floors for two years. I've seen things that would make you scream. I don't scare easy. What I do is get angry, and right now I'm very, very angry, because you've been lying to us and I want to know why."

The silence that followed was heavy. Cosmo looked back and forth between them like a toon watching a tennis match, his frosting brow furrowed. Astro didn't move.

"I'm not lying," he said finally. "I'm just not telling you everything. There's a difference."

"Not to me there isn't."

"Then I'm sorry."

Sprout wanted to hit him. He wanted to grab him by the collar of that stupid silver jacket and shake him until the truth fell out. But he didn't, because Cosmo was watching and because they were trapped and because somewhere in the back of his mind, a small voice was whispering that Astro had saved their lives and maybe that counted for something.

Maybe.

The clicking started again. Faint, but unmistakable. Coming from the hallway outside.

Cosmo's hand went to his pack. "How many vials do we have left?"

"Four," Sprout said. "And whatever you scraped."

"Three and a half."

"Great. Three and a half vials of ichor against whatever's out there. Those are good odds."

"Sprout."

"What?"

"Shut up."

Sprout shut up. The clicking grew louder, closer, and then it stopped right outside the door. Through the thin wood, he could hear breathing. Slow and wet and hungry.

Astro stood up. He moved quietly, no wasted motion, and positioned himself between the door and the others. His glow brightened slightly, casting long shadows across the walls.

"When it comes through," he said, "run. Don't look back. Don't stop. I'll hold it off."

"Like hell you will," Sprout said, getting to his feet. "We're not leaving you."

"You don't even like me."

"I don't have to like you to not leave you to die. That's not how this works."

Astro looked at him then, really looked at him, and for a moment his calm facade cracked. Underneath was something raw and tired and a little surprised, like he hadn't expected anyone to say that.

"Okay," he said. "Then we fight it together."

The door splintered inward.

The Twisted that came through was wrong. All Twisted were wrong, that was the point, but this one was wrong in a way that made Sprout's stomach turn. It had been a toon once, probably. You could still see the shape of it, the general arrangement of limbs and head and torso. But everything else had been rearranged. Its arms were too long, its fingers too many, its face a melted blur of features that didn't quite line up. It opened a mouth that was also an eye and screamed.

Sprout threw the first vial. It shattered against its chest and the ichor inside flared bright, burning through the twisted flesh and making it shriek. Cosmo threw the second vial. The third. The thing staggered back, smoking and howling, and for a moment Sprout thought they'd won.

Then it came forward again.

"Behind me," Astro said, and this time Sprout didn't argue. He grabbed Cosmo and pulled him back, and Astro stepped forward, and the glow around him intensified until it was almost too bright to look at. He raised one hand and the light gathered in his palm, a sphere of silver-white energy that hummed with a frequency that made Sprout's teeth ache.

He threw it.

The Twisted came apart. Not exploded, not burned. Came apart, like it had been unmade, its component pieces drifting away into nothing. The scream cut off mid-note. The silence that followed was absolute.

Astro swayed. Sprout caught him before he hit the ground.

"Okay," Sprout said, his arm around Astro's waist, holding him up. "Okay. That was. That was something."

"Moonlight," Astro murmured. His voice was thin, exhausted. "It's called moonlight. It's the only thing that kills them permanently."

"And you didn't think to mention this?"

"You never asked."

Sprout wanted to be angry. He was angry, actually, a low steady burn in his chest that had been there since the roster swap and would probably be there for a long time. But Astro was heavy against him, and Astro's glow had dimmed to almost nothing, and Astro had just saved their lives for the second time in an hour.

"Can you walk?" he asked.

"I think so."

"Good. Because we need to move. That thing might not have been alone."

They moved. Down the hallway, through a door that led to a stairwell, up three flights to a floor that was marginally less dead than the one below. This one had windows, at least, big arched windows that looked out onto the dark expanse of the lower gardens. In the distance, Sprout could see the lights of Gardenview proper, the warm glow of the main building where the other toons were probably going about their evening, oblivious to the fact that three of their number had almost died in the dark.

