The Rephs had been foolish to make this man a red-jacket. It was clear that he despised them.

“One more question,” David said.

“Fine.” I paused, then thought of Liss. “What do you know about Bone Season XVIII?”

“I wondered if you’d ask about that.” He moved another slat aside, exposing a broken window. “Come on. I’ll show you.” I followed him through it.

There were spirits in this room. I wished I could see how many there were; I guessed about eight or nine. The air was mildewed, tinged with the sickly smell of dying flowers. A shrine had been assembled in the corner. A roughly cut oval of metal, surrounded by humble offerings: candle stubs, broken sticks of incense, a wilted sprig of thyme, labels with names. In the center of it all was a small bouquet of buttercups and lilies. It was the lilies that were giving off the smell. They were fresh. David pulled a torch out of his pocket.

“Take a look at the ruins of hope.”

I looked closer. Words were scored onto the metal.

FOR THE FALLEN

28 NOVEMBER 2039

“2039,” I said. “Bone Season XVIII.”

One year before I was born.

“There was a rebellion that day, on Novembertide.” David kept the torch on the shrine. “A group of Rephs rose up against the Sargas. They got most of the humans on their side. They tried to kill Nashira and evacuate the humans to London.”

“Which Rephs?”

“No one knows.”

“What happened?”

“A human betrayed them. XVIII-39-7. One weak link in the foundation and the whole thing came crashing down. Nashira tortured the Reph perpetrators. Scarred them. The humans were all slaughtered by the Emim. Rumor has it there were only two survivors, apart from Duckett: the traitor and the kid.”

“Kid?”

“Duckett told me everything. He was spared because he was too much of a yellow-jacket to rebel. He begged on his knees for them to spare him. He told me there was a kid brought here that year—four, maybe five years old. XVIII-39-0.”

“Why the hell would they bring a child here?” Ice settled in my stomach. “Children can’t fight Buzzers.”

“No idea. He thinks they were trying to see if she’d survive.”

“Of course she wouldn’t survive. A four-year-old couldn’t live in that slum.”

“Exactly.”

My insides started to twist. “She died.”

“Duckett swears her body wasn’t found. He had to clear up the corpses,” David said. “Part of the exchange for his survival. He says he never found the little girl, but this says otherwise.”

He shone his torch at one of the offerings. A filthy teddy bear with button eyes. Around its neck was a note. I held it up to David’s light.

XVIII-39-0

No life lived is lost

Silence fell, broken by a distant chime. I laid the bear back among the flowers.

“Who did all this?” My voice hurt. “Who made this shrine?”