Northwatch Hill was, like about a quarter of the City, set on the far side of the river. With the winds that swept across the open waters and its distance from the industrial core of the City, urban planners were allowed quite a bit more freedom in their work. As such, the urban sprawl was littered with spots of green and even, occasionally, small gardens and fountains.

Under other circumstances, Samuel might even have been able to enjoy himself. But his fingers tapped impatiently on the butt of his rifle, his pulse thrummed against a dozen different parts of his body, and his lip complained lazily where he had bit it.

"Sam," Angela said, as she rested her hand on his leg. "I'm riding on the assumption you have a plan. Northwatch Hill isn't a big district, but it's still over half a million people. We can't just randomly walk around and hope to run into them."

"Nope. But we can narrow it down a fair bit," Samuel explained. "Cults like to keep to themselves, which usually means some sort of isolation. Fences, natural barriers, that sort of thing. It also means the neighbours complain about them regularly. And guess who gets to hear those complaints?"

"Ah, us!" Angela exclaimed. "My first few months on the streets were dealing with noise complaints from industry running after sunset. I should have thought of that."

"And to help narrow it down further," Samuel continued. "We're looking for a place that can hold grain and honeybees. One conversation with the right community liaison officer and someone might even lead us right to their front door."

"How do you know this is the right place?" Bertram asked.

"I don't," Samuel admitted. "But unless Amanda or Silas are quite a bit closer to Amanda's mother than I think they are, they'll be going off the same information I have. Which should lead them here."

"Have I ever said you somehow look even hotter when you're being clever?" Angela asked.

There was a time Samuel might have been surprised by his partner's temerity. Might have blushed, scratched his head, turned away, tried to calm hopes and joys he wouldn't allow himself to indulge.

But now, Samuel met her gaze, and asked, "You have my back?"

"Even if the Seventh started tomorrow," Angela promised.

"Praise the endless flame," Bertram muttered irritably as the train's brakes started to squeal. "We can get off this train before the two of you start making out."

Samuel chuckled as he stood up, and kissed Angela on the cheek. "Shall we go wrap this up?"

Angela. To his surprise, frowned and looked up at him. "This is the endgame, isn't it? I mean, if we find him. This is going to end today."

"It is. And Silas is here. This might be the last place in the City still willing to hide him."

*****

The Northwatch Hill Station precinct was a very different place from Samuel's work in the Billows.

Not for the building itself. Samuel was beginning to suspect precincts came off the same assembly line. But where the Billows was practically bursting with people, activity, and the cacophony of a hundred small indignities, Northwatch Hill was a quiet walk across an echoing stone hall towards a bored-looking receptionist.

"Can I help you?" a middle-aged woman asked, as she turned in her chair to address them.

Samuel scowled. Heeled boots, well-tailored civilian clothes, perfume Samuel had smelled as soon as he opened the door, long nails without dirt beneath. If the woman was actually an orderly, the Billows would have her screaming for the wall in under an hour.

And Samuel, having spent the last three days learning how much was riding on his shoulders, found he had no patience for being pacified by a civilian.

Samuel drew his badge and held it out. "Inspector Samuel Fraser, First Billows Precinct. I need to speak to the sergeant who heads your community liaison work. I also need a courier, priority blue."

The poor woman could do nothing more than stare at him, her mouth trying and failing to form words. Samuel forced back his own irritation, to keep it from guiding what he did next.

"Best to field me off to someone who can help me, then. Is your captain in?" Samuel asked.

The woman nodded mutely and pointed down the hall. Samuel nodded and marched through the back door, into the vast, empty space that served as the precinct's main hall.

The precinct's appallingly empty hall.

Desks outnumbered the officers doing paperwork by at least four to one. What officers were present did not have the harried, world-weary appearance of the officers and inspectors in the Billows. Nor even the guarded wariness of the Agora's security detail. These officers looked fat, soft, unscarred by the brutality of their profession. If it weren't for the uniforms, and the small mountain of paperwork, Samuel would hardly recognise the place or the officers as his brothers in arms.

"Northwatch Hill must be a peaceful district," Angela remarked, beside him. "I don't think I've ever seen the Billows so quiet."

"There's something wrong here," Bertram muttered, just at the edge of Samuel's hearing.

"A precinct should never be this quiet," Samuel agreed.

"No. Worse, but I can't quite put my finger on why," Bertram said, shaking his head. "You ever felt nervous for a reason you couldn't explain?"

"Probably just nerves," Angela said, smirking. "I always thought being a shadow was a dangerous line of work."

But of the three of them, Bertram was the most comfortable with danger and violence. The shadow had proven that last night, seeing where the incident at the Frosty Hearth was headed before anyone else other than Clovis, and acting to save their lives. Bertram's instincts, perhaps not as perceptive as Samuel's focus was certainly more sensitive.

And so Samuel forced his down disgust aside and focused.

The uniformed orderly whose desk they were passing. Uniform neat and pressed, but more than that, slightly darker in hue, as if the cloth were freshly dyed. The boots, freshly polished, no scuffs or wear in the side of the tread. Her hair was only partially tied up.

Next officer. Lunch on his table. Water with lemon, fresh bread, cheese, and some sort of bean soup. Chocolate left in a small napkin next to his lunch.

The chairs were large, cushioned. Desks made of marble rather than simple stone.

Samuel took out his pad of paper, flipped to a blank page, and wrote on it.

This precinct is taking bribes.

