I looked again at Carl. His hair needed a wash. From the circles etched under his eyes, I knew he was as tired as I was—but there were no bruises. More betrayals must have earned his safety. As if he sensed me looking, he opened his eyes.

“Don’t try and escape.”

He whispered it. When I didn’t answer, he shifted up to me.

“They won’t let you go. He won’t.” He glanced at Warden through the glass screen. “Sheol I is safe for us. Why would you want to leave?”

“Because we don’t belong there.”

“It’s the one place we do belong. We can be clairvoyant there. We don’t have to hide.”

“You’re not an idiot, Carl. You know it’s a prison.”

“And the citadel isn’t?”

“No. It isn’t.”

Carl looked back at his gun. I looked back at the window.

Part of me knew what he meant. Of course the citadel was a prison—Scion kept us locked in there like animals—but we didn’t stand by in the citadel and watch other people get beaten up, or let people die on the streets.

I pressed my head against the glass. That wasn’t true. Hector did. Jaxon did. Every mime-lord and mime-queen in the citadel did. They were no better than the Rephaim. They only rewarded those who were useful. The rest were thrown out to rot.

But the gang were like my family. I didn’t have to bow to anyone in the citadel. I was mollisher of I-4. I had a name.

Soon we were in Marylebone. As Warden looked out at the unfamiliar territory of the citadel. I wondered if he’d been to London before. He must have, if he’d met previous Inquisitors. It chilled me that Rephs had been on the streets at the same time I was. They’d been in the Archon. Even in I-4.

The driver was a silent, robust man in wire-framed spectacles and a suit, with a red silk pocket square and tie. He wore a Dictaphone on his left ear, which beeped every so often. It was morbidly fascinating to see how organized it was. Scion had all its bases covered: nobody could find out about Sheol I. It was a city under lock and key.

Warden motioned for the driver to stop on a street corner. The man nodded and ducked out of the car. When he returned, he was carrying a large paper bag. Warden passed it to me through the hatch. “Wake him.” He nodded to Carl, who was asleep again.

Inside the bag were two hot cartons from Brekkabox, the citadel’s favorite fast-food joint. I prodded Carl. “Rise and shine.”