Harriet tries to step back. Snap at him. Leave any reply all. But her responses have each been stolen. Pushed down, one by one, by the man currently gloating over her.

“She’s beautiful.” Soteris holds her face for a moment more, twisting it to and fro, before turning to Astrid. “Well done.”

“Heh...” Astrid shuffles about, fiddling with her scrunchie. “It’s nuffin’, boss. Really, all her."

Soteris barely hears. With his other hand, he's grabbed Harriet’s collar, casually gazing at the ink-black runes.

“And Chiagozie, were there any-”

“None.” Astrid cuts him off. Addana perks up, clearly not expecting. But Astrid gives her a look and continues. “We was just peachy.”

Soteris doesn't care enough to inquire. He's squishing Harriet's cheeks, watching them slowly turn red. “Kept, I must say I’m insulted. You haven’t offered me a very respectful greeting.”

She’s trembling at this point, and watching him warily. Held like this, dressed like this... she focuses on the heels stabbing into her feet. Dreams about falling back.

“No curtsy, no deference, and all this... twitching. It won’t do. You don't want to mislead others into thinking you don't enjoy this, do you?” He smiles, steps back. “But tonight, I’ll be lenient. How about you just greet me the way you greeted your last superior.”

Her face falls. Her eye twitches as she glares at him.

“What was it called?” He pretends to consider. “The Unbound’s Sign?”

Her breathing picks up. She looks at the cuffs, then him, then the cuffs again. Astrid doesn’t know what’s going on, but is clearly not comfortable. Addana’s back to her book, a thin smile on her face.

“Fireside…” Soteris’ voice turns tense. “Are you going to force me to order you?”

The windchimes scream. Harriet lifts her hands to sky, eyes on the ground, biting her lip. She follows the familiar motion, elbows bent, then arms apart. Ten more days. Ten more days.

But she can’t finish. She pulls her arms back again and again and again. But they never reach the position.

She never snaps her chains.

Visibly pleased, Soteris pulls her arms down for her. “I like this Fireside. Silent. Obedient.”

She’s staring listlessly at the floor as he pets her forehead.

“Easy to reach.”

Suddenly, Soteris stops, just as white clouds start to form. “Astrid, how’s the hand?"

“Oh!” Astrid nervously chuckles. “It’s fine!”

“Nonsense. Does it still hurt? Do you need help?" It's bizarre to hear concern in his voice. "I can’t imagine the terror-”

“I’m used to terror, boss.” Astrid shrugs. “Nuffin’ a bit of ket won’t fix.”

Harriet’s mostly checked out. She's watching their lips, but nothing more. The windchimes are too alluring.

“Tell you what," Soteris replies. "Go to the Orphean tonight. My tab. I’ll need you in top shape for the conference tomorrow, and fine or not, you’ve earned the feed.”

“Boss…” Astrid scratches the back of her neck. “‘A-’At’s generous of you, really, but…”

“But what?”

Her eyes flick to Harriet’s. Then back to him.

“‘Arriet ain’t got her ears pierced!” More nervous laughter. “A-An’ I know ‘at was a pretty big deal for you, so I was gonna-”

“That won’t be necessary. I’ll be using her.”

And just like that, the white clouds take over.

Soteris pulls her close, his arm looped over her shoulders. He eyes Astrid down. Challenging her.

Astrid’s nose curls like a rabbit’s. “Right. Orphean, then. Cheers!”

Before she can saunter off in her heels, Soteris calls. “And if you run into the rosín-”

“Yeah, yeah, boss. I call-”

“Astrid.”

She’s nearly out of sight when she turns around. Soteris offers a small grin.

“You can still call me 'Soteris.'"

There’s a brief hesitation, before she opens the door. “Got it.”

If Harriet could peer through the fog, she'd see that Astrid is smiling, too.

