Forest was exhausted. The devils hadn’t put him in a cage, but the room they’d assigned him hadn’t been much better. Or it was. There was a cot of sorts he could sleep on, and he had free access to a bathroom while on the ship. Food had been worse. They’d given him the cardboard-tasting bars once a day, like the woodlice had, and he was fading away. His dirty clothes hung loose on his body, and he was finding it hard to think. He was dizzy, and his mind foggy.

He touched the neck wallet he still had underneath his shirt. He was amazed no one had taken it from him. Though, there wasn’t much to take. His passport was of no use now, and neither was his money, but he had three sketching pencils and a small drawing pad. For some reason, they had become all he cared about. A link to his real life.

He’d been on his way to the airport, on his way to Europe to see where all the cool painters had hung out in Paris and Florence and other places he’d only read about. He’d been a queer kid with dreams of becoming a famous artist, only to realize it didn’t happen for people like him and studied to become a high school art teacher instead.

Art was still his passion, and he sketched and painted when time allowed it, went to exhibits and museums in his free time, and so on. Art was part of his essence, even Harmony agreed. She believed he had a special connection to it, and while he didn’t believe her, it was hard not to agree when she spoke of art’s importance for people’s well-being. A life without art isn’t worth living.

He clutched the neck wallet, counted the three pencils, and waited.

One of the devils had taken him to a house, and for the last five minutes, they’d been standing outside it. He had no idea what they were doing there, but ever since they landed or docked or whatever a few hours ago, the devil standing next to him had been with him. He hadn’t spoken, hadn’t smiled, had hardly blinked.

It was disconcerting.

They’d walked on gravel roads, the grounds a pale sandy color, and the buildings exotic but familiar, except they were lacking soul. Harmony would’ve been pleased by the observation. Maybe the way people built houses around the universe was similar, but on Earth, you could admire architecture. Here the buildings were square boxes of different sizes. There were no ornaments, no towers, no pillars or decorative fences, nothing. Square, smooth walls, all in the same grayish color wherever he looked. It had unease curling in his gut. There hadn’t been so much as a flowerpot on a doorstep as they’d walked through the town. They’d walked by trees, and while he didn’t recognize them as anything you’d find on Earth, they had brown trunks and green leaves. The vegetation was similar to what he was used to, though foreign enough to be a little scary. What if something was poisonous?

Forest blew out a breath and slumped his shoulders. What the hell were they doing here? He contemplated trying some sort of sign language with the guard or whatever he was, but all attempts of communication had fallen flat so far.

The devils weren’t stupid. He’d seen them interact with each other, and they obviously had a functioning society and spaceships and stuff, which made him suspect they might be further along than humans were, but the soullessness was getting to him.

He opened his mouth to speak when motion farther down the road caught his attention. A devil was coming their way with determined steps. He looked huge. The one who’d led him around all day was no tiny thing, but the one coming toward them ... Forest's heart beat uncomfortably fast.

His guard took a step away.

“Hey. Where are you going?”

The guard gave him one last blank stare and walked away. Forest made to follow him, but the one approaching grabbed his arm.

“No! Stop. Let go.” Forest yanked, and the devil spoke in a low tone. He had no idea what he was saying, but he tugged him toward the door.