With the realization comes a wave of sickness. Whatever’s happening to the captive Strikers tomorrow, it’ll involve them facing Ghosts. Except Constantine’s not going to make it a fair fight for them.

Soon we find ourselves lost in the crowds milling around the edges of the complex’s ivy-strewn walls, the people browsing solstice gifts and trinkets laid out for sale by small vendors along the gates. None of these little stalls are legal businesses, but the guards don’t seem to care. Now and then, I see a few of them accepting bribes from the stall owners, pocketing handfuls of coins and paper in exchange for looking the other way. Some of them hold up solstice bracelets to the light, admiring the jewelry.

Jeran and I listen for snippets of conversation as we go, gradually letting ourselves take in the chatter of the soldiers. Most of them seem to be wondering what will happen in the arena.

“Don’t believe for a second that those Marans can make it to the end of tomorrow,” one soldier scoffs to another as we pass them by a side gate of the complex.

“They managed to hold off our troops for long enough at their warfront, didn’t they?” the other replies.

“So? And now they’re here, sport in the stadium.” The first snorts. “You and Taran can place a bet. I’m not wasting my money.”

“Aye, Taran would, if he weren’t sick tonight.”

“Again?”

We pretend to browse the wares nearby as they return to their guard posts. I glance at Jeran, who shakes his head in response. No mention of other prisoners from the train. No mention of the prison district or anything that would hint remotely at where Talin’s mother might be.

“A double shift tonight for you too?” another soldier complains at yet another gate.

Her friend nods. “For most of us. I think the General expects folks to be rowdy after the festivities tonight. He’s pulling some of us off duty in the seventh district.”

The first sighs. “Ah, they always think that. Just let them run loose a bit.”

They both laugh. We move on.

“What’s in the seventh district?” Jeran asks me in a low voice as we go.

“Prisons,” I answer, “and factories. It’s the walled district circling against the inside of the city’s wall.”

“Is it normal for them to pull patrols from there for the solstice?”

I nod. “Normal enough.” Then I frown. “But something about the patrols here aren’t adding up.”

“What do you mean?”

I nod at the soldiers at the gates. “Ever since we arrived in the city, I’ve been tracking the symbols of the patrols wandering the streets. There are several patrols fewer than I remember them having during past festivities.” I glance down a thoroughfare. “Cardinia’s east city patrols should be down that street, but they aren’t. Neither are the southeast patrols, though they’re usually responsible for the area we’re walking through.”

“Does that mean the General’s spreading them thin?”

“It could.” I give Jeran a pointed look. “That’s not normal. This is the biggest celebration of the year, especially now that Karensa stretches from sea to sea. It means Caitoman needs them somewhere else, for something just as important as the solstice.”