A twinkling light passed Samuel's right eye like the reflection of a train, and he felt the air push at the side of his face.

The young man at the door; the young man who was more than likely their quarry, Silas Miller, dodged clumsily back into the doorway. The knife glanced at the edge of the young man's shoulder, tearing the coat and spraying blood into the air.

Bertram blitzed past them with a speed and ferocity Samuel had never seen before in his life. The shadow's hands seemed to conjure daggers into his hands, with another throwing knife already streaking through the air just as the first one clattered to the floor.

Samuel reached for his stick; a metal rod that hung on his belt, hidden beneath his coat. He barely got the clasp off before he heard a scream from up ahead. He looked up just as he gripped his weapon in his hand, to see Silas clutching at something that jutted from his left arm.

Samuel and Angela both ran forward, just as Silas snarled and lifted his hand.

Bright orange light erupted from that hand, and Silas vanished behind a wall of fire that devoured the hallway. The fire rushed at Bertram, who leapt aside into a doorway, holding a dagger in front of his face before he vanished behind the flames.

Another gout of flame grew larger and larger in Samuel's sight until something knocked into his right shoulder and shoved him into the nearby doorway.

Angela pushed him into the door and pressed herself against him as fire rushed through the hall. Samuel wrapped his arm around her shoulder and watched until the light died off, and he could dare to risk poking his head out into the hallway again.

When he did, moving around Angela, he saw Silas running down the hall. He threw himself into a run, stick in hand, and chased after the young man.

He was drawing close, less than a dozen steps when Silas stopped at the stairwell and wrenched open the door. Seeing Samuel, Silas pointed his hand, and a lance of flame burst out of his hand and rushed at Samuel.

Sam let his legs give out, and dropped the floor. He rolled as soon as he hit the ground, feeling the heat pressing at his back before he managed to move aside.

When he managed to look up again, the door was already shut. Samuel threw himself to his feet and grabbed at the handle, only to find it didn't budge under his hand.

He wrenched at it with both hands, but it held fast, not even making a noise.

"Spit and ash, he welded it shut!" Bertram said from beside Samuel. Bertram's finger was pointed to the doorframe, where the metal had been twisted in on itself, metal and stone merged together.

Samuel finally noticed the acidic tinge familiar to the Billows district. The smell of burnt metal.

"The elevators!" Samuel shouted. He turned and ran back. Bertram darted ahead, and Angela, closer, had already reached the nearest door.

Angela was already opening the door when there was a loud crack, and the elevator plunged out of sight.

"Simmering bile!" Angela cursed, jumping back. "He cut the burning cables!"

Samuel stared down the nearly black chasm of the now open elevator shaft. Just as he looked, he could hear the squeal of scraping metal. The screech continued for a long, single note until the elevator eventually stopped.

"That ash-bitten little shit could have killed someone with that. Could have killed us," Angela hissed harshly, her hand trembling as she clutched it against her side.

"That was too burning close," Bertram agreed.

Samuel looked over to the shadow, surprised to see his coat was missing. The left side of the shadow's shirt was in ribbons, and much of the arm beneath was bright pink.

"Bert," Samuel said, "we need to get that looked at."

"Cold water for the moment. It's about all we can do right now since we're trapped up here until someone thinks to check this floor," Bertram insisted, turning his shoulder away. "And you two ought to check the apartment while we're here."

"Right," Samuel said, and he shook himself, trying to stop his heart from hammering at his rib cage.

They made their way slowly, Angela leading the way to the door. Samuel was grateful for the long moment to catch his breath, and he finally tucked his stick away in his belt.

Samuel suspected, as he stepped into the Miller's opulent apartment, that he would be more impressed if he hadn't just nearly been killed.

The entrance hall of the Millers' home was nearly as large as the lobby of the average apartment, and much more richly decorated. Potted plants littered ornamental shelves, the walls were covered with artwork, and stunningly, some of this furniture was made of wood.

There are no forests in the City. There are hardly any trees. There are precious metals more common than wood furniture, even in High Central.

"The Millers really know how to live it up," Angela whistled as she followed Samuel inside.

