“Our killer is a Faceless Immortal,” Waxillium said, starting down the steps again. “A creature who calls herself Bleeder. She can change shapes by taking the bones of the dead, and she’s been driven mad. Even Harmony doesn’t know her purposes.”

Marasi followed him down, trying to swallow that. Mistwraiths and kandra… those were things out of the Historica, not real life. Then again, once she would have said that men like Miles Hundredlives and Waxillium Dawnshot were men out of stories. They’d lived up to the legends to a surprising degree.

“So that could be her,” Marasi said, gesturing toward the wall separating them from the prisoner. “She could have any shape, any face! Why are you so sure this isn’t the killer?”

“Because the governor is still alive,” Waxillium said softly. “The creature who’s behind this casually murdered Winsting in a saferoom, behind a wall of guards, after intentionally starting a firefight in the room above. She wouldn’t be caught like this. It’s a taunt.” He looked to Marasi. “But I can’t be certain, not a hundred percent. So I need you to know what we’re up against.”

She nodded to him and he nodded back, then he led the way out of the stairwell and around the corner toward the interrogation room. Marasi took a bit of satisfaction in the fact that the corporal there looked to her for authorization before opening the door for Waxillium.

The poor captive inside sat with his arms tied tight, staring at the table in front of him. He muttered softly. Waxillium walked straight up to the table and took the other seat, settling down and putting his hat on the table. Marasi lingered back, where—in case they were wrong about the prisoner—she’d be out of reach but able to offer aid.

Waxillium tapped the table with his index finger, as if trying to decide what to say. The prisoner, Rian, finally looked up.

“She said you’d come talk to me,” Rian said softly.

“She?” Waxillium said.

“God.”

“Harmony?”

“No. She said I had to kill the governor. Had to attack him. I tried not to listen…”

Waxillium narrowed his eyes. “You met her? What did she look like? What face was she wearing?”

“You can’t save him,” Rian whispered. “She’s going to kill him. She promised me freedom, but here I am, bound. Oh, Ruin.” He took a deep breath. “There is something for you. In my arm.”

“In your…” Waxillium actually seemed disturbed. Marasi took an unconscious step forward, noticing for the first time a small bulge in the prisoner’s forearm.

Before she could quote the legal problems with doing so, Waxillium stood up and took that arm, making a quick slice in the skin. He pulled something out, bloody. A coin? Marasi stepped forward again as the prisoner reached to his head with his bleeding arm and started humming to himself.