He carried the paper with him on the way to Glain’s room, but she wasn’t there. Not in the common rooms or the gymnasium or the Serapeum or the target range. He sent her a Codex message and got no reply.

So he set out for the Lighthouse.

Scholar Prakesh’s office lights were on, and Jess pressed the button that would have alerted someone inside, but there was no answer. He knocked. Still nothing. When he tried the door handle, it opened, and he stepped inside. Prakesh’s office was just as he remembered: a warm combination of clutter and organization. Her handwritten notes were still on the chalkboards that lined the room.

He walked to the left, to Dario’s office.

Dario sat behind the desk. He had a glass in front of him full of a dark red liquid, and a bottle beside it. He looked up when Jess appeared in the doorway, lifted the glass, and downed half of it in a gulp. “Sit down,” he said. “Join me.” He put out another glass from a desk drawer and unsteadily poured it full. Jess took it and sniffed. Not wine. It had an interesting herbal, fruity smell. “It’s Pacharán, from Spain. Gift from my father.”

“What is it?”

“Alcoholic,” Dario said. “Come on. We’re drinking to my vast stupidity. Where’s Glain? Surely she wouldn’t miss the chance to rub it in.”

Jess said nothing. He sipped the liquid. Strong, all right, with a deceptively fruity taste. Dario had been crying; that was clear from the red, swollen state of his eyes. He’d also had a fit of temper. Papers littered the floor, no doubt brushed off the desk to make room for the drink.

“I was wrong,” Dario said. “Say it.”

“You took a chance,” Jess replied. “We’ve all taken them. I’m sorry it came out this way. She was—”

“She was brilliant. Brilliant.” Dario’s voice broke, and tears beaded in his eyes. He tried to blink them away, but they broke free and he had to angrily wipe them away. “She liked me. She trusted me. I got her killed.”

“It might have been an accident,” Jess said, but it sounded hollow even to his own ears.

Dario tossed off the rest of his drink and refilled the glass. “Shut up and drink.”

It took some time, but Jess finished what he’d been served, and before he was halfway through he was feeling the effects. Dario had two glasses to his one, and no doubt more before that. He tried to pour another out for Jess, but Jess quickly pulled the glass back. “That’s enough,” he said, and reached over to stopper the bottle. “You’ve had enough, believe me.”

“It wasn’t an accident,” Dario blurted, and drained the last of his drink. “She never walked in front of a carriage in her life. It was murder, and it was because of what I did. Her blood is on my hands—don’t try to tell me anything else.”

Jess didn’t. He let silence set for a moment, then said, “We all knew this would cost lives. Ours, our friends’, maybe our families’. Going against the Archivist is a blood sport.”