“That woman…” Soteris shakes his head. “As if signing a contract means we’ll just-”

There's a pause, before suddenly, Harriet squeaks. The windchimes and white clouds snap away as Soteris clutches her shoulder and rattles her.

“I know what you’re trying to do.” He hisses, getting in her face. “Don’t bother. Those little games belong to the old Harriet. I won’t be playing them. And if you keep trying to leave your body..."

She shrivels. Soteris has grabbed her ass. Kneading it. Ignoring the twitch.

“... I'll keep giving reminders."

He stares at her again. The lace sticking through her shirt. The stockings on her legs. She's frantic, looking for exits. But he uses that distraction to pull her in, squeezing her with a hug. Her hands fall on his chest. There's nowhere else to put them.

“You can stay here, Chiagozie. In this state, I don’t think she’s much of a threat to anyone.”

She squirms beneath his arms.

Eventually, Soteris gets bored, turns her around. He prods her forward, back into the strange penthouse, his hand held precariously down her back.

“What I would give to hear your thoughts right now.” He whispers to her. “How do you like it? The heels? The chains? Being done up like a Astrid's doll? For you, it must be..."

He reaches past her skirt and touches her thigh. Just to watch her flinch.

“... crushing."

She doesn’t look at him. Just focuses on one step, then the next, squeezing her folded hands.

As they enter the main hall, with its rows of desks and walls of glass, Soteris doesn’t seem to mind. “With the conference so soon, I spent some time this evening considering what we should call ourselves. When you can speak, of course.”

Conference? What conference? Is he bringing her to meetings?

“Keeper and Kept are classics, yes, but mine shouldn’t be associated with something so common.” Harriet gasps as they stop. Soteris grabs her wrists, thrusting them over the back of his neck so that she’s forced to look up in an awkward embrace of him.

“I’m still debating what I’ll call you. Retainer? Attendant? Pet?” He beams. “So many options.”

She starts pulling on his neck, hoping to knee him in the face. But something stops her muscles short. The magic seems to know her intent.

“But I know exactly what you should call me. It serves well enough in professional and private environments. Sir.” His eyes start to spark. “Can you say it? Quickly?”

“Yes, sir,” her lips reply, the voice utterly deadpan.

Soteris chuckles, rubbing her arms with both of his hands. “See? We’re already perfect.”

He undoes her hands only to push her along, so harshly that she nearly stumbles. She can see the minibar in the distance, and, close to it, the lift.

“Come on,” he says. “We have people waiting.”

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

By the time their lift doors open to the twentieth floor, Harriet’s barely keeping the tears in. In the ‘privacy’ of the space, his groping has only intensified. Whenever she lifts her hands to stop it, he only forces them back down. Now he lingers on her hips, her neck, her thigh. And because she’s shaken from vanishing whenever she tries, there’s no option but to feel every tug.

Somewhere, in the back of her mind, she knows it doesn’t make sense. Nocturni are corpses. They shouldn’t have his... urges. But Soteris continues to defy the norm, no matter how disgustingly. Even his touch is warm. She gets the distinct feeling the restrictiveness of her outfit is the only thing keeping him from ripping it off her.

“Remember,” he starts as they step off. “In front of others, I expect professionalism. I have an image you need to uphold. The tantrums stay between us.”

Of course. Harriet mirthlessly smiles. Clearly, she’s the one having problems with professionalism.

“Don’t mind the mess.” Soteris opens a door, to a breakroom packed with arcades, fridges, a ping-pong table. “The veneficii are an odd bunch, and they all have their-”

Harriet blinks. Levitating, only an inch from her eye, is a tiny plastic grey brick, with a glowing blue aura. Thousands more float about the room.

“... hobbies.”

They’re standing in a constellation of Legos.

The whole structure moves constantly, bricks joining and unjoining, little figures walking along paths that form before them. There’s a hum through it all, like a ceiling fan. She watches tiny doors open and close, spires form, little cars swirl past. In time, they all churn towards the same direction, the bricks merging faster, the structures growing taller, until they’ve fully formed on a cheap plastic table. Her eyes widen at the final product; the fountain, the pillars, a replica of the building they stand in. A lighter flicks to life right near its top.

