The call that the Lady Storm was taking. Who was she speaking to? How is Monkglass, ostensibly under siege, getting calls from ships on the outside? The answer, self-evident, reveals itself to Misery almost at once. Of course. It’s the only logical conclusion. As she realizes the truth of what’s been happening on Monkglass all this while, her cheeks heat with righteous fury. “You were speaking to someone before we came in. Who was it?”

The Lady Storm’s expression hardens. “You have no authority to ask those questions of me.”

“But I do,” says Lightning, cutting in with vigor, ready to abuse her station at the drop of a nail. “As Imperial princess I demand you answer the question. Who were you speaking to?”

“You—” The Lady Storm addresses the princess with the air of an angry aunt. “Standing here, telling me what to do, while you act in the shadows against your brother’s interests. The Emperor. I know he didn’t send you. To think you could order me—that’s rich—”

Ruin appears in the office, haloed with light, eyes the color of a sun. “Some interesting things I have discovered,” zie says. “Would you like to see, Misery Nomaki? Would you like to see the truth surrounding Monkglass yourself?”

If there’s anyone who can override the Lady Storm’s stubbornness, it should be the angel. Surely zie can do something? Surely zie can answer the call?

A smile cants Ruin’s lips in the right direction. “As you wish.”

The air hums. Light shimmers, and a call screen sharpens into being, projected from the top of the office. As the room reacts with dismay to this unasked-for development, a human face resolves in the vid plaza. Sharp-jawed. Brown-skinned. Scar across the face, just like Misery’s. Hair almost luminescent, but not quite—a hint of gray amid the white, a matte quality to the brisk waves that cover the crown of hir head. Shaved sides and back, with an indecipherable pattern buzzed into it.

The Lady Storm blanches beyond her complexion. “How did you—what?”

Lightning, drawing from wells of information better fed than Misery’s, recognizes the intruder at once. “Esse Temple.”

The face from her dream. The answer she’s been looking for all this while. Esse Temple is the woman the Lady Storm was speaking to in Misery’s dreams. A Heretic. She’s been talking to the enemy.

Commander Temple has no courtesy. She does not wait for the alarm and confusion in the room to calm. She jumps straight into it: “So what is going on? Who are these people?”

Her voice is deep and smoky, crackling like plastic on fire. “Esse,” the Lady Storm says, pale and angry, “I’m not done. I—”

“Did the Throne send them? What was that mech?”