Dellen and Lady Lockridge spoke into the evening before the same butler came with an envelope. Victoria tore it open, “It’s time for us to meet Captain Thatch.”

Lady Victoria rose to her feet and set a brisk pace through her estate before they arrived at a series of carriages decorated with the house crest. She walked past all of them to arrive at a nice, but unadorned carriage. “It isn’t always suitable to move about publicly.”

Another of her servants held the door open for Lady Lockridge. Dellen followed her in. The interior was decidedly nicer than the exterior, with polished fittings, high-quality fabric on the seats, and another tray of biscuits waiting for them.

“Biscuits?” Dellen asked.

“My staff seems to think I’ll wither without them, and at this point, I think they’d be upset if I didn’t take them.” She took a bite, “And they are lovely.”

“Where are we going?” Dellen said.

“We’re going to a place called ‘The Grotto.’ It’s excellent for quasi-legal dealings. Not outright illegal, but not perhaps something either of us would want seen in the broadsheets, like, for example, a meeting with this particular Captain.”

They settled on a secluded landing pad nestled on a lower cog. The docking area was startlingly poorly lit, despite the early hour. Dellen smoothed out the frown that rose on his face when he saw the Nightingale.

Stepping out of the carriage, Dellen and Lady Lockridge approached the airship. “Are you ready for this?” Dellen asked.

“More so than you, I imagine,” Lady Victoria said, her voice full of quiet confidence.

“Over here.” Said a rough voice.

Dellen turned. “Captain Thatch?” He said, remembering to raise his voice just enough for it to be a question.

Nessa was next to her captain, but Lira was conspicuous in her absence. Captain Thatch’s eyes narrowed, and her jaw worked as she chewed the inside of her cheek. “Now, what would a pretty pair like the two of you be wanting with me?”

“There’s no point in being indirect,” Gilgamesh said.

“We’re aware that you’ve been hired to weld Aetheric Infusers under the city.”

“Captain?” Nessa said, her eyes narrowing, her hand reaching for her blade.

“Easy, easy, we’re just talking,” Thatch said.

“Never heard of them, these,” she squinted, “Infusers was it?”

“I’m quite sure that you have,” Dellen said, his voice short, “Has Lira already welded them into place?”

Thatch stiffened, “How do you know my crew?”

“The Infusers,” Dellen said, ignoring the question, “We’re here to talk about them.”

Captain Thatch shifted, crossing her arms over her chest, the steel in her eyes hardening. “What’s there to talk about?” She asked, her voice like the rasp of a grinding gear.

“They’re dangerous,” Dellen replied, his tone measured but urgent. “Thaddeus is using you. Those infusers will destroy the city.”

The silence was pregnant with tension, Thatch’s eyes still full of defiance. “Why would I care?”

“Because you live here?” Dellen said, his voice confused.

“Thaddeus is going to help us leave; he’s going to help us all leave. Who cares what’s going to happen to this city?”

“There must be some people here you don’t want to die. Do you understand that this won’t just disrupt the cogs; it will break them? Some of them will fall; everyone on those cogs will die.”

“Thaddeus pays well and has always done right by me. None of my family lives on any of the cogs that will fall.”

Dellen’s heart sank.

“Even if I wanted to help you,” she shook her head without seeming to be aware of it, “Even if I did, Thaddeus is not a man to cross. Have you seen him fight? I did. Once. That was enough.”

“No, if it was just me, maybe, I might think about it, but I’m not signing execution orders for Lira and Nessa here. My crew are my family, and I’m going to see all of us free of this prison of a city.”

Thatch’s refusal hung in the air like a physical object. Dellen couldn’t fault her for wanting to protect her crew, but he could judge her for the rest.

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Dellen’s gaze hardened, “Believe me when I say this, Captain, you’re not protecting them by doing this. You’re just signing a different kind of execution.”

Thatch’s expression softened with mild amusement, “You think we’re threatened by you? Forged or not, you’re just a soft noble.”

Dellen didn’t rise to the gibe, “I don’t want to fight you, but I will if it means saving the city.”

Nessa drew her blade.

Even preparing to fight, Dellen felt a moment’s pity for the girl. “Lady Victoria, stay behind me.”

Victoria sounded unconcerned, “I don’t need your help to stay safe.”

A knife left Nessa’s hand and whipped at Victoria.

Dellen darted left to catch it and watched in amazement as Victoria plucked the knife out of the air. A heartbeat later, Dellen realized he should have attempted to push or pull it with magnetism.

“Ladies, this is a mistake,” Lady Victoria said.

Nessa exchanged a glance with Thatch.

Dellen watched the two of them for the slightest hostile move.

“Perhaps we should just talk,” Thatch said, “We wouldn’t want anything untoward to happen, now!” She finished with a yell. Heat blossomed behind Dellen, a second later, he heard the roaring noise of Lira’s blowtorch.

“Behind you!” Gilgamesh yelled.

Fire nipped at his back, scorching the edges of his coat as he rolled out of the way. He came up in a crouch, eyes trained on Thatch, who was brandishing a cruel-looking cutlass.

