“So, boy,” Naumoriel said. “You have found your ‘Tomb.’ What do you think of it?”

The old ghoul sat in a chair by the window. Or not a chair, Gyre realized as he turned, but a chair-shaped construct, moving precisely on eight jointed, spindly legs. It rotated to face him and glided forward, keeping absolutely level, so that its occupant was not disturbed. The room around him was full of odd structures, tables with multiple levels and complicated armatures, standing columns of crystal-strewn stone that could have been art projects or unknown arcana. The cluttered space put him in mind of Lynnia’s workshop.

“It’s not what I expected,” Gyre said honestly.

Naumoriel’s chair stalked closer. The old ghoul’s gray fur was patchy, but his huge eyes were disconcertingly intense in person. The plate that covered part of his chest shifted as he breathed, the tendrils connecting it to his flesh pulsing in unison.

“You expected a ruin you could loot,” Naumoriel said. “It’s all your kind have ever been good for, picking at the leavings of your betters.”

Gyre inclined his head in acknowledgment. Naumoriel snorted.

“And yet you knew better,” he said. “Kit must have warned you what would happen if you found us.”

“She did,” Gyre said. “But she came here and was allowed to return alive.”

“Under unique circumstances.”

“I thought I would take the risk.”

“Why?” Naumoriel gestured upward. “Going through the sun-lovers’ trash wasn’t enough for you?”

Gyre hesitated under the gaze of those dark eyes. Whatever he said, it would be a gamble. But just being here is a gamble, and everything’s already on the table. Might as well raise the stakes.

“Because I want to destroy them,” he said. “The Republic, the Order. I want to break them once and for all.”

Naumoriel cocked his head, waiting.

“The Order did this.” Gyre tapped his ruined eye. “They destroyed my family. They dragged my sister away and turned her into one of their soldiers. When I started, that was enough for me to hate them, but it’s worse than that. In the name of keeping humanity safe, they put their boot on anyone trying to make a better life. We have bound ourselves to a corpse, and the Twilight Order is the shackles.” Gyre spread his hands. “I want to set humanity free.”

“Bold words,” Naumoriel mused. “But Elariel tells me a single one of their centarchs sent you scurrying for cover.”