Strange, but when he closed his eyes he had an image of the hotel above them restored to its former grandeur. A concierge and porter in the lobby. Someone behind the desk waiting to take his key. Sintra in an evening gown. They’d be about to take a motored vehicle to the opera. The streets would be busy with merchants and people coming home from work. The buildings, the storefronts, would be bright and cheery with lights. Like it had been in those mayfly beautiful moments between wars, before the Rising.

Waiting for a bomb to fall through the ceiling. Waiting for Partials to come up the tunnel to kill or arrest him. Waiting for salvation or disaster to come tumbling out of the space between the towers.

When he couldn’t stand what he was feeling, he shook the shadows from his head. Went over to the map of Ambergris and the overlay. Removed the globe and star chart to fit them on the main table. Didn’t know if it was Finch or Crossley who liked working on the project. Or both.

Rathven had just left to get some more supplies. She’d told him it was Sunday morning. Ordered him to get back on the cot.

Whatever is coming through the towers, the world will change again.

Still, for now, the world had only changed a little. He used a soft cloth on the map to erase what had been lost. Slowly, with regret, removed the Spit. Knew that even if parts survived, no one lived there now. Erased the station. Removed the words “Wyte’s apartment.” Removed the words “bell tower.” Didn’t think any of the detectives would ever go back there. Each red mushroom on his map, he now changed to a symbol indicating a fortified position. Added Stark’s mushroom house, whether occupied now or not. Added the towers in the bay, which he had resisted until he knew they were complete. Out of fear? He didn’t know.

Question: How could I know they would burn the body?

Answer: Because it would’ve been stupid for them not to.

The memory bulbs he’d eaten. The feel of Sintra’s body beside him in bed. The full and terrible force of Heretic’s gaze. The Partial’s scorn for his weakness. The look in the Lady in Blue’s eyes as she tried to convince him. The ruined fortress.

Then: disrupting his thoughts, a flash of gold-green light. A fizzling, popping sound. The sounds of footsteps coming up the stairs.

Finch stood up beside his map, grabbed his gun.

Bliss appeared at the edge of the carpet. Dark smudges on his face. The ragged edges of his jacket had a burnt look to them. His dark pants had darker stains on them.

“I should be more surprised,” Finch said. And he wasn’t. Just scared. Another test to pass.

An odd dueling smugness and humility to Bliss’s expression. “Rathven has fewer secrets than she thinks, and I have more. You look well.”