Tendrils of smoke rose from the corners of the ruined slabs of metal resting in front of the doorway. What was left of the door was bent almost in half, an unsuspecting victim of a gut punch that could probably have put a hole through a stone wall.

Starting at the door with a mixture of profound relief and abject terror, Samuel could not believe that this was the same man he had met just yesterday.

Gone was yesterday's earnest young man, deferential and happy to assist. In his place stood fury and wrath that could level buildings and slag districts, held in check by a force of will tempered during the worst of the Sixth Invasion.

"I am Captain Gerald Raeth, of the Midnight Songbird," the City's first airship captain said, as he stepped into the middle of the room. There was a subtle change in the air, a cool and gentle breeze that smelled faintly of rain.

It reminded Samuel of something Bertram had said, just yesterday, on the deck of the Songbird. "To be within a Crafter's heat haze is to be within their power."

"It's over," Captain Raeth said, as he deliberately stepped towards the hostages sitting in the corner of the room. "Your captors have agreed to surrender themselves to the Orderlies outside. Please just sit tight for a minute longer. We'll have you home with your families soon."

"Captain," Samuel said, striding over. "Thank you for-"

"No, Inspector Fraser," the captain interjected, a little too loudly to simply be a conversation. "I, and the entire City, owe you a great deal. This took you less than an hour to resolve, and you did it without any bloodshed."

"I couldn't have done it alone," Samuel said.

"You shouldn't have to do anything alone," Gerald said loudly, clapping Samuel on the shoulder. The captain leaned forward, and in a near whisper, added, "We need to speak. Have Mister Hannover pour you a drink. I'll have the bar empty in a few minutes."

Bemused, Samuel shook his head and sat down at the bar across from Clovis, who had buried his face in his hands.

"You should pour us some of that Northwatch Hill Mead," Samuel said. "This might be your last chance."

Clovis scoffed, but got up from the bar and drew out a pair of mugs from a cupboard. He filled both from a wooden barrel a few steps away, then set one in front of Samuel.

"I suppose we both deserve a last drink. You didn't move quickly enough, Inspector. The City has us now," Clovis said.

Samuel gawked as Clovis took a long, slow sip. "You really think he's going to kill us to keep us quiet?"

Clovis chuckled. "I do. I would in his place. You really didn't get very far into that notebook you took off the shelf, did you?"

"Not at all," Samuel admitted.

"Then you'll probably die ignorant."

"You seem pretty certain of that," Samuel said.

"He shouldn't be," Gerald Raeth said, as he sat down beside Samuel. "After all, the Inspector is too calm for someone who learned what was in those notes you kept. And I should thank you, Mister Hannover, for burning them just a few minutes ago."

"What? I," Clovis began to say, but something passed between the two of them that Samuel didn't understand. Samuel clenched his teeth to bury his anger, knowing what was lost.

"It seemed like the right decision. You don't need more evidence against me than you have," Clovis eventually said.

"Prudent," the captain conceded.

Clovis then made an innocuous motion, a gentle shift on the stool, but one that left his arm inside of his coat. And the bartender had not yet surrendered his weapon.

"Captain," Samuel said. "Clovis is armed. He has some kind of gun, with ammunition that contains Coldstone."

"I know," Gerald replied. "I had to extinguish his first shot just a minute ago. Would you show it to me, Mister Hannover?"

Clovis's hand snaked into his coat, but he seemed to rethink making any hasty motions in front of the captain. Instead, he slowly drew out the gun, holding it by the end of the handle with only his index finger and thumb. He stretched his arm out, and awkwardly set the gun on the bar.

"Interesting," Gerald said, as he took the weapon and opened it. "It's an old Salamander model, one of the breach chamber versions. Heavily modified, but they stopped making these models shortly after the Fifth."

He then titled the weapon until the shot dropped into his hand. "Coldstone, coated in lead, with a..." the captain trailed off, examining the casing closer. "An alloy I don't recognise. Mister Clovis, the knife your reaching for, please pass it to the Inspector."

Samuel blinked in surprise, and scowled at the bartender as Clovis slowly set a long knife on the bar. Samuel picked it up and nearly dropped it as a biting chill nipped at his fingers.