“Ocean blue on rocks of silver. Good evening, Fireside."

Randall turns, the flame licking his cigarette.

A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

"I see you’re not pleased to join us.”

She watches him do a double take, those glowing eyes burning holes through her clothes. Harriet shrinks back, her cheeks growing hot, the cuffs pulled as far as possible to her sides. Soteris watches her, glowing with pride.

“I told you I could make her docile, Randall.” He pats her back. “Impressed?”

The Veneficii stares at Soteris for an awkwardly long time. For most of it, his expression is entirely blank, but Harriet watches his eyebrows slowly crease, and his lips form a frown.

“Not exactly my choice of words.”

Randall thrusts his arms, and three plastic chairs glow with his aura before yanking back. Soteris drags her forward, seemingly unfazed. As she stumbles into her seat and experiences her clothes' new tightness across her chest, she’s greeted by a cigarette pack. Randall flicks a filter out with a cold, grey thumb.

“Go on.” He says robotically. “You roll them quite well.”

Her eyes shift towards her Keeper, and she bites her lip. Soteris' chair was set between her and Avery’s, but, unsurprisingly, he's dragged it to get closer to her.

Randall’s hand hasn’t moved. “Awfully quiet today.”

“Fireside is experiencing the consequences of her insolence.” Soteris sits a little taller.

There’s a pause. With his pallor, it feels like Randall’s simply frozen. “And you don’t think that muting her could impact our meeting?”

Soteris frowns. “Discipline comes first.”

Randall’s eyes lower lower past her chest, to the awkwardly cuffed hands. He closes his pack and sits back down. "Clearly."

Manila folders flit through the air, their contents spilling onto the table, or folding directly into Randall’s hand. The scent of his smoking permeates the room. “Well, we’ve all made our introductions. I see no reason to review yesterday’s meeting. Though, Soteris, I was curious about the conference’s progress-”

“I’ve gotten calls from all of our prospective customers. Agents are in their airports now, if not on flight already.”

Randall looks up. "All fifty-four firms?"

Soteris smiles, and lifts his hands. Three seconds. Randall scowls.

“Our venue can’t fit fifty-four firms.”

“Working on it.”

Two seconds. Randall sighs and waves his hand.

Just like the folder, a small notepad inches from a cabinet on the wall. Harriet watches its voyage before it lands on her side. A pen nestling right next to it.

“As you’ve just heard, we’ll be unveiling Project Hestia to potential investors tomorrow,” Randall explains. “I understand that your orientation has been cut quite short, so if there are any lingering questions-”

She snatches the notepad and scrawls across an open page. With her hands in cuffs, it’s an annoying and cumbersome hassle. But in time, she turns it his way.

Who are you?

Despite everything, Harriet tries her best to look like a threat.

Four seconds. Randall shrugs. “Not your enemy, for one. Once you’ve learned of our project, I think you’ll find that our interests are quite aligned.”

“And what would that project be?”

“Even we do not entirely know its scope. That depends enormously on you.”

Randall rises from his seat, pacing, his arms behind his back.

“My kind alone are tasked with understanding the truths of our powers, of our race. We have gotten good at uncovering those truths. Your past wasn’t unknown to the Veneficii because it was well-hidden, but rather because none of us had previously cared to glance.”

Randall grows stern.

“But in the Nocturni’s hour of need, I have dug. I have found powers our sources cannot easily explain. All walkers of the night can, to some extent, bend matter through their aether. But to snap locks out of existence? To form brick walls from thin air…”

“Don’t speak too fondly, Randall.” Soteris butts in. “She couldn’t snap herself out."

Harriet gives a violent glare at that. Soteris only grins.

