“I left out nothing important,” Finch said. “Up to that point.”

Heretic said something in his own language that sounded like a child arguing with a click beetle. Then, a half-expected blade held to the throat: “What about the scrap of paper the Partial says you took from the body?”

The symbol. The strange words. What would Heretic tell him about the Silence if he asked? Nothing. He’d kill Finch. Or worse.

Out of sudden fear, a strange calm. Later, he realized it felt like losing control even as he gained it. An echoing faint laughter that became the sound of hammers working on the two towers in the bay. That became water slapping against the wall in Rathven’s basement.

Words left his mouth. “There was a man in the memories I recognized. I didn’t put it in the report because I wanted to investigate first. It related to the paper in the dead man’s hand.” Lying.

Falling through cold air and he couldn’t feel his legs.

“Explain.”

“A man called Ethan Bliss.” And then the flood: “A Morrow agent active for Frankwrithe & Lewden, during the War of the Houses. I tracked him down today with Wyte, but he … slipped away. I’m following up. I put in a request for his file along with my report.”

If we can’t find him, we’ll go after Stark.

Heretic seemed to consider that, then asked, “And the scrap of paper?”

“I’m still investigating what it means. I’ll put it all into my report for tomorrow.”

“And the list I gave you, of people who lived in that apartment?”

Finch relaxed a little. “I’m still working on it. By tomorrow afternoon I should know more.” If Rathven’s finished by then.

Heretic considered this statement for a long time, then said, “You have withheld information from me. You haven’t even finished with the list. From now on, you will report every day. You are to tell me everything. Do not leave it to your judgment.”

Finch opened his mouth to speak. Heretic said words that sounded like kith vrisdresn zorn. Snapped his fingers.

The skery wound itself around Finch’s legs and tightened. Sudden tingling paralysis. He could not move away. Could not fall. Choking on his own breath. The paralysis brought with it an image of an endless field of dim stars, one by one extinguished. A gulf and a void. Finch was as afraid as he had ever been in his life. Because he didn’t know what he was looking at, or why.

Try to breathe. Slowly. Breathe slowly.

The skery curled its way up to his chest. Around his neck. It pulled tight so he was gasping in his motionlessness. He felt something like sharp leaves or thorns up against his neck. An impression of lips. A sharp, smoky scent. Half the field of stars had gone out. There was more darkness than light.