Carl looked like Novembertide had come early. He ran after Warden, shoving his flux gun into his jacket as he went. I was about to follow him when Nashira caught my arm in her gloved hand. I held very still, resisting the urge to pull away.

“I know who you are,” she said, close to my face. “I know where you come from. If you do not bring back a dreamwalker, I will assume that I am correct, and that you are the Pale Dreamer. That realization will have consequences for us all.” With a look that made me cold, she turned her back on me and walked toward the door. “Have a safe journey, XX-59-40.”

Two blacked-out vehicles were waiting on the bridge. They blindfolded all four of us before they locked us in. I sat in the darkness with Carl, listening to the engine. They must have a nagging fear that we’d learn the route out of the colony.

A team of Vigiles had been dispatched to escort us through the borders, but the procedure for letting people out of Sheol I was complicated. The city was a penal colony, and it was just as much hassle as if prisoners were out on parole. We had tracking chips shot under our skin at one of Scion’s outer city substations, just in case we tried to make a run for it, and our fingerprints and auras were examined. They took a tube of my blood, leaving a smudge of bruise at the crease of my elbow. Finally we crossed the last border, and we were back in Scion London. Back in the real world.

“You may remove your blindfolds,” Warden said.

I couldn’t get rid of mine fast enough.

Oh, my citadel. I traced the glass, the blue lights glowing into my eyes. The car was rolling through White City in II-3, past the mammoth shopping complex. I never thought I’d miss the dirty gunmetal streets, but I did. I missed bidding on spirits and playing tarocchi and climbing up buildings with Nick to watch the sun sink. I wanted to get out of the car and throw myself into London’s poisoned heart.

Carl had been jittery for the journey, bouncing his knee and fiddling with his flux gun, but he’d dropped off to sleep on the motorway. He’d told me that 30 used to be called Amelia, and that her keeper was one Elnath Sarin. As I’d guessed, she was a cleromancer, with a particular gift for dice. It took me a while to remember the exact word: astragalomancer. I was getting rusty. Jax had once examined me daily on the seven orders of clairvoyance.