Stark wrenched Finch’s head back by his hair. “They’re working all night on the towers, Finchy. All night. Like there’s a deadline suddenly. Driving people past their limits. Until they’re dying. Until they’re falling from the scaffolding. Why are they doing that, Finch? Why are the towers so important? And what’s it got to do with that apartment, Finchy? And what’s that got to do with the rebel safe house, Finchy? And how is all of this going to benefit me?”

With every question, Stark seemed smaller. More brutish.

A wash of stars. An underground sea. A thousand green lights out in the desert.

“You’re the professional spy, Stark. Why don’t you figure it out?” Made professional sound small.

Somehow that made Stark laugh. “I’m trying, Finch. Believe me, I’m trying. But people like you make it so difficult.” Stark nodded.

They let him fall to the ground. Bosun tossed his gun back to him.

Stark leaned down. “There are no professionals here, Finchy. We’re all amateurs. That’s what makes us dangerous. Now, you’d better start getting results. You’d better start thinking about your future. What’s left of it. Or all the lovely people around you are going to suffer. Starting sooner than you think. And if that doesn’t work, we’ll just come for you. There’s not much time left. This is your last warning.”

Had the feel of a well-worn speech.

Stark stalked off, the rest behind him. Leaving Finch beside the two corpses.

Above them all: the towers. Finch saw that the blackness between them was different than to either side. Showed no stars. Blurred, with the vague impression of shadowy nighttime scenes sliding across. Fast.

Now he knew why.

Back in the hotel. Near midnight. Didn’t know for sure. Approached the landing below the seventh floor. Heard Feral hissing at something. Saw a flickering, golden light that projected a circle of fire. Elongated and slanted down the hallway. Distorted further by the fungus on the walls. A rank smell, like too-strong perfume.

Bliss? The Partial?

Already had his Lewden out. Slowly walked up the steps. Saw Feral, fur puffed out, standing a few feet from his door. Staring up the source of the light. The thing had attached itself to the door. It looked like a golden brooch with filigree detail extending out in wavy branches or tendrils. From that angle, he could see the transparent cilia underneath. Almost looked like a larger cousin of the starfish he’d seen in the underground cavern.

Came closer, gun aimed at it. Arms shaking a little.

Feral saw him and scurried over to stand next to him. Now a low growl came from the cat’s throat.

From ten feet away, the front of the organism had the look of pure gold. A rough flower pattern. In the middle, a closed aperture divided into four parts.