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“You didn’t do nothin’ wrong, boss,” Serval finally said from down the wall. Shaded by the spired rooftop of a guard’s lookout tower, a knife in one hand, he picked idly at his fingernails while staring at Orpheus. “You were protectin’ people, not waging a war against them.”

“You’re too generous with your kindness, Serval,” Atticus sighed. “But I appreciate the sentiment.”

Orpheus shoved away the itch of Serval’s stare and looked back at Atticus. “What about the Myrkur? With their help you could have attacked us at any point. Stopped Lore for good on your own terms.”

“Yes, well, considering you summoned their sworn enemy and all that.”

Ohm. Of course.

“Is that why he’s here?” Orpheus jerked his chin at Duluth. “And that hunter, Daedra?”

“Shockingly, you’ll find the Myrkur weren’t too keen on bringing their war with Ohm and his undead army back home to Hell. They were quite content to have him occupied up here on Earth. Daedra and Duluth were of a different mind, however. But that’s all a moot point now, isn’t it?”

It wasn’t, considering Ohm was back in Hell and, this time, Lore was with him.

But Orpheus didn’t get the impression Atticus would care about that.

He only cared about one thing.

“Look, do you see?”

Down below, cradled by one of Sanctuary’s tallest towers, a violet ember glowed.

“Thank you, for the lanterns. We have enough now to give one to each family.”

Orpheus pressed his lips together and did the math, unable to fight the sinking feeling dragging at his gut. All these people—and yet so many more had died.

When he met Atticus’ eyes then, something like understanding reflected back at him.

“I promised you your life if you helped us, but I think you will find Sanctuary has far more to offer you than simply surviving day to day. There could be a place for you here, if you want it.”

“You’d…give me my freedom?”

Atticus shook his head. “Unfortunately, only Sanctuary’s collective judgement can set you free. But perhaps if you fix enough of the city…” Atticus trailed off and Orpheus bit his tongue before spitting a sarcastic quip, staring into Atticus’ eyes while the silence between them blossomed into curiosity.

“I could get you out of that prison cell.”

Orpheus swallowed, didn’t say a word.

Atticus feigned hurt. “No? Not tempting at all?”

“A gilded cage is still a cage,” Orpheus said, looking away.

“Ah, of course, but freedom is not what you’re after, is it?”

Orpheus gritted his teeth and refused to answer. Atticus kept talking anyway.

“How would you like to see your new project?”

With a gesture, Serval and Duluth stepped to the side to reveal a large dark spherical shape housed within the watchtower.

A tickle inside his brain itched, the sigh of wind across his shoulders urging him first one, then two steps forward. The crutch scraped over the stone, his chain going taunt for a brief second before Atticus fell into step beside him, together closing the distance to the dark spherical object harbored within the wall’s watchtower.

Here at the highest part of the ramparts, it huddled under the roof’s hood like a sleeping eye. The glassy surface was clear, but the material inside murky, swallowing light like it was made of shadow itself, and from its back a clutch of cables sprouted like a nerve to disappear into the stone below where a small iron hatch near seamlessly blended into the mortar.

A utility tunnel, Orpheus realized, and he wondered where all those cables went.

“What is it?” Orpheus dared ask.