After another hour, just as it slipped toward night, the front door opened and Brendan stepped out. He looked as Jess remembered him from Alexandria, but back in English clothing as finely made as what their father liked to boast, even down to the fancy silk waistcoat. He turned to survey the skyline, maybe tracking signs of fire, and then turned and stretched. He looked very tired.

Jess took off his cap and stepped forward into the light. Brendan looked around, up and down the street, then made a sharp movement for Jess to cross the street. Once he had, Brendan grabbed him and shoved him inside with such force, it almost seemed desperate. He closed and locked the town house door behind them.

Inside, the place was just the way Jess remembered it, down to the wear on the curled banister and the flower arrangement his mother replaced daily on the hall table. It seemed oddly smaller, though, for all the luxurious little touches spread around. He turned on Brendan, intending to let loose a flood of questions, but before he could, his brother embraced him hard.

“Idiot,” Brendan said. “You bloody idiot!” He shoved him back almost as quickly. “What corpse did you pick those rags off of? They smell foul.”

“They’re supposed to,” Jess said. He looked over Brendan’s shoulder. “Where’s Father?”

“I don’t know. He vanished and we haven’t heard anything from him. Whoever has his Codex—”

“Is impersonating him, I know. Garda?”

“The Garda have bigger problems than the Brightwells. Must be some Library spy. Welsh troops are burning through the city from one end to the other, you know, and half the city’s either running in panic or planning to join the Garda to fight. He’d been working on clearing the best pieces out for days.”

“We’ll have to find him.”

“I was working on it,” Brendan said. “I didn’t even know you’d survived, Jess.”

“I see you’re in full mourning.”

“Well, I didn’t fully believe it,” Brendan said. “You’re a bad penny, Jess. Can’t get rid of you. What happened?”

Jess explained it as briefly as he could. He didn’t want to tell Brendan about the disaster at the Black Archives quite yet. He couldn’t stomach talking about it. When he blinked, he could still see those books dying.

See himself watching them die.

“Your friends? Where are they?” Brendan asked. “I’m assuming you didn’t do the sensible thing and leave them.”

“They’re close,” Jess said. Funny. He trusted his twin just so far and not a step more. “Where should I take them?”

“The warehouse for now,” his brother said. “Mother’s carried off the family treasures with her to cousin Frederick. The warehouse is just a gathering spot for the men. The plan was that we’ll join them there once we have cargo on wagons and safely away. But now that Father’s gone, we probably should be gone from here soon, in case the High Garda come looking.”

“Brendan. About Neksa—”

“She’s all right?” His brother looked at him, and it was an unguarded kind of dread. Jess had hit rather harder than he expected.