Bliss sat back, tapping his foot against the floor. “You want the truth? Shriek was dumb luck. A wild card. Something to hold in reserve. He was like a spigot once I found a way to pry him out of his protective shell. Like a man left on a desert island for a hundred years. He would’ve talked to anyone.”

“And you found him next to Samuel Tonsure’s bones, of all people. And then you ‘found’ that magical strip of metal. The one that wasn’t made by us or by gray caps. You even found the doors before the rebels did. Did you also tell them the soldiers in the HFZ weren’t all dead, just lost?”

A sly smile. “It’s a skill, Finch. Finding things. Leveraging them. My goals and the goals of the rebels are the same. For the moment. Although it’s a very long game we’re playing here.” The eyes not smiling at all.

“Where did you find the metal?”

A hiss of impatience from Bliss. “I understand, Finch. I really do. You won’t be working for me. You don’t care who your mother is. Your father is a hero, not a traitor. Now just give me that fucking piece of metal, or we’ll do it the hard way. We’ll do it the hardest possible way.”

Finch turned away from a thought that truly terrified him. That Bliss didn’t work for the Kalif at all. That Dar Sardice was just the first of the masks he knew about. That the “long game” was beyond comprehension.

The sounds of oars from beyond the open doors. Of a boat thudding up against the steps.

“That’ll be Rathven,” Bliss said. “Do you really want to involve her in this?”

No, he didn’t.

“I don’t have it. Sintra took it from me in the apartment,” Finch said. Almost triumphant. Almost proud of Sintra. “There was nothing I could do. The Dogghe have it now. I couldn’t stop her.”

Bliss erupted from his seat. Suddenly seemed twice as tall. Mouth open in an expression of rage beyond any caricature Finch had ever seen.

Flinched before it. Pushed back in his chair. Waited for the blow, but couldn’t look away.

Bliss’s eyes were dead. Something else shone through. Something hostile. Something alien. Like a mask had slipped. Peering out through the urbane little man’s face was something other.

Then it was gone. Bliss was just Bliss. “No matter,” he said, with a smile that cut. “A complication soon solved.” But Finch didn’t think it would be that easy. Hoped it wouldn’t.

Footsteps walking up the stairs.

A reptilian smile from Bliss.

“You’re just a spectator now, Finch. Just another pawn. But I’ll leave you with this: Did you ever stop to think that maybe Wyte represents the future of this city? That maybe you’re the past. Still living, but the past nonetheless. There will be a day you’ll remember this conversation in a much different light.”