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.”

No indication from those eyes of what to expect.

“I look like shit. I feel like shit.”

“Better that than dead,” Bliss said, walking into the room. “Since you’re still alive, I assume the mission was successful.”

“Wouldn’t you know already?”

“The towers will be operational very soon. Then we’ll know. Where’s the piece of metal Shriek used, Finch?”

“You’ve healed well,” Finch said, ignoring him. “Almost as if I never hit you.”

Bliss pulled up a chair next to the map. “I took a vacation. Somewhere remote. Somewhere I expected would be a little less … exciting … than it was.” An enigmatic smile. “I see you are busy changing the map. A little premature, don’t you think?” Bliss’s features hardened. “The mission is complete?”

“Yes,” Finch admitted. “There were complications. But it’s done.” Hesitant to tell him just how many complications.

Bliss nodded. “Nothing ever happens the way we think it will. Now, where’s that piece of metal?”

“I have a few questions first.”

“Questions?”

“I’ve been doing a lot of thinking,” Finch said. “In between passing out. When I haven’t been pissing blood. About things like whether or not you really work for the rebels. Maybe Ethan Bliss does, but not Dar Sardice.”

A pause, then, as if deciding whether or not to play along with him. Then: “Very good, Finch. Keep going.”

“You share information with the rebels, yes, but you don’t work for them. Even if they think so.”

“Excellent, Finch!” A kind of forced cheeriness. “So who do I work for?”

“You were Dar Sardice before you were Ethan Bliss. It’s the oldest name you’re known by. You knew my father. You said you worked with him. My father was deep in Kalif territory during much of the campaign. Working on engineering projects for the Ambergris army. Often shuttling back and forth behind the front lines. You met him then, I think, not after he returned to Ambergris.”