Inaya watched him. She wanted to know what had happened, and why he was running with Nyx again. “We have surveillance on Jolique’s house. I can tell you if anyone came in recently. When would they have been in?”

“Early last night.”

“Easy enough,” Inaya said.

Nyx stepped forward. “Not you,” Inaya said. She motioned to Rhys. “Come back and I’ll show you what we have,” she said.

Rhys exchanged a look with Nyx. Nyx shrugged.

Inaya stepped back into the corridor with Rhys. They walked together through the crowded halls, through coded doors, and a final filter before they reached the communication room.

“This is an impressive setup,” Rhys said when he saw her activate the slide.

“It took many years to build,” Inaya said. “And only a few weeks to destroy.”

“Much of life is like that,” he said.

Inaya called up surveillance on Jolique’s house. “You’re in luck,” she said. “I had a check in at midnight. No one went in or out from dusk to midnight.”

“We’re a few hours from dawn now,” Rhys said. “I suppose they could have moved then.”

“Surely if they were moving a prisoner they would wait for daylight,” Inaya said. “The streets aren’t exactly safe.”

“Then it’s possible we can set up an ambush. Do you have the address?”

Inaya wrote it down for him, and handed it over.

“How long have you been with her?” Inaya asked.

“Just a few days.”

“Where’s Elahyiah?”

Rhys dropped his gaze. “Safe,” he said. “And where is Khos?”

“The same,” she said, and realized then that they had nothing to talk about. They had made their choices.

“Come,” she said, “let’s not keep Nyx from her bloodbath.”

42.

Rhys watched the house from the rooftop of a local bakery. Jolique so Romaud lived six blocks from the church in a walled compound that Nyx had been happy to climb right into. He was astonished at the lack of filters in the city. The architecture was different from anything he’d ever seen; spires and monstrous statues and saints’ niches clotted the city. Everything was built close together, practically on top of each other, with twisted, winding ways that often ended abruptly in walled-over doors. He wore a long coat and hat, hopeful the darkness would shield them all a while longer. Safiyah didn’t want to risk holding a glamour and fighting with bugs at the same time unless they had to. In the daylight, a Chenjan and three Nasheenians would stand out like grasshoppers among roaches. Dark clouds and driving rain helped, he supposed. Right now, he was not particularly thankful for the rain, but knew he would be later.

A cloud of red beetles hovered just above his head. He and Ahmed kept a channel open. It was more secure than transceivers, less secure than a com, but served the same purpose.