I put the bloody sliver into my mouth and swallowed it without chewing.

“I’ll see you soon,” I said softly. “Sleep well.”

There was no need to take a spare vial for emergencies; I would not have to leave the city again this week. I walked over to the basin and dropped the scalpel inside. The nurses sterilized the blades every night, replaced the water, and ensured that our mothers were clean, tidy, and fed. I washed my hands and made my way down the stairs.

“May the Eater watch over you,” intoned the Acolytes at the door.

Most of the fog had cleared and the day was brighter. The third bell rang as I reached the bottom of the hill, by which time Ceyrun had roused.

Street vendors lit their stoves, tossing diced peppers, onions, and fruit into spitting skillets. People moved briskly, but many paused before the Resounder offices to buy a copy of the broadsheet. The Resounder would have long gone out of print if it relied entirely on factual reporting, but people didn’t seem to care much about that. A young woman whistled while she swept the pavement; carriages rattled over the streets.

Pearl Boulevard bisected the city, drawing a straight line from Martyrium Hill to the South Gate, interrupted only by the city’s Central Gardens. Tall bridges spanned the road, providing safer walkways to pedestrians and allowing keen-eyed Enforcers to monitor the thoroughfare from above. I made my way down the boulevard until I reached the first intersection, and then turned right onto Weaver Road, and from there onto Rose Crescent.

The Minor West Quadrant was home to the merchant class districts, full of bright storefronts, small galleries, and shady cafés. The pretty little canals that ran between the buildings had run dry, but the fountains still held water.

The entrance to the graveyard was on Rush Street, but most people jumped the low wall at the end of Rose. I was no exception, although I did first check that no one was watching.

Since Finn’s sixteenth birthday, the graveyard had served as our usual meeting place. The gentle slope was overgrown with crooked trees and soft sweet grasses. He waited in the shadow of the city wall.

Without acknowledging one another and in perfect unison, we spat onto the grave marker.

“You’re early,” he said.

“So are you.”

“Couldn’t sleep.”

“I thought you were exhausted. Didn’t you have a shift last night?”

He shrugged. I noticed that he was holding a copy of the Resounder. I gestured to it.

“You must have planned a long wait, if you brought reading material,” I said.

“Were you attacked by a Haunt yesterday?”

I spluttered. “What?”

He raised the newspaper so that I could read the headline. The bold black text at the top of the page read “Pillar Under Attack!” followed by the subheading Rogue Haunt on the Loose, Sisterhood in Shock!

“We weren’t attacked,” I said, snatching the newspaper from him and scanning the article. “We just found the man mumbling to himself in the orchards.”