“Perhaps,” Randall nods. “But its uniqueness is worth recalling. I am not alone in finding it odd that this… Paradox… has only ever been recorded in two beings. One, a teenager, born four thousand miles away from our home. And the other, a Traveller, of which we know nothing except that he Lighted the former.”

Traveller? Harriet smirks. How he'd love to hear that.

“There is clearly a glue that binds you two.” Randall frowns. “He knew it. I think you know it, too.”

Harriet takes her notepad back, writes.

He never said much.

“But he must have said something. We do not per se inherit our getter's powers. We are not Sunwalker's line. So do you really think I’ll believe that he transformed you, and your powers matched his, on a whim?”

Her pencil stalls. So many factors at play, and not at all helped that he’s asking her to go back centuries to remember. For one, she’s surprised that Randall would so willingly show his hand. They know nothing, she knows anything, and he’s practically told her that that gives her cards. But… how much is anything? God knows she asked Menowin these questions a hundred times, only to get blocked again and again by that same stupid phrase. ‘Paradox.’ ‘Paradox.’ ‘Paradox.’

Somehow, she guesses that if Book Boy hears that answer, he won’t share her getter’s amusement.

And, of course, even if she knew more, that wouldn’t change how much she wants to share. From her position, it’s not great form to convince her Keepers of her ‘unique values.’ She wants to be tossed away.

Pencil still in hand, she writes out another question.

What do I lose if I don’t tell you?

“Beyond discipline?” Randall leans the table. “Every Nocturni, Unbound or not, that you’ve ever met or cared about will die.”

She stares at the paper, suddenly still. Randall watches for a moment, then adds.

“Red clay baking in the light green sands. Listen, Harriet. I know a part of you believes me.”

Soteris starts tapping his foot. Disgruntled. “Why are we bothering with these theatrics, Randall?”

Randall's eyebrows lift. “Am I the one being theatrical?”

Harriet snickers. Soteris takes it as well as one would expect. “We’ve seen her limits, when she thinks she's facing death. Her trick with the Ares proves it can be digital. What more testing could we need?"

“And here I thought the technology expert would understand the need for quality.” Randall scowls. “Especially since I imagine you'll use Hestia to resolve tomorrow's venue problem.”

“Again. Performs well under pressure."

Harriet’s only half listening to them, focusing instead on the notepad. The windchimes trickle in with the memories. Pushed to the dirt. A knife at her throat. Hugs and curses and laughter. With only half her mind, she grabs her pencil, remembering the words in a foreign tongue, the scratchings he made in the sand.

“The Veneficii have a process, Chrysanthou-”

“And we'd invent nothing if we followed them!"

“It is one thing to build flashing gates, and another to bend space-time!” Randall's more animated than she's ever seen. “Are you not aware of the damage she could cause? To the markets, to the Court, to reality itself!? Such powers demand study. Caution, research and time.”

“And do you think the market will wait for that? Or close our one and only window?" Soteris stands, too, his fists on the table. "You do not know the mortals like I do, Avery. Six months is a decade in their time. One delay, and we’ve lost forever the chance to say we're ahead!"

“Cut them, then.” Randall shrugs. “We do not need mortals from Osaka and Shenzhen and Seoul. You have every resource right here!”

“I didn’t become Sovereign just to sell myself to Caedmon-”

“But you already have.” Randall exhales. “That’s why I’m here.”

Soteris grips the table, so hard the plastic squeaks. He glares at Randall, fangs filing out from his grit teeth.

“Verdant greens on the blood red ash.” Randall replies. “And where would you be without him?”

Whap! Harriet slams the notepad down, interrupting both men. Randall turns, looks at it, only to find a sheet filled with wayward lines and shading. It often spills over, spots in the table where Harriet marked it. He lifts it up, pale eyes scanning. Circles. Large and short, untouched and intersecting. In the centre of it all, between a hand's closed thumb and forefinger, a single eye.

