The crow had haunted the bowels of the Invincible Reason before. He had been the spectral shadow, a thing of darkness and talons, tearing apart any who hunted him. He had claimed an entire region of the capital ship as his own, taunting his brother by stealing what was his.

It was fitting, then, the Lion thought, that Konrad Curze should be deep in the night of the Reason once more. If he liked it so well, he should dwell in it. His domain was much smaller, though. It was a cell, isolated at the end of a long corridor, two hundred feet from the rest of the prison. An iron chair sat against the left wall for the Lion’s use. The chamber’s ceiling was low, not much more than ten feet above the deck. It was high enough, though. High enough to keep the Night Haunter suspended above the floor. Adamantium manacles the length of his forearms held him to the wall, his limbs outstretched. The crow’s wings were spread, but he would not fly. The door to the cell was ten feet thick. The walls were twice that. The cell was a vault. The crow was caged. There was nothing for him to haunt except memories.

And yet he smiled when the Lion entered the cell. Black lips stretched over black teeth. His white flesh was the colour of drowned hope. His eyes were dark as rotten blood. They glittered with madness, with pain, and with amusement born of perfect despair.

‘Do you really think it will be that easy?’ Curze said.

The Lion made a point of ignoring him. He walked past his brother and sat in the chair, judge and gaoler, forcing Curze to turn his head awkwardly to see him. Curze did, still smiling.

‘Do you?’ said Curze.

The Lion remained silent.

‘You are not going to Terra,’ Curze said.

The ship jolted, struck by a series of huge waves in the immaterium. The Lion waited for the deck to settle, then finally spoke. ‘You think not.’ He was not amusing himself. He was not here for petty reasons. He wanted to see what knowledge he could make Curze let slip. The Night Haunter’s vision was twisted, but he also saw further than any of his brothers. If the Lion could parse the lies from the hints, he might be left with fragments of the future to use in the struggle ahead.

Curze glanced up, as if looking through the ceiling. He frowned slightly, touched by curiosity. ‘My sense of wonder died long ago,’ he said. ‘And there isn’t much for me to wonder about any more. I know where everything leads. I know the truths you try to hide from yourself, brother. Even so, I wonder how you travel.’ He paused. The grin became an insinuation. ‘You do get around. Much more easily than Roboute or poor, suffering Sanguinius.’

‘I’m sure you have a point, Konrad.’