Then he was walking into the bookshelves. Which turned into a door fringed with green and gold.

Which he stepped into.

And was gone.

Rathven came in, holding her gun and a disgruntled Feral.

“Was someone in here with you, Finch?” She let Feral down. The cat ran to him, rubbed up against his legs.

Finch shook his head. “Talking to myself.” Leaned over to pet Feral. Felt like he’d escaped some great danger. Had come across the edge, the outline, of something that his map could not encompass. That neither Finch nor Crossley could ever understand.

Somewhere out there the Lady in Blue was readying for invasion. Somewhere Sintra was bringing the strange piece of metal to her superiors.

Somewhere Shriek was trying to come home.

And he was in a secret room surrounded by books, petting a cat.

From far above, he heard the mutter of mighty engines coming to life. A groaning, rending roar. A rising hum behind it. A metallic scream like the cry of a raptor.

The ceiling vibrated. The floor rumbled. A plume of dust. Feral looked up, concerned.

“I was coming to tell you, John,” Rathven said. “The towers are changing. The electricity is out. Everywhere.”

Panic and a surge of energy. “I’ve got to get to the roof to see it.”

She shook her head. “No, you don’t. You’re too weak. We can take the boat instead. The tunnel leads out to the bay.”

Wincing, he settled into the boat opposite Rathven. It felt strange to be in a boat not made by the gray caps. The wood so stiff. The lack of give beneath his feet. She lurched onto the seat opposite him. Set the lantern by her feet. Two gas masks there. Binoculars, too. Feral paced on the steps, watching them leave. Rathven had left food just in case.

Ribs of light from the lantern sent across the ceiling made it seem as if they traveled down the gullet of a great beast. Cool, under the earth. Overhead, there might be violence. There might be mobs. Street sweeps by the Partials. Poisonous clouds of fungus. Almost anything. But down here, there was just the shudder from the towers.

Were they entering a new life? Would it be better than the last? He didn’t know.

“They’ll sing your praises,” Rathven said. “If Shriek leads them back.” She stared at him as if the enormity of events had finally found her.

Have I done what’s best? Have I done the right thing or the wrong thing?

“They won’t even remember my name, Rath.”

“I will,” she said.

An emotion rose up in him that he didn’t think he deserved to feel. Facing each other. Two survivors. Gliding through a dark tunnel, headed for the light.

Now Finch can see the frailty death has lent them. Now Finch can see the vulnerability. The way the light uses them in the same way it uses him … and looks out across the damaged face of Ambergris.