With two caruncles. Neither left nor right.

“He... showed this?” Randall’s voice goes soft. “What did he call it?”

She mouths the words out. Just nonsense, to her. But the notepad in Randall’s hand trembles, and she can’t help but see the bits of aether sparking all around.

"Randall?" Soteris is clearly incensed to not know what’s going on. “Spit it out!"

“We need to speak.” He looks at Soteris. “Alone. Immediately.”

“You don't think Fireside ought to know-"

Randall storms out of the room, taking only the cigarettes and lighter with him. The Legos sway to and fro in his absence. Soteris blinks as the door is slammed shut, turning to Harriet with a sneer.

“And here I thought you were uncivil.”

He shakes his head, and marches after him. Harriet sits when he's gone, watching the door's new keypad blink red, then listening to the ticking of the clock. He's left her silent.

Alone.

And in chains.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

The balcony gardens on the 29th floors are normally a calm space. It was built for the employees, with wicker chairs and soft cushions and a tiki bar on either end. But none come at night, and when the winds didn’t howl and storm clouds couldn’t be seen, he would spend hours here, among the foliage and the glass guards, swaying with the trees. Few birds flew this high, and insects were unknown, leaving only the sounds of distant traffic and air travel to penetrate this little realm. But now, even they fall silent to the soft hum of ten thousand runes, their sigils built atop each other, showering him in pale lights. His fortress.

His tapestry.

Wind strengthens his cigarette’s flame, because Randall Avery allows it to strengthen. Every person, every object, is his to invite or expel, so long as aether burns in his veins. It is not effortless; he can tell by the way the wind cools his warm body. But it has been built over hours of ritual, decades of study.

With a flick of his arm, the gate opens. Instantly, cool rains pours around him. London comes to life, the roars and whispers of three million. And, shortly after, one of the black masses nears. A raven, larger than ravens should be. It soars about, studying, scouting, before it decides to swoop up and surge down. Randall waits, letting it get larger, and larger, and-

He closes his hand.

The runes return. Beyond the door opening behind him, he's bathed again in silence.

“Avery," Soteris storms up. "I'm warning you."

Randall Avery grabs a cigarette from his pack, and turns around to watch the colours before him.

They spill out in a living canvas. Merging and weaving and billowing up like solar flares. He studies them all, unwilling to act before he knows the exact mixture. They others call it a curse. A malfunction in his Lighting, a defect of excess aether. But in the Soul Sight, Randall Avery sees only a gift. To mortals, emotion has no home. It exists in language and tone and gesture and eyes, imperfect. Misleading. But to him…

Emotion is no mystery. He sees them on their sleeves.

"Do not challenge me in front of the Kept again. She watches. She hears."

What does he see in Soteris Chrysanthou? Red-clay mud. Fields of black. Whirring grass cut by silver scythes.

Rage. Envy.

Randall slowly moves his dead lips. “Your authority is challenged too easily.”

“She is searching for weaknesses,” Soteris continues. “In you, in me, in the very building."

Randall is used to lavender. Ripened grapes, an unfashionable dress. Heather in the gardens, a contemptuous gaze. There will be truth in Soteris' words, but he speaks them from wounded pride. Pride Randall will not engage with.

“Any slip, she’ll use to exploit! So if you second-guess me again-”

“Fireside is Veneficii.”

The Poisoned Ones are not supposed to lose themselves to emotion. From the moment they are reborn, they are taught their minds are tools, no different than their bodies, all machines for the aether. To be used and bent and rebuilt as the Court and themselves demand it. Yet still, he clings to the pieces. Smoking, for instance; a habit he never stopped, despite not needing the air to breathe it, or having to use levitus to force the tar back out from his lungs. Similarly, he can feel excitement in these words, a smug anticipation to watch this arrogant Sovereign be dismayed.

But as the seconds pass, Randall’s face shifts. The colours don’t change.

“You knew?”

