A rock. The making at the heart of the world. Were they all that different?

Now isn't the time to get philosophical. Zoya ignores helping the clean-up for now, preferring not to get lost in the mess when she's learning something new (or having information confirmed).

She can't help her rough sigh. "Just what I need. More problems." With a shake of her head, she regards the thin layer of debris lining the road. She considers asking what's on her mind. If the temperamental Singularity is the source of all magic here—and, seemingly, the chains keeping them bound to this world's bedpost—then there has to be a way out.

"Does anyone know how to return home?"