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“Secure him!” Veraxia’s voice cracks under the sudden drop in atmospheric pressure.

I’m pinned to the ground by two guards. The one on my left has a knee in my kidney; the one on my right is wrenching my arm behind my back at an angle that has my shoulder burning.

“Get off me,” I snarl.

“Do not struggle!” the guard on the right grunts, tightening his grip. “By order of the High Council, you are⁠—”

“You’re boring me,” I interrupt.

Then I snap my head back, introducing the base of my skull to his nasal cartilage with a sickening crunch.

He howls, his grip faltering as blood sprays across the metal.

One down.

The guard on the right hesitates. I pivot, using his own momentum against him, and drive the heel of my boot into the side of his knee. The joint gives way with a wet pop, and he goes down howling.

My sister stands ten feet away, her eyes wide, hair whipping around her face in the artificial gale as I scramble to my feet.

“Malachi!” she barks. “Do not make this worse! You are already facing a century in the sensory deprivation tanks!”

“A century of silence sounds like a vacation compared to listening to you,” I retort, backing toward the double doors.

I jam two fingers into my mouth and let out a piercing whistle.

Come on, you oversized mutt.

“Seal the exits!” Veraxia screeches. Do not let him breach the perimeter!”

My boots slam against the floor as I sprint through the pens, red strobe lights pulsing overhead, sirens wailing. Dozens of guards tear after me, swarming like ants whose hill has been kicked over, desperate to protect their procedures and precious paperwork.

“Stop!” one of them roars.

“No, thank you,” I call back, not bothering to look over my shoulder as I burst through the double doors, tearing through the waiting room of sinners, ignoring their collective gasps as I scatter them like dry husks.

I hit the exit and stumble out into the blinding grey glare of the ash-dunes.

There. The very same tram Eden and I jumped from, sitting idling on the tracks, the engine humming, the door torn off. It’s fast. It’s heavily armored. And, if memory serves, it has a direct line to exactly where I need to go.

“Perfect,” I mutter, adjusting my tunic as Chain-Chewer trots up behind me. “I always did enjoy a scenic drive.”

With a loud grunt, I wrench the cockpit door open, startling the pink-skinned Warden who’s halfway through a sandwich, mandibles clacking.

He looks up at me, blinking rapidly. “This is a restricted vehi⁠—”

“Your shift is over,” I inform him.

I grab him by the scruff of his collar and the seat of his trousers and hurl him onto the ash. He bounces once, squeaking indignantly, before rolling to a stop at the feet of the charging mob.

Chain-Chewer launches himself into the cab beside me, his claws clamouring against the metal floorboards.

There’s no lock—because why would the Bureaucracy imagine anyone would steal from them?—so I grab a fire-suppression canister from the wall and jam it between the door handle and the driver’s console.

A fist slams against the reinforced glass next to my head. Then another. Then another.

“Do you mind?” I snap, ignoring the muffled shouts of ‘Cease!’ and ‘Halt!’. “I am attempting to concentrate.”

The control panel is a nightmare of blinking lights, rusted levers, and dials that seem to measure everything from ‘Steam Pressure’ to ‘Moral Decay.’ I stare at it for a singular, silent second. I’ve jumped the Veil illegally, fought multiple demons, and successfully ordered food on the mortal realm.