Soteris stays silent, but smirks.

The Poisoned One flares. “Why wasn’t I told?”

“I was hoping we could avoid this conversation.”

“Avoid it? Forget Project Hestia, forget your pride. She is not merely Veneficii, she is something..." He stops, remembering the Code. "... The Court must know. She must be placed in a Full-”

Soteris chuckles. The lightness in his voice makes Randall’s aether sizzle.

“Soteris. It is the law.”

“Then like all bad laws, I will ignore it.” Soteris moves past him, settling on the railing. “I do not expect you to understand. You only know what was left to you by your own ‘Full Keeping.’”

Randall growls, something unspoken pulling at the back of his mind. “It is not ignorance, but wisdom. We do not perform Full Keepings to be unjust or cruel. We perform them because they are the only system that works."

“So say all men who find themselves on top.”

“We have powers humans weren’t built to comprehend, Soteris. A Full Keeping deals with this imbalance."

“And creates a new one with its power!" Soteris shakes his head. "Fireside is mine, and that makes her an asset as much as an output. She did not slaughter hundreds without talents you risk squandering!"

“And saying these words risks our executions!” Randall sighs, collecting himself. “I am not at liberty to explain, but her powers are more than aether gone rogue. They are constructed. And right now, uncontrolled!"

“Your training will help her control them.”

“My training will only strengthen it! You might be able to cow her now, Soteris, but what if the Paradox breaks those bonds!?”

“It won’t.”

“What if somebody breaks them for her?”

“Who would?”

“Them.” Randall points past the runes. “It has been three days since I destroyed that van. Addana has yet to find a body or ash. Blackbird lives.”

For once, Soteris’ colours turn productive. Sapphires on the forest floor. “That is a setback. The New Sun would be more receptive to us if I brought her the corpse of her rogue Kept."

“She is dangerous. And she will not let Fireside go.”

"And that will make her recapture easy."

“Have you lost your mind!?” Randall grips the railing. “To make war with the Unbound-”

“We would not make war. They're relics. Ghosts of a bygone age. They had their chance, once, and never again. One day, Fireside will thank me for freeing her from them.”

Randall scowls. “Even a relic can still kill us.”

“Only if they have the imagination to see it."

Yellows are blazing. Bolder and brighter than the sky-like blues. "Any Sovereign would tell you to fear them."

Soteris rolls his eyes. "Fearing them is beneath me.”

He looks down, swiping the lighter from Randall’s pocket. He lights a cigarette of his own, staring into what, for him, must be nothing but a bright skyline.

“Do you remember why you came to me, Randall? Why I was asked to lead Hestia?”

“Because you were the only Sovereign who would listen-”

“Because I alone exist in this century. They do not. Even those who claim to be fighting for change.”

Soteris exhales. The smoke carries on the wind, fizzling on the runes like boiling water.

“London was once a city of flowing blood. Now it is lethargic, streets of clogged arteries. The Unbound are no different than the elders they fight, the mortals they feed from. Obstacles, parasites, millennia-old walls built to keep out all those with talent. Not for tradition, or equality, or the morals they claim, or the laws they pretend to follow. They act in fear. Fear of a challenge they know they’ll lose. Fear of a world where those who rule are the same as those who deserve to rule it."

“I am that challenge. I deserve to rule. You see it. The investors see it. And in placating me, the Court shows that they can see it, too. Project Hestia will save our race. It will forge a new dawn. But I cannot make this city’s heart beat again, if its blood continues to coagulate around me.”

For a while, Randall pauses. Plucking a cigarette out to match. “And what if you’re wrong? What if you don’t deserve it? The Court has outlived every mortal government for a reason. What you call weak will, they call foresight. You’ve bet on one right horse, Soteris, and Polyphron is the fruit of that gamble. But people like Caedmon or the New Sun have seen thousands of horses. For every one that succeeds, a hundred break their legs.”

“Because they listen to men like you.”

