Dawn had not come to Red Sand Dam for three days.
It was not overcast. It was not an eclipse. The very event of the sun "rising" had been plucked out of cause and effect.
When Serina and her companions reached the crest of the dam, Temari stood on the floodgate control platform, clutching her ever-present three-section Iron Fan so tightly her knuckles had turned white. Below the dam, Red Sand Canyon looked as though it had been flooded with ink. There were no stars, no moonlight. Even the dam's own searchlights had dwindled to pale halos that could not reach thirty feet. Beyond that lay pure void, where even the concept of "black" did not exist.
"The workers have stopped." Temari did not turn around. Her voice was terribly hoarse. "Not because they're tired. They just think, 'What's the point of fixing this dam?' Last night, thirty-seven people tried to open the gates. They said we couldn't stop the next black-water flood anyway, so we might as well release the water ourselves and get death over with. I stopped them, but I can't stop them every day."
She turned around. She had not slept for three days. Her Forehead Protector sat crooked, and the whites of her eyes were bloodshot.
"The children don't ask, 'What are we eating tomorrow?' anymore. They ask, 'Will there even be a tomorrow?'"
Soundless crouched beside the dam, his Erosion eye fixed on the darkness deep within the canyon. His dull gray pupil rotated slowly, as though searching through the layers of rules.
"The Devourer of Light." His voice sounded as dry as sandpaper scraping iron. "It doesn't eat light. It eats 'expectations of tomorrow.' The sun is still there. Earth is still turning. Dawn will still come-but it's pulled the expectation that 'dawn