Samuel lead Silas and Amanda down the final set of stairs, and felt hope swelling in his chest as he saw the way to the front entrance empty. Nothing but stairs, cobblestones, and a single door laid between them and the front door.

They were close. Samuel smiled and let the rifle's barrel swing and point at the ground as he let out a sigh of relief.

That was the moment Amanda dropped to her knees and started coughing blood.

"Amanda!" Silas exclaimed, crouching down next to her and held her in place, keeping her from falling down the stairs. In Silas' arms, Amanda coughed continuously for a long, terrifying moment. And each cough splattered blood onto the steps.

"Get," Amanda gasped, pushing at Silas. "Get off, burn you!"

"Are you falling ill?" Samuel asked.

"No. I'm Crafting. Quashing the heat in this room, as much as I can. I can't believe neither of you have felt it yet," Amanda said in wheezes, every few words broken by a long gasp for air.

"Felt what?" Samuel asked.

"I feel it," Silas admitted. "Someone's raising the temperature in the air. Throughout the entire building, all at once."

"Someone?" Amanda asked with a scathing sneer.

"We need to stop him," Samuel said as he put himself two steps below Amanda and looked her in the eyes. "Can you walk?"

"Yes," Amanda said. "Hurry."

Samuel offered Amanda his arm, which she took and leaned on as they made their way down the rest of the stairs. Silas made it to the door first, and set his hands on it. He closed his eyes and held still for a moment.

"What's he doing?" Samuel asked Amanda.

"He's making a small craft, just on the other side of the door," Amanda replied. "He's trying to see if there's anything out there."

Silas pushed away from the door, blinked a few times, and shook his head. "What that Crafter's doing is so bright, it's casting shadows. I've never seen anything like it."

"Is there anyone else out there?" Samuel asked.

"No," Silas said. "Just that man in a red coat."

Silas began to open the door, but he paused after moving it just a few inches. The reject's hands shook, and his face was pale. "If I went out first, and he killed me, would he stop?"

Amanda let out a single, quiet gasp. Samuel turned to look at her, to see her lip twist as her expression warred between rage and grief.

"No," Samuel said kindly. "Even what you've done wouldn't warrant his attention. He's here to keep Amanda from sharing her secrets."

"What about that rifle of yours?" Silas asked.

"No," Samuel said, and he wrenched the door open, pushing Silas aside.

"If he's going to kill Amanda, I'll-" Silas began to say.

"You'll do nothing but die," Amanda said, stepping through the open door. "Like you deserve."

Samuel noticed that the anger in her words was gone.

"Let's go," Samuel said to Silas, gesturing with his hand. Silas nodded once and followed Amanda through the doorway.

Samuel followed, and walked out into a strange, terrifying blue light.

It was a darker shade than the blue of the sky, a hazy blue that came from slow-moving swirls of light that spun around in the air, illuminating the dark clouds lying low in the sky.

The light was brightest around a single man standing less than a hundred yards ahead. As if the light in the air had made a dome around him, the man stood in the middle of this heat scorched, energised air like the heart of a whirlpool, or the eye of a storm.

"By the abyss and its fires," Samuel said, awe and terror both trying to devour his thoughts.

At Samuel's feet, a blaze of flame appeared as if it burst out of the ground, and formed into words.

What are you doing here, Inspector?

Samuel looked up and wondered for a moment if he needed to shout.

I can hear you breathe, Inspector. The heat in the air around you, and even in your lungs, is mine.

Samuel was fairly confident his heart skipped a beat. He took a deep, steadying breath that was made substantially less effective knowing this Crafter might have a hand inside his chest. "Crafter, I managed to get Amanda Destir and Silas Miller out."

The Crafter began to walk towards them, his gait relaxed; even lazy. But the unnatural blue light seemed to get brighter, and the air crackled.

You speak as if you have changed their fates.

"Crafter! Amanda hasn't told them anything!" Samuel exclaimed, his voice cracking a little under the strain of his own fear. He took a step forward, deliberately putting himself in front of the others. "This secret is still safe."

Contain and cauterise. Those are my instructions. These people have offered shelter to a known mass murderer. They would not have done so without payment.

"They were eager to learn what she knew. The Quenched Redeemers used this place as a front, hiding behind the enterprises this granary supports. They've been exposed, their own secret documents are sitting on the Songbird right now. And they tipped their hand to me in the last hour, before you arrived."

Samuel took a deep breath and continued. "They've committed crimes, Crafter. They will be dragged before a Justice of the Peace, have their words heard, and they'll be sentenced."

You skirt the issue. Your word, alone, is not enough to stay my hand. I require certainty.

Samuel's rage twisted at his stomach, and his hand squeezed his rifle as if he were trying to break it. But his anger had never felt so impotent, so meaningless, as stood in the eerie light of air being used as a torch.

"Crafter Ratterson," Amanda said. "Please, I'll swear on whatever I can, I haven't breathed a word of it."

Your word is suspect. You have motive to lie.

"What, to save Silas? Give me a knife," Amanda cursed.

Samuel looked over to Silas, who appeared to be close to tears, just as the reject put himself a few feet clear of Samuel. "Crafter, would you believe the word of a dead man?"

You? No.

"What reason do I have to lie?"

How many people have you murdered in your mad little crusade to rescue her?

