"You hate secrets? That is pretty absurd, coming from you," Samuel said bitterly.

But even as he spoke, it occurred to Samuel that this particular secret that he was now inadvertently protecting, was probably the exact same motivation that had recruited an entire group of rejects into coming here.

"Sir," he added.

Coldstone is likely made near the cargo trains further below. Moving it is, after all, extremely dangerous

"Right," Samuel said, as he turned to the stairs. The light faded a little as the model airship drew closer, hovering a few dozen feet to Samuel's left in the air. "Keep an eye out for me, and if you see someone, cast light at them."

The airship blinked at him once, which Samuel took to mean Captain Raeth had agreed.

Samuel started down the stairs carefully, gun pointed towards the next flight as it came into view. His tread was nearly silent, and his hands were disturbingly still.

He went down two flights of stairs before he heard screams. Up ahead, he could see flashes of light from an open doorway. He followed swiftly, gun at the ready, and approached just as a figure stepped through the door.

She looked like little more than a teenager. A young girl, thin, short, speckled with acne, and a haze of shimmering flame so hot Samuel could feel it even from where he stood.

"Stop!" Samuel bellowed.

The girl turned and looked at him, with an expression that ripped at Samuel's courage. Her smile a blend of mania and euphoria, her eyes alight with joy, and brilliant orange flame danced between her fingers.

"You ain't gonna die easy," the girl said and took a step forward. "And that Salamander isn't even going to slow me down."

"Pass the next doorway, and we find out," Samuel replied, and he stepped forward. "Who are you, and why are you here?"

"Silas said they were doing something to my people," the girl replied. "I still can't believe how right he was."

"You don't seem to be grieving much," Samuel said.

A careful taunt. The mania in her eyes terrified him, but after Tessa last night, Samuel didn't trust himself fully with identifying a reject's mental state.

"I'll burn the people hurting them. What's so wrong about that?" the girl asked.

No remorse. No grief. Not even anger. None of that made any sense for someone who had accompanied Silas Miller in his lovestruck anger. He knew wielding the flame would drive those who used it to madness, but Samuel had never understood it before. He thought he had when they had cornered Silas in Nursery Tower. He thought he had seen the signs in Tessa last night.

But seeing this girl, Samuel understood.

The flame consumes the mind. This girl had consumed her capacity to care, to hate, to grieve. Her power had devoured her compassion, her resolve. What he saw now was the shadow of her reasons for accompanying Silas, still being devoured by the desire to burn.

And understanding, Samuel pulled the trigger.

The girl twisted on her feet, spinning halfway around, and crumpled as if she had forgotten how to stand.

Samuel pulled the latch and ignoring the searing pain on his fingertips, pulled out the spent shell and tossed it aside. He set a new cartridge in the rifle, closed the barrel, and advanced on the girl's fallen form.

Samuel crouched next to her, and with one hand still pointing his weapon at her head, knelt down to check for a pulse.

He wasn't surprised to find the girl was already cold to the touch.

"I've never killed on the job before," Samuel whispered to the girl as if making an apology. He closed her wide eyes and rested his hand on her forehead for a moment.

He stood up and turned to the model airship. "It was the proudest part my career. I've never needed to kill anyone."

More are coming. Ahead and behind

Samuel spun to his left just as someone shoved open a nearby door. He managed to see a young face twisted in grief and rage before that young man pointed his hands at Samuel and vanished behind a mass of fire.

Samuel could feel the heat hit him like a sudden hurricane. It blew his coat back, nearly blinded him and actually pushed him back. But through what he could see, the fire was billowing around and against the little model airship that was holding the fire in place.

Samuel remembered Gerald's warning and turned just in time to see another person step through. Fire flickered on the man's hands, and he dashed at Samuel as soon as their eyes met.

The man dashed to the side just as Samuel fired. The shot struck the man's shoulder hard, and he spun in place as he ducked behind a doorway. Samuel charged after him, and as the reject turned to face him, Samuel thrust the gun's stock up into the man's chin.

The reject's head bounced off the back of Samuel's gun and cracked against the wall. He slid to the ground and collapsed in place.

Samuel had the latch to his gun open before the man stopped sliding. The shot popped loose and spun in the air, and another was in its place before the spent case struck the ground.

The fire trying to surround the airship looked like a pair of massive claws, so bright that Samuel couldn't look directly at it. But the airship seemed to be weathering the onslaught with ease. As the reject's congealed mass of fire drew close, it was ripped apart and devoured by the Coldstone on the lift bag.

Samuel pointed the gun at the next reject, but the lift bag flashed once, and the fiery assault vanished. A sickening crack punctuated the sudden darkness, and Samuel saw the reject bounce off the wall, and fall to the floor.

A small pinprick of fire flashed near Samuel's feet, and he looked down to see his notepad, dropped during the fight.

He bent down to pick it up.

You are surprisingly adept at combat, Inspector

"I've never killed on the job before," Samuel said. "Doesn't mean I didn't train for it. And I take it you can't really bring your power to bear right now?"

I see and hear through the flame. And that flame is surrounded by canvas soaked in resin to bind powdered Coldstone. Also, did I forget to mention that I'm sixty-eight miles away?

"I thought you said eighty miles."

I'm on my way

"Right. Where to next?" Samuel asked.

Through that door, I believe. Cargo train is straight ahead. But be careful, others are Crafting

"Got it," Samuel said. He opened the door, and let the model airship float ahead. He followed, finger tracing the contours of the gun's trigger.

The door lead into a long hallway, seemingly empty, windowless and dark. Samuel started walking, relieved the model ship cast enough light to see to the end of the corridor.

As Samuel made it halfway across the hall, the building rattled as if something was shaking it. Samuel cursed and ran the rest of the way, stopping by the door and opening it a crack.

The airship went inside first, and Samuel followed.

For the first time since Samuel had stepped inside, the room was actually lit. But not with fire.

Odd crystalline orbs dotted the walls, bathing the room in an eerie blue haze. The room was immense, nearly as large as a train platform. Long channels of molten metal flowed across in wide rivulets, set in channels set in the floor.

And the room was bitterly cold.

Samuel stepped inside and scanned the room. The cold air had a subtle taste to it. Acid and iron, sweat and urine. The stones near his feet were stained with a spattering of old blood. Most of the channels carved into the floor had slow-moving rivers of molten rock, but a few were made of only cold rock, with a single stone embedded inside.

A single stone, a block, one engineered so precisely Samuel was willing to bet it measured precisely one cubic foot.

"Coldstone," Samuel said. "Coldstone is made here."

It is. You shouldn't linger

Samuel ignored the advice and turned to one of the other nearby doors, where a small collection of wheeled stretchers gathered.

"Stretchers. Blood, piss and worse staining the ground. And-" something up ahead caught Samuel's eye and stopped his tongue.

A pile near the end of the doorway. Four feet high, a macabre mass of what was once nearly fifty people.

"Are those the rejects who made Coldstone? Just piled there, left to rot? What the burning hell is happening in this place?" Samuel asked.

Those are not just rejects. Medical personnel, labourers, and others. You can tell from the thick, insulated gloves and warm clothing. A reject wouldn't need that kind of insulation

The model airship approached the pile, and danced in a lazy loop around it.

In fact, these are not dead Research is responsible for. These people were killed with the Craft

Samuel heard a distinctive clack of boots on stone. Somewhere further down the hall, on the other side of an open door, someone was coming towards them. He raised his gun and pointed it.

A man swept into the room, his red coat gleaming in the hazy light. The man met Samuel's gaze for a heartbeat, just as the model airship cut between them.

And between heartbeats, the air hit him like an oncoming train.