They found a room that had once been an office. The furniture was covered in dust sheets, and the air was stale but breathable. Cosmo collapsed onto a couch and was asleep in minutes, his frosting smeared and his pack clutched to his chest like a teddy bear.

Sprout sat by the window, watching the lights. Astro sat across from him, his back against the wall, his glow slowly returning.

"You should sleep," Astro said.

"I'm not tired."

"You're lying."

"So are you. We're even."

Astro didn't argue. He just sat there, watching Sprout with those silver eyes, and Sprout watched him back, and the silence between them was different now. Less hostile. More... something. He didn't have a word for it.

"Why did Dandy put us together?" he asked finally. "You and me and Cosmo. He knows we don't get along."

"Maybe that's why."

"What, he wanted us to fight?"

"I don't know what he wanted." Astro's voice was quiet. "I never know what he wants."

That was the most honest thing Astro had ever said to him. Sprout filed it away, another piece of evidence, and turned back to the window.

The lights of Gardenview flickered. Once. Twice. Then steadied.

"Tomorrow," Sprout said, "we're going to find a way out of here. And then we're going to have a very long conversation with Dandy about what the hell is going on."

"Okay."

"And you're going to tell me everything. No more secrets."

Astro was silent for a long moment. Then: "Okay."

Sprout didn't believe him. But he wanted to. And that, he supposed, was a start.

The night passed slowly. Sprout dozed in fits, waking at every sound, every creak of the old building settling around them. Astro stayed awake the whole time, a silent silver sentinel, and when the first light of morning filtered through the dusty windows, he was still there, still watching.

Cosmo woke up grumpy and hungry and immediately started complaining about the lack of breakfast options. Sprout told him to eat a vial of ichor and see how that tasted. Cosmo threw a dust sheet at him. It was almost normal.

They found the stairwell that led up to the main floors just after dawn. It was blocked by debris, a collapsed ceiling that had brought down half the hallway, but between the three of them they managed to clear a path. Astro used his moonlight to dissolve the larger chunks. Sprout and Cosmo hauled the smaller ones aside. By the time they reached the door to Floor Ten, they were all covered in dust and grime and something that might have been old blood.

Floor Ten was still active. The lights were on. The air smelled like cleaning solution and fresh flowers. A pair of toons in Gardenview uniforms were walking down the hall, and they stopped dead when they saw the three of them emerge from the stairwell.

"What the hell happened to you?" one of them asked.

"Elevator accident," Sprout said. "We need to see Dandy."

"Dandy's in a meeting."

"He'll want to see us."

The toon looked at him, then at Cosmo, then at Astro, and something in his expression shifted. Recognition. Wariness. "Yeah," he said. "I think he will."

They were escorted to a waiting room outside Dandy's office, a bright cheerful space with potted plants and comfortable chairs and a window that looked out onto the main garden. Sprout hated it. Everything about it was designed to put you at ease, to make you forget that you were about to walk into a room with a being who could end your existence with a snap of his fingers.

They waited for twenty minutes. Cosmo fell asleep again. Astro sat in silence, his hands folded in his lap, his eyes fixed on some point in the middle distance. Sprout paced.

Finally, the door opened and Dandy's assistant, a nervous little toon named Peony, poked her head out. "He'll see you now."

Dandy's office was exactly as Sprout remembered it. Too bright, too big, too clean. Dandy himself was seated behind his desk, a tall figure in a neat suit, his face arranged in that familiar smile. He looked human, mostly, except for the eyes. His eyes were wrong. Too many colors, shifting and swirling, like oil on water.

"Ah," he said. "My intrepid explorers. I heard you had some trouble last night."

"Trouble," Sprout repeated. "Yeah. You could call it that."

"Elevator malfunction. Terribly sorry about that. We'll have maintenance look into it immediately."

"It wasn't a malfunction. The cable was cut."

Dandy's smile didn't waver. "Was it? How strange."

