Page 468 of Eight of Swords, Part Two

‘I made them fit.’

‘OK. Why?’

‘Standard procedure, and one of them is Craig Fenwick.’

‘The name sounds familiar.’

‘He was with the PMC Penhalyx used to extract Mikhail Sorrenko from Sable Key. Fenwick went rogue and took us hostage instead.’

‘Right, sure. The thing with his brother.’ Julian’s memories are gone now, and Riley’s memory of the memories is fading fast. ‘We’ll extract what they know later.’

Lachlan’s red eyes settle on him. ‘How much later?’

‘Later. Don’t touch them until I tell you.’

Something hungry shifts behind Lachlan’s expression, but he nods.

‘Heard.’

Riley starts towards the stairs.

‘Where are you going?’

‘Up.’

Lachlan moves to follow him.

‘Alone,’ Riley adds.

‘Why?’

‘Guard the fourth floor and below. I’ll be down soon.’

‘Fine.’

‘Take a shower, Lachlan.’

‘Later.’

The damage worsens as Riley climbs.

Rainwater runs down the stairwell in shallow streams, carrying ash, plaster dust and diluted blood over the steps. The air grows colder with every floor. Wind moves freely through the upper Tower now, moaning through ruptured walls and lifting scraps of paper into restless spirals.

The doors to the Watch are gone.

Beyond them, daylight pours into devastation.

A vast section of the outer wall has been blown away, exposing the Watch to the morning sky. Consoles stand split open and blackened, their internal wiring hanging like wet nerves. Surveillance screens are shattered. The main communications bank has collapsed beneath part of the ceiling, and rain spits against whatever technology the blast did not destroy. Cole and Finn’s stations are barely recognisable and certainly not usable. The city sprawls beyond the missing wall, washed grey beneath the retreating storm. Smoke rises from the surrounding streets. Bodies have been arranged in dark rows below while armed figures move between them, small and orderly from this height.

Riley turns away.

The rear structure held. The narrow stairs leading up to his rooms remain intact, and the doors stand open as they have ever since Mimi Penhalyx told them to. He climbs carefully, listening to the building strain around him. Inside his room, a chunk of the exterior wall is gone.

Rain has soaked whatever it could reach. His bookshelf lies face-down. His bed is ruined. Cold wind rolls through the room unobstructed.

He finally has his fucking window.

The bathroom mostly survived, protected by the Tower’s internal structure and reinforced plumbing walls. Within, one chemically steady heart continues to beat.