The hatch behind him opened. Out unfolded the gawky frame of the Photographer. Once upright, he walked across to Finch. Holding something that seemed to absorb the light in his long fingers. Compact. Functional. Deadly.

“Here, take it,” the Photographer said. As if Finch needed prompting.

Finch loved the weight as his right hand closed over it. Had a cold, comforting heft. A Lewden Special: a vicious snub-nosed semiautomatic. He’d used one during the wars. Taken it off a dead man. Liked it. Liked it almost too much. Could reload quickly. Accurate fire. Used bullets that ended things. Bullets that exploded inside the body. Would cause even a gray cap an acute case of indigestion. Finch hadn’t expected something this good.

Gave the Photographer a sly look. “What, exactly, did you do before the Rising?”

On the Photographer a smile looked grim. “I took photos.” No other information was forthcoming.

Finch looked at him for a moment, then dropped it. “Ammo?”

“Yes,” the Photographer said. Handed over ten clips. Twenty bullets in each.

Finch’s eyebrows rose. He’d only asked for five clips. Looked at the Photographer as if to say What do you know that I don’t?

“How much?”

“Nothing now. Maybe a favor, later.”

“Just make sure to ask while I can still grant favors.” Wry laugh.

“Or while I still need them.” The Photographer’s expression revealed neither humor nor the lack of it.

Listening with only one ear. Thoughts wandering back to the transcript. The two towers. A strange door. The rebels have a weapon.

Which rebels? came a question from a voice in his head. The ones in Ambergris or the ones in the HFZ?

They turned to watch the city at dusk. The unexpected phosphorescence in places. As if the sun’s death throes. The now-dull green glow rippling from the bay. The towers were still being worked on nonstop. Finch could almost imagine them complete now.

“What do you think the towers are for?” Finch asked the Photographer.

A gleam of interest entered the Photographer’s dead black eyes. “Sometimes I dream. I dream it’s a giant camera. And it’s taking pictures of places we can’t see.”

Rathven let him in without a word. She locked the door behind them quickly.

“There have been strangers in the building the last couple days,” she told him.

“I know,” he said. Some of them may even have been here to visit you. Glad of the weight of the gun in his jacket pocket. Trust wasn’t something Finch gave up lightly. But he was willing to give it up.

“Why do you think they’re here?”

“No idea.” Not entirely true.