"You sent us down there. You put us on that run. You knew something was wrong."

"I knew nothing of the sort. I simply assigned you to a routine ichor collection. If something went wrong, that's regrettable, but hardly my fault."

Sprout stepped forward, his hands clenched at his sides. "Three toons died on Floor Eight last year. You sealed it off. You said it was too dangerous. And then last night, you sent us to a floor that connects directly to it. You put us in danger. You put Cosmo in danger."

"COSMO IS FINE."

The words came out in a voice that wasn't Dandy's voice. Deeper. Older. The lights in the office flickered, and for a moment the smile slipped, and Sprout saw something underneath. Something vast and cold and utterly indifferent.

Then it was gone, and Dandy was smiling again, and the lights were steady, and everything was fine. Everything was always fine.

"I understand you're upset," Dandy said. "You've had a traumatic experience. Go home. Rest. We'll talk more when you're feeling better."

"I don't want to rest. I want answers."

"And you'll have them. In time. But right now, you need to take care of yourself. And your friends." His gaze shifted to Astro, and something passed between them. Something Sprout couldn't read. "Astro, stay behind for a moment, would you?"

"No," Sprout said.

Dandy raised an eyebrow. "Excuse me?"

"He's not staying. He's coming with us."

"Sprout." Astro's voice was quiet. "It's fine."

"It's not fine. You said no more secrets. You said you'd tell me everything."

"I will. Later."

"Later isn't good enough."

"Sprout." Cosmo's hand on his arm. "Come on. Let's go. We can fight about this later."

Sprout wanted to argue. He wanted to stay, to demand answers, to force Dandy to tell him the truth. But Astro was already moving toward the desk, already taking his place at Dandy's side, and the look he gave Sprout was clear. Go. I'll handle this.

So Sprout went. He let Cosmo pull him out of the office, down the hall, into the elevator that would take them back to the main floor. He let the doors close between him and Astro and Dandy and all the secrets they were keeping.

But he didn't forget. He never forgot.

The main floor of Gardenview was bustling with activity. Toons of all shapes and sizes moved through the halls, going about their daily routines, oblivious to the darkness that lurked beneath their feet. Sprout and Cosmo made their way to the infirmary, where a cheerful nurse toon patched up their cuts and scrapes and told them to take it easy for a few days.

"Take it easy," Sprout muttered, as they left. "Like that's possible."

"You should try," Cosmo said. "You look like death."

"Thanks. You look like a melted birthday cake."

"I always look like a melted birthday cake. It's part of my charm."

They walked in silence for a while, through the winding corridors of Gardenview, past the fountain in the central courtyard, past the gardens where the flowers bloomed in impossible colors. Sprout's mind was still back in Dandy's office, still replaying that moment when the mask had slipped.

"Cosmo," he said. "Have you ever noticed anything... off about Dandy?"

Cosmo was quiet for a moment. "Define off."

"I don't know. Just. Sometimes he says things, and it's like he's not really saying them. Like there's something else talking through him."

"I try not to think about it."

"Why not?"

"Because he's Dandy. He's the one who made us. He's the one who keeps us safe. If I start thinking about what he might be, I'll go crazy."

Sprout nodded. He understood. It was easier to not think about it, to go about your day and pretend everything was normal. But he couldn't do that anymore. Not after last night.

"I'm going to find out what's going on," he said. "With the sealed floors. With the Twisted. With Astro. All of it."

"And how are you going to do that?"

"I don't know yet. But I'll figure it out."

They reached the dormitory wing, where most of the toons lived. Sprout's room was at the end of the hall, small but comfortable, with a bed and a desk and a window that looked out onto the garden. He said goodbye to Cosmo, who lived two doors down, and went inside.

The room was exactly as he'd left it. Messy. Familiar. Safe.

He sat down on the bed and stared at the wall for a long time.

