She’d spent months researching, and so far felt like she knew nothing. But she would find answers, one way or another.

Suit’s captors thought to shock him with the austerity of his quarters. A common cell in the prison’s nethers, with a bucket for facilities and one blanket on the bed. A tired, pointless tactic. As if he’d known only rose petals and feather beds in his life; as if he’d never slept on a stone slab.

Well, they would see. Anything could be an advantage. In this case, it was a chance to prove himself. He would not break, and they would see.

So it was that he wasn’t at all surprised when, after two weeks of captivity, the door to the corridor outside his cell clicked open one night and a stranger stalked in. Male this time, with a ragged beard and wild hair. A beggar stolen off the street, Suit guessed.

You could tell them by the way they walked. Never a stroll, never leisurely. Always fast, determined. Purposeful.

Of course, the softly glowing red eyes were another sign. So far as Suit had been able to determine, Waxillium and his fools had no knowledge of these creatures. They didn’t understand, couldn’t understand.

The Set had Faceless Immortals of its own.

Suit stood, pulling down the sleeves of his prisoner’s jumpsuit and swiping the wrinkles from his shoulders. “Two weeks is longer than I expected.”

“Our timeline is not yours.”

“I was not complaining,” Suit said. “Merely observing. I am perfectly willing to wait upon Trell’s pleasure.”

“Are you?” the Immortal asked. “It is our understanding that you push for an acceleration.”

“I was merely stating my perspective,” Suit said. “So that a proper discourse can be engaged.”

The creature studied him through the bars. “You didn’t break or spill secrets.”

“I did not.”

“We are impressed.”

“Thank you.”

Advantage. Even two weeks in prison can be used to prove a point.

“The timeline will be accelerated, as you have requested,” the Immortal said.

“Excellent!”

The creature reached into its pocket and removed a device like a small package wrapped in wires. One of Irich’s early attempts at creating an explosive device from the metal that powered the airships. It had proven ineffective, barely more explosive than dynamite, when they needed something that could end cities.

“What is that?” Suit asked, growing nervous.

“Our accelerated pace will no longer require the Set to have its full hierarchy.”

“But you need us!” Suit said. “To rule, to manage civilization on—”

“No longer. Recent advances have made civilization here too dangerous. Allowing it to continue risks further advances we cannot control, and so we have decided to remove life on this sphere instead. Thank you for your service; it has been accepted. You will be allowed to serve in another Realm.”

“But—”

The creature engaged the explosive device, blowing itself—and Suit—to oblivion.

Wax started awake. Had that been an explosion?

He looked around the quiet bedroom suite of the tower penthouse. Steris curled up on the bed next to him, perfectly still in her sleep, though she held lightly to his arm. She often did that, as if afraid to let go and risk all this ending.