All this time she’d assumed the pictures of ash falling, the strange moving image made with the models above, was a part of a plot to threaten the outside world. But no. The hoax hadn’t been planned to be used in the future; it had already been perpetrated. On these people. Rusts. They thought the world had been destroyed. And that they had been protected from it. “How long,” Marasi whispered, “have you been down here?” “Seven years now,”