Astro had saved his life. Twice. And Sprout had spent the entire night being angry at him, pushing him away, refusing to trust him. Some of that was justified. Astro was keeping secrets. Astro was close to Dandy in a way that made Sprout's skin crawl. But some of it wasn't. Some of it was just... fear. Fear of getting close to someone who might hurt him. Fear of trusting someone who might betray him.

He didn't know what to do with that.

A knock at the door. Sprout didn't get up.

"It's open."

The door swung inward and Astro stepped inside. He looked tired. More tired than he had last night, if that was possible. His glow was dim, barely visible, and there were dark circles under his eyes.

"We need to talk," he said.

"I thought you were staying with Dandy."

"I was. I am. I just..." He paused, seemed to gather himself. "I wanted to check on you."

"I'm fine."

"You're not."

"Neither are you."

Astro didn't argue. He just stood there, in the doorway, looking at Sprout with those silver eyes, and Sprout looked back, and the silence stretched between them like a living thing.

"What did Dandy want?" Sprout asked finally.

"To debrief me. On what happened. On what I told you."

"What did you tell him?"

"That I told you nothing."

"So you lied to him."

"I omitted. There's a difference."

Sprout laughed, a short, humorless sound. "You're really good at that."

"I've had practice."

Another silence. Astro shifted his weight, and for a moment he looked almost uncertain. Almost vulnerable. It was strange, seeing him like that. Strange and a little unsettling.

"I meant what I said last night," Astro said. "I will tell you everything. But not here. Not now. Dandy has ears everywhere."

"Then when? Where?"

"Tonight. Meet me at the old observatory. Midnight."

"The observatory's been closed for years."

"I know. That's why it's safe."

Sprout considered. The observatory was on the far side of the grounds, a crumbling relic from before Gardenview was built. Nobody went there. Nobody even talked about it. It was the perfect place for a secret meeting.

"Okay," he said. "Midnight."

Astro nodded. "Thank you."

"For what?"

"For trusting me. Even a little."

He turned and left before Sprout could respond. The door clicked shut behind him, and Sprout was alone again, alone with his thoughts and his doubts and the small, stubborn hope that maybe, just maybe, he wasn't wrong about Astro after all.

He spent the rest of the day trying to rest, trying to eat, trying to act normal. It didn't work. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw the elevator falling, saw the Twisted coming through the door, saw Astro's hand reaching out to pull him to safety. Every time he tried to eat, his stomach rebelled. Every time he tried to act normal, he caught himself looking over his shoulder, waiting for something to jump out of the shadows.

Cosmo came by in the afternoon, bearing sandwiches and gossip. Apparently, the news of their ordeal had spread through Gardenview like wildfire. Everyone was talking about it. Everyone had a theory. Some said it was a Twisted attack. Some said it was sabotage. Some said it was a test, a way for Dandy to see how they'd handle a crisis.

"What do you think?" Cosmo asked, through a mouthful of sandwich.

"I think Dandy knows more than he's saying."

"Obviously. But what else?"

Sprout hesitated. He hadn't told Cosmo about the meeting tonight. He wasn't sure why. Maybe because he didn't want to put him in danger. Maybe because he wanted to hear what Astro had to say first, before he shared it with anyone else.

"I don't know," he said. "But I'm going to find out."

Cosmo gave him a long look. "You're planning something."

"I'm always planning something."

"That's what worries me."

They finished their sandwiches and talked about lighter things. The new flowers in the garden. The upcoming festival. The way Peony had tripped over her own feet in front of Dandy and turned so red she looked like a tomato. It was nice. Normal. A reminder that there was more to life than darkness and secrets.

But the night came anyway.

Sprout waited until the dormitory was quiet, until the lights were dim and the halls were empty. Then he slipped out of his room and made his way across the grounds, keeping to the shadows, avoiding the patrols that roamed the perimeter.

The observatory was a sad, broken thing. Its dome was cracked, its telescopes long since removed, its walls covered in ivy and moss. But the door still opened, and the stairs still held, and at the top, in the circular room that had once housed the great telescope, Astro was waiting.

