Chapter 32

We waited at the station with twenty hired benders and my cousins. Aramis was in the engine car with Marcus, helping him shovel coal into the boiler to get the train running. They'd drive the Iron Saint through the city to the runaround track, where Marcus would assist him in turning the train around and waiting down at the Main Station, keeping the locomotive hot for a quick getaway if needed.

Her brother had kept his distance from me, opting out of taking the carriage with us. Instead, Esme let him borrow the bike again, and I wondered if he had somehow gained pity from her, especially considering the damage he'd caused the last time.

"Alright." I paced in front of our crew as the sun dipped behind the brick walls of the Industrial Station, assuming their attention. "We're to make this job fucking quick. I want fifteen men guarding the train while it's stopped. Five will come with me to the Grounds. Adler and Gideon will stay with Camilla. Luther comes with me."

As they nodded along, I looked at my wife, who stood still at the edge of the platform, watching me pace. "There is nothing," I said to the group, "nothing more important than protecting her. We'll do our best to find and rescue Regulus, but the priority is Camilla. And if anything happens to her, I'll leave all your sorry asses across the river for the Watch to deal with. Is that clear?"

A murmur of yessirs softened some of the tension coiled in my chest. They were probably wondering why I bothered letting her come along in the first place if she was so valuable. I'd wondered the same at least a hundred times since she expressed her adamancy in tagging along.

"I can protect myself, Attano. You forget what I can do."

I nearly rolled my eyes. She'd choose to be confident in her gifts now in front of my men, but if the time came, I worried if she'd maintain that composure. Instead of questioning her, I stood at her side.

Slipping my hands around her waist, my gloves grazed the soft leather of the fitted vest she wore over a long-sleeved black shirt. Those bewitching hands of hers were concealed beneath similarly made gloves that laced up her forearms. She was a gentle stunner in a silk dress and a lethal beauty in black leather, with all her curves on display as the material clung to her form.

"I haven't forgotten, Milla. Neither has Felix Firenze."

Her chin lifted an inch. She pointed to the steaming locomotive. "My train." She cocked her head toward my cousins. "My family." Her hand drifted to my chest. "My husband." She gripped my tie and yanked me closer. "And my choice. If I can protect the things I love most in this world, I will not hide just because I am afraid of what might take them away."

There was absolutely no arguing with that, and she smiled knowingly. That little smirk that made me foolish.

Fuck. I was so in love with her—and I think she just confessed... she loved me, too.

"Boss," Luther said behind me. "We should head out to make the most of the moonlight."

I nodded and forced myself to step back. If I wanted to make this quick tonight, I'd need to push her out of my thoughts and focus on the job. "Stay on the train," I whispered.

She stood on her toes to place a grazing kiss on my lips. "Don't give me a reason to leave."

"Deal."

"Cousin," Luther called again. He was stressed, and rightly so.

I gave her one last look before turning to board the car behind hers. She'd stay in the suite while the rest of us boarded the single passenger car pulling behind it. Only two cars besides the tender box. It wouldn't take long for the engine to get moving without the added weight of its usual load.

"Nico, wait!" Milla called before I stepped off the loading deck. She handed me the pocket watch from the box. "I've been thinking about the first place you should look. There's a name etched onto this watch, Fielder. I know him. He's the clock tower master." She clicked the top of the watch, and the back popped off. "I was messing with the needles and realized I couldn't move them. When I looked in the back, the cogs were missing, but there was something else." She handed it back for me to see for myself.

A key.

The watch wasn't a watch at all, but a holder for a small brass key.

"When the note asked for the time, I think that was a clue, not a question. Fielder is known to be a remnant sympathizer. He was married to a descendant before she died a few years ago. I hope this doesn't mean he's joined his lover because of his loyalties."

"Brilliant, Milla." I took the key from her and kissed her knuckles. "Thank you. We'll go there first."

"Be careful." Her smile was a brief flicker before she turned and boarded the other car.

We reachedthe Main Station at exactly nightfall. The streetlamps hadn't been lit, cloaking the streets to the Grounds in a murky darkness. Moonlight spilled through the shapes of wispy clouds, illuminating the cobbles in patchy spots. Our boots were silent against the stone, passing blocks of homes that had turned off their lights. The Districts had gone dark, no doubt alerted of our presence tonight.

I bent the moonlight to shine over the street, thickening the shadows behind the wrought iron fence line separating the apartments lining the roads. My eyes fell on the abandoned carriages parked in front of the homes, watching for any surprises. If the OIC had trained the people here to hate us, the Society wasn't the only threat we needed to be wary of.

"I fucking hate this," Luther whispered behind me. "Let's get this done and get the hells out of here."

The clock tower chimed seven times. We had two hours, but the journey on foot to the Grounds had eaten away at least fifteen minutes. Transferring Regulus—if we found him—would take twice the time if he was hurt. In actuality, we had far less time than the bell gave us credit.

The clock tower stood at the point of a triangular strip of government buildings. The rest of the markets and storefronts surrounding the shape, with the point opening wide to the riverwalk. In a way, the clock tower overlooked the River Ada, while the rest of the Grounds stood in its shadow. The moon pierced a clockface we couldn't see from the rear of the marketplace.

The last time I'd been here, I'd escorted Milla to the House of Records. The same building that stood in front of me now. Who would have thought her past would have been as important as it is now? The breadcrumbs she had followed led to so much more than either of us could have fathomed.

"Eyes on the roofs," I whispered, taking the street that wove to the right of the House of Records. Either way would have led us to the tower, but the shadows angled toward the right side, and if we were ambushed, we'd have no cover besides the cloak of darkness.

But so far, the note had been truthful. Not a single guard roamed the streets, nor did I see a flicker of movement in the windows or on the roofs of the adjacent businesses. The center was completely barren. Eerily quiet—unnaturally so.

Sounds of the restless currents of the Ada met us as we reached the tower. A pair of arching, mahogany doors built into the stony structure composing the tower made the entrance at the base, with brass handles gleaming in the silver light.

They were locked, but as Milla suspected, Fielder's key was exactly what we needed. This had to be the place they kept Regulus. But a clock, of all places? It wasn't the strangest fact of the evening, but it made my questions multiply far faster than I could solve them.

All six of us took a collective breath as we entered. It was pitch-black, but one of the men found a kerosine lamp and started a small flame. Even with the small reach of light, it was evident where the path led us next.

Up.

"Shitting Saints." Luther grumbled his displeasure at the stairwell stretching higher than the light could reveal and sighed before ascending the first step. "Next time, I'm staying with Milla."

We'd already eaten away thirty minutes, realized by the deep vibrations humming down the throat of the tower as the bells rang once more. A chorus of something sharper—more pressing—joined them.

I passed Luther on the stairs, taking the steps two at a time, because hidden behind the solemn chime of the clock bells was a song I had sung once before myself. One I knew from memory.

The scream of a suffering man.