“Because they ride themselves ragged," Randalls replies. "A Full Keeping on Fireside, or my money leaves."

Soteris sighs. “I do not understand you, sometimes. You agree with me in the need of Hestia, but in the face of such a crisis, you think the old ways still work. That we can solve all our problems without changing a thing.”

“And do you have a better solution?” Randall replies. “Or is dressing Fireside like you run a sex shop part of your coveted methods?”

“Ah,” Soteris chuckles. “So you disagree with that solution?"

“I disagree with anything that is needless to our business and will only aggravate the woman further! You run a corporation, Soteris. With cameras and computers and, even among your humans, moral boundaries. Privately, you can dress her how like. Discipline her as you please. But I did not put two hundred million of my Keeper’s money into-”

“I am speaking your Keeper’s language!” Soteris cuts him off. “Do you think I’ll corral Fireside with stock options and Christmas bonuses? She grew up in a land of slavery. Where punished men were beaten and shot and hanged. That is the world she knows, and that’s the world the elders know, too. If we want to win them to our side, we must display our prize accordingly.”

“Our prize?”

“Yes. To them, she will be nothing but a trophy. Prim, muzzled, and loyal to our cause. And they will look at us, the men who tamed the monster, and think to themselves, ‘they are the Court’s future.’”

“And how will you convince one of the world’s most successful assassins to waltz into the hall of her greatest enemy as your pet?”

Soteris smirks, and takes a drag.

“Loyalty.”

“Loyalty?” Randall scoffs. “I thought you were doing away with the Full Keeping.”

“We are. But there are other ways, older ways, of binding others to ourselves. Ways the Court insists we’ve forgotten. It is earned, and thus worth striving for, no matter how much others scorn it. There is no firmer grip that one can hold on one’s will than human control. Human loyalty.”

Randall tilts his head, studying the colours. "What does this 'human loyalty' entail?"

“I must find what she needs, and then be relentless. Prescriptive. Unyielding. Cracking the shell until she has no choice but to see it. Part by part. Piece by piece. She will resist. Curse and scheme and fight and flee. But I will crush each of them. Overcome all. And when the truth is laid bare. When she has exhausted all options, when her spirit has resigned, there will be nothing left but to name me invincible. And that is when our work begins. Like a ceramic, we wait until just the point of cracking."

"And what if she cracks?" Randall shrugs. "What if there's something you can't overcome?"

Soteris flings his cigarette off the balcony. It sails briefly in the air, before burning to crisps in the runes.

“There won’t be.”

He turns around, a smile on his face, the colours bright and bold. In Fireside, Randall has only seen the ambers of fear. No loyalty beyond that of the collared. But in her Keeper.... cornflowers on golden silk. Blood reds over fields of green.

Soteris knows.

It’s part of his plan.

“Give me three months, Poisoned One.” Soteris marches towards the door. “And when she walks into our mould, smiles at our clothes, and fights more ferociously than Blackbird could ever dream, you will see. Embrace the future, and Project Hestia will do more than save the Court. It will make this the Court’s century.”

Randall waits for the colours to pass before he calls. “Soteris?”

The executive stops at the door.

“There’s another word for ‘human loyalty’, isn’t there?”

A pause. Soteris looks back before he leaves.

“None that you can remember.”

But Randall does. As the cigarette settles on his lips, he sees them in the rising smoke, the pale blue lights behind him. Shapeless forms. Unheard screams. A thousand faces from lifetime lost. All of them, blurred and billowing.

He sighs. Soteris is Keeper, Randall is Kept. He can't really pull out before he convinces Caedmon, and both knew from the start that the Sovereign would gamble.

“There's a flaw in your plan, Soteris Chrysanthou.”

Aether pulls the cigarette back, so he can force the smoke out.

“Loyalty goes both ways.”

Randall grips the railing with his once-living hands. Stares at the colour surrounding him, and tries to remember his own.