“Fire is a crude tool.” Standing well out of Lira’s reach, Lady Victoria said, “And limited to a close-quarters brute.” With a light kick of her feet, Victoria bounded toward the Nightingale.

“Get her away from my ship!” Thatch yelled while swinging her cutlass at Dellen.

Dellen dashed back to avoid the blade, and Thatch advanced again with another aggressive swing. He ducked, the blade whooshing over his head, but Thatch was relentless. She was a whirlwind of brutal strikes, pushing Dellen back step by step. Yet, the cornered animal inside him refused to go down, his own Aether flaring up. He concentrated Electrical Aether in his hands and repelled Thatch’s cutlass, pushing it back almost into her chest.

His respite was short-lived as Nessa rushed at him next. With surprising agility, she aimed a punch at his face. He blocked, his arm stinging at the impact. Kinematic Aether powered her punches, lending her arms a whistling quality in the air. She attempted a swift kick next, aiming low, but Dellen sidestepped, retaliating with a solid punch of his own. Nessa recoiled, and Dellen slammed his fist into her jaw, again.

“Nessa!” Lira yelled, her voice coloured with rage.

A blast of fire stopped short of Dellen.

Dellen stepped back, and a trio of crates crashed into the ground between him and the fire, shattering on impact. Broken infusers spilled out, scattering parts over the cobblestones.

“Get away from my ship!” Thatch yelled again, running for the Nightingale, her feet pounding on the rock.

Another blast of fire pulled Dellen’s attention back.

“I’m going to sear your skin from your skeleton.”

Electrical Aether built in his palms, and he pushed against the welding torch. Lira’s arms went up with the torch. Dellen rushed under her guard and punched her, knocking her back over the wood and metal shattered on the ground.

Thatch reached the Nightingale and jumped from the ground up over the side, into the ship. A moment later, Thatch flew out of the ship, pushed by another chest.

Lira pulled herself back to her feet from amidst the wreckage of the crates, her face a snarl of fury. She sprinted toward the ship faster than Dellen could believe.

"Lady Lockridge!" he bellowed, giving chase himself, seconds later, Lira reached the hull and climbed the handholds on the side.

The Nightingale’s engines spun, slowly at first, then with more speed. The ship lurched and listed, ascending with an uneven wobble, clearing a few feet off of the ground.

“That’s my ship!” Thatch yelled from behind Dellen, and launched herself past Dellen to get closer to the Nightingale before making an Aether-assisted jump straight up to catch the handholds the Lira had used before her.

Dellen followed, and jumped, using the Electrical Aether in his hands to build a magnetic charge, pulling himself the few feet he needed to reach the ship. His palms slapped onto the hull, and he pulled himself, hand over hand, up the side.

Victoria had a hand on the wheel, and her left arm outstretched, clearly having just deflected an attack from Lira. Lira was already turning back, blowtorch flaring. Yet, in the moment that would have meant Victoria’s end, something remarkable happened.

Victoria released the wheel and pivoted on her heel, spinning out of Lira's line of attack while extending her hand to reveal a sovereign. It whipped through the air and slammed into Lira’s chest, sending the woman sprawling back on the deck, clutching her chest.

Thatch climbed over the side of the deck and spat her cutlass from her teeth, catching it in her right hand, eyes dark with fury, “This is my ship.”

Dellen rushed at Thatch, Electrical Aether gathering in his hands, preparing to jolt her with pure electrical energy, when Thatch punched him in the face. His nose crunched, blood spurted, and Dellen’s head rocked back.

Thatch’s cutlass bit into his side and dragged across his ribs.

Pain exploded from the wound, a hot, vicious line that set his nerves alight. He gasped, his breath hitching as the cutlass tore through his steelskin and raked across his iron-laced ribs. A strange, detached part of his mind registered the faint metallic scrape of the blade even as the majority of his attention was focused on fighting the pain.

Blood, bright and alarmingly vibrant against the muted tones of his attire, bloomed across his side, soaking the fabric and dripping onto the deck. He staggered back, his free hand instinctively clutching at the wound. The slick, warm feel of his own blood was a grim testament to the severity of the injury. Yet, amidst the sharp sting and the dizzying rush of adrenaline, he remained eerily calm. This was a moment of survival, not reflection.

His vision blurred at the edges, his senses narrowing down to the metallic tang of blood in the air and the dull roar in his ears. He forced himself to remain upright, to focus on the threat that was Thatch. Each movement was a searing jolt, his body protesting vehemently against the exertion.

The pain was an anchor, keeping him grounded in the grim reality of the situation. He would bear it, endure it, use it as fuel. Teeth gritted, face twisted into a pain-defying snarl, Dellen steadied himself, his eyes never leaving Thatch. The blood seeping from his side was a grim reminder of her danger as an opponent.

Thatch turned from him and grabbed the wheel.

Dellen knew what she was going to do before it happened.

The Nightingale’s engines roared like localized hurricanes, and the airship shot up. Dellen was forced to his knees and grunted as his wound shifted. A moment later, the ship rolled in midair.

“Hold on!” Dellen yelled in vain, even as Lady Victoria dropped out of the Nightingale. The ground was perhaps fifty feet below.

Dellen didn’t hesitate, he pushed off of the deck and launched himself at Victoria.