There was a pause, and Samuel could tell that the Crafter was watching Silas carefully for his reaction. Deciding to do the same, Samuel looked at Silas' still angry, slightly fearful expression, and couldn't help but see that if there was guilt in the young man, it didn't rise high enough to have any physical expression.

The Craft often consumes compassion and remorse first. How much easier would a lie be, to someone bereft of shame?

"You're just talking yourself into it," Silas said, his hands in fists that were now wreathed in flame. "You're looking for an excuse!"

Do you have any other proof to offer, Inspector?

"Listen," Samuel pleaded. "We can still save them. We have time to interview everyone inside, now that Amanda is out. We can find out if anyone's been told, or even if anyone's close to guessing."

Samuel hoped the Crafter might be persuaded. Might be willing to at least wait. But Theo Ratterson's answer could be seen as the blue light in the air grew so bright it stabbed at Samuel's eyes, and the wind became so hot each breath felt like drawing air from an open oven.

Walk away, Inspector. Leave now.

"No," Samuel said. His voice was a harsh rasp, and his vision was slightly blurry as he looked at the Crafter. He wondered if it was the heat in the air causing the shimmer, or if he was going to pass out soon.

Samuel coughed to try and clear his throat. "I know they don't need to die. So I can't leave."

Crafter Ratterson was close enough now, that Samuel could make out the man's features. His expression was a grim, twisted frown, the kind of face people often made at funerals.

Theo Ratterson raised his hand and vanished behind a mass of red fire so bright it blotted out everything in Samuel's sight. The air it displaced nearly knocked Samuel over, and he staggered backwards in horror, realising what was coming next.

Fire. Just like once before, earlier today.

But just before it hit the air turned cool, as if a cold rain had just fallen. Samuel took a deep, grateful breath and felt that refreshing comfort slow his racing heart and his terror abated a little. He smiled, turned to Amanda, and said, "Thanks."

Amanda looked at him with a befuddled expression. "This isn't me."

The fire crashed into the air just a few feet in front of them. The percussive thundering rattled Samuel's teeth and drummed against the air in his lungs.

Fire swept through the air in a torrent of rushing movement, swirling and rushing back and forth in a cacophonous mass of red, orange, yellow and even bright blue fire. Explosions beat the small rock wall like a child's blocks. Even the dark clouds overhead were scarred and reshaped by the howling fury of this craft.

Samuel watched all of this as if he were standing behind a window, watching rain pattering against a sheet of glass. The heat didn't reach him, and the stone-shattering power was held just a few feet ahead.

To Samuel's right, just a few feet away, Gerald Raeth's feet touched the ground, and he stepped away from a rope. The Songbird's Captian pointed away from Samuel, repeated the gesture once, and then held up his hand with all of his fingers splayed wide.

Samuel looked up to see an airship passing overhead, picking up speed as its propellers began to hum.

"Captain," Samuel began to say, but his relief evaporated when realised Gerald Raeth had drawn a sword.

The sword was notched in two places along the blade. Stories from the Sixth Invasion claim that one of the creatures of fire from behind the last wall had done that damage. But somehow the damage made the blade seem more, rather than less dangerous, and its naked length gleamed in the unnatural light.

"Theo," Gerald said. He didn't shout, didn't make any real effort to make himself heard despite the distance. "Have you heard the Inspector out?"

The air in the distance, just beyond the edge of that glass-like effect that just held against Crafter Ratterson's fire, electricity crackled and splayed between the ground and the clouds. The wind howled and raged, and each step the Crafter took seemed to be punctuated by an explosion that cracked the air and shook the ground at Samuel's feet.

"I have. He can offer me no certainty," Theo said, somehow perfectly audible despite the distance and the cacophony of his power.

"You've spent too long in Research," Gerald replied. "There are no certainties with people. But his reasoning is sound. I trust his judgement."

"Protecting the City from this requires and deserves certainty, which I am here to provide. Get out of my way, reject," Theo Ratterson said, the light in the air growing so bright Samuel had to look away from it.

But Samuel couldn't miss what Theo said next. "Or I will go through you."

Gerald took a step forward. And then another. The air crackled and hissed, but the space held by the captain's power advanced with each step. In Gerald's other hand a fire congealed into a brand as long as a sword and as bright as the Spire, and a flock of small, luminous birds whirled about in the air.

"Theo, think about how this is going to end. Strip away the Craft, all that noise and power, and what are we left with?" Gerald Raeth asked. "You're a scientist who thinks a twenty-minute hike in a field is exercise. And I'm a soldier with a sword."

The air trembled as the two men's wills pounded at the winds and twisted the clouds. Lighting flashed, fire bloomed in colourful blots, and the lights flashed with unnerving speed.

Samuel watched, horrified, as the airships turned and began to speed away, as the skies around these two powers of the City turned unwelcoming for even those flying ships.

All four ships.

Samuel's thoughts went back to that terrifying night, two years ago, when the war came on wings of billowing flame. A night they would not have survived without the same ships now fleeing from this coming battle.

Samuel recalled what Coraline had said, and understood the depth of her warning. With resolve he didn't know he possessed, he squeezed the grip of his rifle, raised it...

And pointed it at Captain Raeth's back.

"Stand down, Captain," Samuel said, his voice far from steady. "Please."