“We’re not all bone-grubbers. Congratulations, by the way.”

He held out a hand, and I shook it. “David.”

“Paige.”

“Paige.” His dark eye itself fixed on my face. The other seemed less focused. “If you haven’t got anything better to do with your time, I thought I’d take you for a little walk.”

“Like a dog?”

He laughed without moving his lips.

“This way,” he said. “If anyone asks, I’m bringing you in for questioning about an incident.”

We walked together down a narrow street, toward the Residence of the Suzerain. David was about two inches taller than me, long in the arms and thick in the torso. He wasn’t starving, like the harlies.

“Bit risky, isn’t it?” I said.

“What?”

“Talking to me. You’re a red-jacket now.”

He smiled. “I didn’t think you’d be easy meat. You’re already falling into their trap, aren’t you?”

“What do you mean?”

“Segregation, 40. You see I’m a red-jacket and think I shouldn’t talk to you. Did your keeper tell you that?”

“No. That’s just how it is.”

“There you have it. That’s the whole point of this place: to brainwash us. To make us feel inferior. Why do you think they leave people in the Tower for years on end?” When I didn’t reply, he shook his head. “Come on, 40. Waterboarding, isolation, days without food. After that, even somewhere like this seems like a slice of heaven.” He had a point. “You should hear the Overseer. He thinks the Rephs should lead us, that they should be our new monarchy.”

“Why would he think that?”

“Because he’s indoctrinated.”

“How long has he been here?”

“Only since Bone Season XIX, from what I can gather, but he’s loyal as a dog. He’s been trying to root out good voyants from the syndicate.”

“So he’s a procurer.”

“He’s not very good. Nashira wants a new one. Someone who can sense the æther on a higher level.”

I was about to ask more when I stopped. Through the thin gray haze, I could see a circular building with a vast dome. It squatted in a deserted square, massive and cumbersome, opposite the Residence of Suzerain. Dim amber light filtered through its windows.

“What is that?” I looked up at it.

“The harlies call it the Room. Been trying to find out what it’s for, but nobody seems to like talking about it. No humans allowed.”

He walked ahead without even glancing at it. I jogged to catch up with him. “You said he’s been trying to get voyants from the syndicate,” I prompted. “Why?”

“Don’t ask too many questions, 40.”

“I thought that was the point of this rendezvous.”

“Maybe. Or maybe I just liked the look of you. Here’s our stop.”