Finch sat down at his desk. Anger building in him. For having to go through the motions. At the casual cruelty of his position.

New case notes on his desk. In Blakely’s hand. A domestic dispute. A mugging. Someone had stolen someone else’s food. Someone’s dog had gone missing and the owner had filed a missing person’s report. Amazing how the mundane shit never ended. While the world went to hell. Again tried to chart the sequence of events that had led him to this moment. Couldn’t.

“Heard anything from Wyte?” he asked, to distract himself.

“He’s alive?” Gustat seemed shocked.

“Yes, he’s fucking well alive.” Then realized he hadn’t called in to the station after the shoot-out. Need to call Wyte. “Dapple’s dead, though. We had a shoot-out with rebels and Partials.” The words came out so matter-of-factly. So easily.

“Dapple’s dead,” Gustat said, hand still on the radio tuner. A blank stare into the distance. Began to cry. As if Dapple had been his best friend, instead of just tolerated.

Harsh laugh from Blakely. “Sorry we didn’t have a chance to catch up on your exploits before now. But last night we were too busy sticking it out here in the station next to a pile of corpses.”

“It happens, Gustat,” Finch said. With a toughness he didn’t feel. Ignoring Blakely. Hadn’t expected Gustat’s tears. Hadn’t expected a lot of things. Wondered how much longer he could endure it. When would whatever kept him going run out?

“Look in your memory hole, Finch,” Blakely said.

A message? He leaned down. Pulled the pod out uneasily, with the other two watching. Went through the ritual of opening it. Just a note. From Heretic.

PLANS HAVE CHANGED. FILE A FINAL REPORT ON YOUR CASE. THEN REPORT WITH WYTE TO THE TOWERS FOR WORK DETAIL.

A vast improvement over the last message.

Blakely’s face held fear and smugness all at once. “You’re off the case. He told us before he left. The case is over.”

Incredulous: “Who is taking it over, then?”

“No one. Working on the towers is punishment for what happened at the safe house. If you ask me, you got off light. He was in a good mood. Calm. Almost happy. Even when he put them to sleep.” A tilt of the head toward the holding cage.

“You’ve got to work on the towers,” Gustat said, still messing with his radio. An odd look on his face, halfway between a frown and a smile. “Thanks for the reminder,” Finch said. “Now fuck off.”

“Cheer up,” Blakely said. “I don’t think Heretic’s coming back. I don’t think anyone’s coming back.”

The clock ticked. The phone on Finch’s desk rang a few times. Mostly people scared because of the destruction of the Spit. Even though the towers had done nothing since. Some of the people who called even had some small hope he could help them. But they were living in the grip of memories of the old days. A past that had never really existed.