“True,” Wyte said, but he frowned, like he didn’t totally agree. “So then they talk about gold, but not real gold. The gray cap seemed to be taunting them a bit. And after that, they’re following up on information that led them to believe the gray caps know about some weapon the rebels have.”

Agent #1: Do you mean the door? Or do you mean real gold?

Agent #2: We’ll let you go if you just tell us—what is this weapon the rebels have?

“And there’s that mention of the two towers.” Finch searched through the pages, found it. “Here—‘been where you were not. But you’ll never read them. Not before we finish the towers.’ And then one agent asks about the door again. What does that mean?”

Wyte shook his head. “I don’t know.”

They stood there. Looking at each other. As if the answer might appear between them through sheer force of will.

What did Stark know? Maybe he didn’t know anything. Maybe he was flushing out information like he’d flushed out two detectives by messing with Bliss.

“A rebel weapon. Strange doors. Gold that isn’t gold. The two towers.” Finch laughed. “Fuck if I know what it means.” And he didn’t, not really, even though answers kept niggling at the edges of his thoughts.

“But maybe we know how Bliss escaped,” Wyte said.

Using magic. Using trapdoors. Maybe he turned into a door himself. Finch put that aside for later.

“Heretic is going to want another report. By tonight.” He’d promised not to leave anything out. Didn’t dare leave anything out. “At least we’ve got a couple of addresses.” Finch wondered if Wyte was as relieved as he was at the prospect of having real leads.

“Want me to check them out?”

Finch: “Just the one.”

Wyte: “Which one?”

“Where they tortured the gray cap.”

Where they both died because they didn’t finish the job properly. Searched for it in the transcript, pointed to it with his finger: “22 East Lake Street. But for Truff’s sake, use a proxy. Get one of your snitches to do it for you. Watch from down the street just in case. If the gray caps have the place under surveillance, you don’t want to just walk right up to it.”

“What about the other address?”

Lowering his voice as a Partial passed by on the other side of the street: “If it’s a real lead and not something Stark stuck into the transcript to fuck with us, it’s too dangerous. A rebel safe house? Not even clear the gray cap knew what they were talking about? Wyte, that’s a job for Partials. I’ll put that in my report to Heretic. But I have to leave out the part about a tortured gray cap, and where we got the information. Which means, we need to check out the torture address ourselves.”