"We'll address it, but our current case takes priority," Samuel said, quietly but firmly. Angela and Bertram both nodded.

Samuel lead the way to the largest room at the far end of the hall, where a surprisingly round man in an orderly uniform, with a beard grown well beyond regulations was conversing with a young woman sitting across from him at his desk.

Samuel didn't bother to knock, instead pushing the door open and stepping inside.

"Who the burning hell are you to barge into my office like this?" the fat man asked. Despite the uniform, despite the rank and the respect it deserved, Samuel had trouble seeing this man as a captain.

"Inspector Samuel Fraser, First Billows Precinct. Your civilian assistant at the front desk sent us to you," Samuel said, showing the man his badge. "I need to speak to whoever heads the community liaison program in the district."

"Is that something warranting you kicking in a captain's door, Inspector?" the man behind the desk asked as he pushed himself, ponderously, to his feet.

"Should I go?" the young woman sitting across from him asked.

"No no, Sarah, please stay. I'm sure the inspector is about to reassess how he speaks to a precinct captain before he apologises and shows himself out."

Samuel scowled, and gave the young woman sitting across from the fat man a quick assessment.

High-heeled shoes, colourful dress, jewellery, a paper umbrella. Socialite, but possibly a politically connected one. It was difficult to get a good read, because there was something about the young woman that didn't quite fit, but he didn't have the time to properly understand.

"I'm engaged in a time-sensitive investigation. Captain," Samuel said, struggling to form the title. He gestured with a tilt of his head towards the young woman. "The details are not something I want to discuss with a civilian."

"I really ought to leave, Captain Balov. It's been a pleasure," the young woman said as she stood up.

"Ah, Sarah, I am sorry. Can I still count on your support for the District Soirée next month?"

"Of course, Captain."

"And that legendary mead of yours?"

The woman gave the barest hint of a flinch, just a twitch of her lip to betray the deep and profound irritation at the question.

The woman then turned and gave Samuel a careful, assessing stare. Samuel recognised the expression, was familiar with it. It was an expression he often wore while he read information off of someone else's face and mannerism.

Samuel grinned, and the woman's eyes widened in a mostly stifled expression of surprise, and dread.

"Northwatch Hill Mead? Do you know where it's made?" Samuel asked the Captain.

"Of course. Sarah is one of the pioneers who helped refurbish the old Granary near the summit," the captain said. "We are delighted to have her galvanising the community."

"Captain, I hope the inspector isn't expecting to just walk into the site. With all the bees and the renovations, it's a bad place for tourists," the young woman said. "I certainly wouldn't expect it without an order from a Justice of the Peace."

Samuel smiled. Her objection was a clever one, to lean on this precinct captain to try and keep them off this site. But it was a move that only confirmed Samuel's suspicions.

"That will certainly be the case," the Captain insisted, fixing Samuel with a hard glare.

Samuel tried his best to keep the grin off his face as he spread his hands. "I certainly wouldn't trespass without the appropriate legal authority," Samuel said.

He hoped Bertram had developed a decent poker face. As a shadow hunting a known rogue reject, Bertram didn't need to fuss over small things like property rights, privacy, and human dignity.

It did disturb Samuel that he was so quick to depend on it.

"That's good. Because I haven't liked that attitude of yours since you walked in here. And you can be sure your captain is going to hear about it," Captian Balov insisted. "Now, did you need anything from me?"

"Nothing I can discuss in front of a civilian, Captain Balov," Samuel said. He turned to the young woman, held the door open, and inclined his head. "It's been a pleasure, ma'am."

The gesture allowed Samuel a moment to glean a careful second look at the young woman the precinct captain was fawning over.

Something about her bothered Samuel. Her appearance was unusually careful, even more so than the usual socialite in High Central. Her makeup, already an oddity this far from the heart of the City, was almost worthy of a performer at the theatre.

Her shoulders were slightly too broad. Her dress, adorned with ribbons and ruffles, didn't disguise that her hips and waist were unusually narrow. Her chin and jaw were slightly too pronounced.

And her makeup, Samuel noticed as she passed, didn't entirely hide the stubble on her neck, around the Adam's apple.

Samuel shut the door as soon as the woman stepped out, turned to the Captain, and gestured with his thumb. "Who is she?" he asked.

"Sarah Eirwald? She's part of the district government. Started as a community organiser until she won a seat. A good friend to have," the captain explained, and he leaned forward at his desk. It was a move Samuel recognised, as his own Captain Vaska tended to use it when she wanted a point to stick. From this precinct captain, the effect was almost comical.

"She's a friend I don't want to lose, inspector," Balov finished.

"Captain, you don't-" Angela began to say, but Samuel clapped a hand on her shoulder and gave her a short shake of his head.

"Of course, Captain Balov. We'll be as discreet as we reasonably can," Samuel said, as he pushed Angela and Bertram to the door. "Sorry to trouble you."

"Can't say the Billows impresses me much," Captain Balov said as the left. "With inspectors like you, no wonder crime is so high."

Samuel shut the door before Angela could storm back inside and get herself fired. Even as it was, she nearly put her fist through the glass panel on the door.

"That flaming shit stain," Angela muttered. "What the burning hell is wrong with him?"

"I'll explain," Samuel said, his voice harsh and cold. It surprised him that his own rage was simply sitting patiently in the back of his mind. "But not here. I'd rather they didn't know I was going to tear this place down around their ears."