He was sitting on the floor, his back against the wall, his glow casting soft silver light across the dusty floorboards. He looked up when Sprout entered, and something in his expression shifted. Relief, maybe. Or just acknowledgment.

"You came," he said.

"I said I would."

"I know. But I wasn't sure."

Sprout sat down across from him, close enough to see his face but not so close that it felt intimate. The moonlight was stronger here, away from the lights of Gardenview, and it made Astro look almost ethereal. Almost otherworldly.

"So," Sprout said. "Talk."

And Astro talked.

He talked about the sealed floors, about the things he'd seen down there, about the Twisted that were different from the others. He talked about Dandy, about the private meetings, about the questions he'd been asked and the answers he'd been forced to give. He talked about the moonlight, about the power that lived inside him, about the price he paid every time he used it.

And he talked about the map. The map he'd been building, secretly, for months. A map of the sealed floors, of the tunnels that connected them, of the paths that led deeper and deeper into the dark.

"There's something down there," he said. "Something old. Something that's been here longer than Gardenview. Longer than Dandy, maybe."

"What is it?"

"I don't know. But I think it's what's creating the Twisted. And I think Dandy knows."

Sprout absorbed this. It was a lot. Too much, maybe. But it fit. It fit with everything he'd seen, everything he'd suspected, everything he'd been too afraid to say out loud.

"Why are you telling me this?" he asked. "Why now?"

Astro was quiet for a long moment. When he spoke, his voice was barely a whisper.

"Because I'm tired of being alone."

And there it was. The truth, naked and simple. Astro was lonely. Astro was scared. Astro had been carrying this weight for months, years maybe, and he'd finally found someone he thought he could trust.

Sprout should have felt honored. He should have felt grateful. Instead, he felt angry.

"You should have told me sooner," he said. "You should have told someone. Anyone. Do you know how many toons have died down there? Do you know how many runs have gone wrong because we didn't know what we were walking into?"

"I know. I know, and I'm sorry. But I couldn't. Dandy watches me. He watches everyone. If I'd said anything, he would have known."

"So you just let us die?"

"I tried to protect you. I tried to keep you safe."

"By lying to me? By keeping secrets?"

"By doing what I had to do."

They stared at each other, the anger and the hurt and the fear crackling between them like static. Sprout wanted to hit him. Wanted to scream at him. Wanted to grab him and shake him until he understood how much damage he'd done.

But he didn't. Because underneath the anger, underneath the hurt, there was something else. Something that felt a lot like understanding.

"I don't forgive you," he said. "Not yet. Maybe not ever."

"I know."

"But I'll help you."

Astro blinked. "What?"

"I'll help you. With the map. With the investigation. With whatever you're planning. I'll help you."

"Why?"

Sprout thought about it. The answer was complicated. Partly it was because he wanted to know the truth. Partly it was because he wanted to protect the other toons, the ones who didn't know what was lurking beneath their feet. Partly it was because, despite everything, he couldn't just walk away.

But mostly it was because of the way Astro had looked at him last night, when he'd said they'd fight together. Surprised. Grateful. Like he'd never expected anyone to stand by him.

"Because someone has to," Sprout said. "And it might as well be me."

Astro looked at him for a long moment. Then, slowly, he smiled. It was a small smile, tentative, like he wasn't quite sure how to do it. But it was real.

"Thank you," he said.

"Don't thank me yet. We've got a lot of work to do."

"I know."

"And I'm still mad at you."

"I know."

"And if you lie to me again, I'll feed you to the Twisted myself."

"I know."

Sprout shook his head. "You're impossible."

"So I've been told."

They sat there in the dark, in the crumbling observatory, and for the first time since the elevator fell, Sprout felt something other than fear. Something other than anger. Something that might, if he let it, grow into something more.

He didn't know what the future held. He didn't know what they'd find in the depths of the sealed floors, or what Dandy was hiding, or what the thing in the dark wanted. But he knew one thing for certain.

He wasn't alone anymore.

And neither was Astro.