"It's Coldstone," Samuel said.

"It is. These were all made by Crafter Cassiopeia Saval," Clovis admitted. "This place used to be her home. The Billows District spent a year after the Fifth beneath the Gloam."

"How did you end up with the place?" Samuel asked.

"About fifteen years ago, my wife made an enemy of a rising name in Civil Development. They had a relationship that ended badly, He took 'no' poorly, and I ended up humiliating him in public," Clovis said, taking a long drink.

"This rising name would be Derrick Vorlan?" Samuel asked.

"Yes. He forged a health warning about my home, had it cleansed and slagged," Clovis said. "Normally, someone in Civil Development looks around and find you a new home. But Darrick managed to make sure he was the one who did that. So my wife and I, and the twins, were homeless. We all got sick shortly after that when we went to the Undercity to try and find some sanctuary. The twins didn't recover from it, and my wife didn't recover from that loss."

"I see," Samuel said. "Apologies, for what it's worth."

"About a year after that, I found a patron. I imagine you don't know the name Stenman Xavier."

"I know it," Gerald said. There was a hard edge to the captain's voice.

"He put me on to this mystery of a place that constantly disrupted pipe flow, of a place that seemed to be perpetually cold. When we found it, we found more Coldstone than every speck in the Undercity combined. And far more than we could ever move. He took as much as he could, and part of what he did with it was let that vicious bastard's real cunning come out. We had the place evicted for structural deficiencies, and with the right bribes, got the place turned into a bar. We thought it was the perfect cover for eventually moving all that Coldstone."

Clovis chuckled. "But barely a year after that, another of his schemes works better than anyone hoped, and Stenman ends up transforming the Undercity almost overnight. He no longer has a need for Coldstone, and there's no more need to move the stuff."

"So you're left with Coldstone and a bar," Gerald eventually finished, nodding.

"But when opportunity knocks, you don't turn away. Silas Miller came into my bar two nights ago, begging for a place to lay low. He tells me the shadows tried to kill him because he was asking rejects about getting sick. And if you know what I know, well, there's only one reason that a reject would get sick."

"Mister Hannover," Gerald said, slowly and firmly. The tone in the captain's voice suggested it would be perilous to ignore him. "Say no more on this subject. Innocence is ignorance."

But Samuel recalled Amanda Destir, pale and weary in a hospice ward, and the brutal secrecy of her work that had driven her to push away family and love. Brutal secrecy in work that had put her in that hospice more than once.

And there was only one thing Research could do that could connect cleanly with a seedy bartender sitting on the research notes of the inventor of Coldstone.

"Manufacturing Coldstone makes rejects sick," Samuel realised, resting his hands on the bar to steady himself.

"And knowledge is guilt," Gerald sighed. "Yes, Inspector. I can confirm it."

"You knew?" Samuel asked, weakly. It really wasn't a question Samuel had needed to ask.

"Indeed. On some level, anyone who can Craft knows. To wield the flame is to make it a part of you."

"I know that much," Samuel admitted.

"Then it follows that to actively quash the flame is akin to an amputation. We can let it go without consequence, but to turn our will upon it is self-harm."

"So the City uses rejects, through Research, to manufacture Coldstone?"

"Yes," Gerald admitted quietly. It was the first word Samuel had ever heard the Captain speak that wasn't filled with Gerald's quiet self-assurance.

"Burn me," Samuel whispered. His mind whirled, as his thoughts flew across the City. The pipes that drew the fires of the Spire to the furthest walls, regulated by Coldstone. The lift bags of the Airships used powdered Coldstone to hold in the inferno that provided lift. Officer swords, shadow knives, refrigeration, water purification, and dozens of other life-saving applications developed over a half-century of this miracle invention.

And all of it made by rejects. Who hurt themselves by making it.

Who killed themselves by making it.

"Burn me," Samuel whispered, his head falling into his hands. He wasn't sure if he was swearing or asking it of the Captain.

"Owning a bar helped, when I first learned it," Clovis admitted, taking another long drink.