Finch watched Shriek assemble the metal strip. Must’ve been some button or other mechanism hidden in the symbols. Because in Shriek’s hands the strip of metal clicked, and like some kind of magician he began to pull more metal out of it. Until he had a length of metal as tall as a man. As tall as Shriek.

“Whoever created this also created the doors,” Shriek said as he worked. “But I’ve never found them. Granted, I was more interested in the gray caps.”

“Where did you find it?”

“Bliss found it. Somewhere far, far away.”

Bliss, again. Finch beyond surprise.

“What does it do?”

Shriek pulled it sideways, with a motion almost like pulling apart something soft, crumbly. A piece of bread or a biscuit. A frame began to appear.

“It focuses my abilities. Like a lens.”

When he had persuaded it into a rectangular shape, roughly door-like, Shriek knelt. Pressed the frame into the air like he was hanging a painting.

Let go of it.

It didn’t fall. Made a snapping sound and it stayed there. About two feet off the ground. No flicker or waver. Static. Solid. Still. An intense but narrow gold-green light invested the edges of the metal. Made the symbols glow. The space inside the frame continued to show the window beyond it.

“It will be a minute or two before I can leave,” Shriek said. Finch said. As Finch had watched, it had almost been like watching himself do it. A ghost watching its body move about the apartment.

“What happens next?” Finch asked.

“I complete the mission. Time doesn’t work the way we think it works. Not really. I’ll go into the HFZ to pick up the trail. From there, I will journey years and worlds away and return. An army gathered with me. I will be the beacon, the light, that guides them.”

Words came tumbling out Finch hadn’t known were there. “Why? Why do it? What does it matter to someone”—something—“so old. Who is so … removed”—alien—“from all of this.”

The intensity of his need to know shocked him.

A sad, lonely smile. “The truth? None of my books ever changed anything. Nothing I did changed anything. I always tried, and I always failed. But Bliss helped me to see that failing a hundred times didn’t mean you had to fail every time.”

“And you trust Bliss?”

“About this? Yes. Even if I am just an echo, this is the last chance.”

“It’s too late to put things right,” Finch said. “Too much has gone wrong.” Ruined neighborhoods. The vacant stares of the people from the camps. The fighting in the streets. The effects of decades of near-constant war.

“As much as they can be put right, Finch,” Shriek said.

“And after? What then?”

Shriek’s dark gaze, from a dark place. The rectangle hanging in the air like a magic trick. A terrible power. Something in between.