Di

Mellifare’s eyes flickered red. He heard the whisper of the song—the HIVE—and he knew in that instant that she had caught on to their ploy. She bared her teeth. “You tricked me!”

Di took a cautious step back.

The Great Dark outstretched her arms and curled her fingers, as if gripping strings in midair, and pulled them taut. The garden suddenly shifted. Di felt it tilt just enough for a champagne glass to slide off a dessert table and go rolling into the bushes. A couple stumbled. A mumble rushed across the crowd.

“What’s happening?” someone shouted. “Why’s the garden—”

Mellifare raised her hands just a fraction, and the entire garden lurched. “I must say,” she said with a smile, “he is not incorrect. I am the Great Dark. Too bad no one ever lives to tell.”

Like a tug of kite strings, he felt the HIVE.

Its commands spiraled out like a spiderweb.

He felt them like a thousand red needles through him, so painful it made him stumble and catch himself on a tree, the song no longer sweet and melodic but a cacophony of out-of-tune notes screeching—screeching—so loud he could barely think. He winced, pressing his palm against his temple.

Foolish Dmitri—Mellifare came into his head, her words like needles—you will give me my heart.

No—no—

Not again—

Not—

But you are not my tool this time, and the song left as quickly as it began, left his head ringing—but whole. He blinked, realigning himself, until a wave of command swept down like tethered strings, grabbing ahold of the garden itself. He tightened his hold on the trunk of the tree and began to tremble.

Where was Robb?

Below him, the HIVE tore down the programs to align the magnets, erasing the guidance system that kept the estate in stationary orbit around the station, dismantling every bit of code that kept it running. He felt the garden bleeding out as sure as he felt the song itself.

It was going to fall.

He lurched toward the middle of the garden the moment Astoria dropped from the sky. It would only take moments to reach the ground. Faster than a breath, a blink—and they would be dead, crushed from the weight of the fall—

He reached out, like he had on the dreadnought, and took hold of the garden. Spread his reach across it, rearranging the scattered code in its simple computer core, warming the magnetics, realigning them with—with—

Something.

The city itself. The city was metal. Not as strong. Not as charged. But made of metal. And if he rewired the magnets underneath Astoria, he could put out enough friction to slow down the garden’s descent—not by much—but slower than it was and—

He did not have the luxury to guess.

He had to act.

Sparks burst across his body as he reached the middle of the garden and caught the tethers that kept it floating. The magnets groaned, catching themselves again, still dropping but not as fast. Electricity sizzled over him like scattering cobwebs, his hair levitating from the power of it.