On the morning I turned eighteen, the city's awakening hall gave me two gifts that sounded like a joke: I was strongest on ground I called home, and I could carry that home with me. My classmates drew fire, steel, speed, and the kind of gifts that earned a place on the celebrated roaming crews. I got a power that seemed to reward staying put. Then the people who ran our city offered to make my gift useful by putting my name on a contract I could never leave. I refused, took the road beyond the harbor, and learned how much a home could hold when people chose it together. But if I kept moving, could I protect the people who had finally begun to trust me?