Bertram passed them both and stepped out of sight. Samuel started to follow, but stopped as he heard water running and decided to leave the shadow to his treatment.

Instead, Samuel stopped by one of the tables and glanced over the small pile of letters spread over the surface. A quick glance set his heart back at the task of trying to break his ribs, and he sat down quickly and picked up the nearest letter.

"Found something, Sam?" Angela asked.

"It's a letter from Amanda Destir," Samuel said, setting the letter down and picking up another. "And it doesn't look like a happy one."

"Breakup letter?" Angela asked with a knowing smirk. "There's one more perk to having a well-connected boyfriend; you can dump his ass from the comfort of a kitchen table."

"Remind me not to date you," Bertram said from the other room, shouting over the running water.

"You were right, Ang," Samuel said as he glanced over the letter. "Now, the letter isn't dated, but that's not too surprising. She tells him that work is busy, and she doesn't have any interest in putting the work into a relationship."

Samuel read a bit further into the letter but looked up when he heard a loud grinding sound from nearby. He looked around, to see Angela pulling at one of the mirrors hanging against the wall.

She managed to pry it off, struggled to keep it from hitting the ground with only one arm.

"Need a hand?" Sam asked.

"Go throw yourself in the Spire, Sam," Angela said, with vitriol and venom. The hair stood up on the back of Samuel's neck.

It took him a moment to realise what he said. And one moment more to realise that it took him a moment too long.

"Ang, I'm sorry," Samuel said, rising from his seat.

"No no, you keep reading," Angela insisted tersely. "I have this."

"What are you doing?" Bertram asked. Samuel looked over to see the shadow had wrapped his arm in some very clean looking, embroidered linens.

"Hoping I can signal the Songbird," Angela said, as she set the mirror down and opened the balcony door. "It's just taken off from the Agora."

"Won't it be heading to the walls?" Samuel asked.

"Yep. And if it were any other airship, we wouldn't see it. But the Songbird uses the Spire to assist her ascent. So if I'm quick, I might be able to signal them."

Angela took the mirror and stepped through the door. "I also get to meet two airship captains in two days. And this one's single."

Angela shut the balcony door and began to raise the mirror into the air. It only took her a moment of trying to manoeuvre the heavy glass object before she carefully set it to rest against the wall, and put her foot through it.

"She probably wishes that was your face," Bertram said, pointing at the now thoroughly shattered mirror.

"I'm beginning to suspect that," Samuel nodded.

"I'm not sure how well you understand how deeply that slip of the tongue bites, Inspector," Bertram said, sitting down next to him and picking up one of the letters.

"She has to know that wasn't deliberate," Samuel said.

"Does she? That missing arm has upended her life. It's probably taken away a lot of the happiness she had, and taints what she's managed to grab at since," Bertram said. "You owe..."

Samuel waited to see how Bertram was going to continue his sentence, but Bertram had stopped speaking. The shadow had pulled the letter closer, reading with sudden and forceful interest.

"You found something?"

"Yes, I believe I did," Bertram extended the letter towards Samuel.

Samuel took it and glanced over its contents. Most of it appeared to be an elaborately detailed description of Silas' time with his acting troupe. "What am I looking at?"

"Second paragraph from the bottom. Where Silas finally starts writing about someone other than himself."

Samuel scanned down and started to read aloud. "Congratulations, darling! So on and so forth, he spends way too much time trying to embellish his language. My dear, Research is a prestigious posting, a place where an ember like you could rise high on the currents of talents and good fortune! Let us celebrate, a token spent as a token of my affection."

Samuel whistled, and smiled. "Amanda Destir works for Research. If she's there right now, we might know where Silas Miller will head to next."

"That's unlikely. You've heard of Theo Ratterson?"

Samuel nodded. "I remember his name from your headquarters last night. He runs the place in everything except name."

"Yeah. Just after the Burning Night incident, Research went through a dramatic shakeup. Theo emerged from that as lead researcher. But the scary part is that he's a full crafter, trained by Tabitha a'Loria. If Silas tries to make an incident at Research over whatever has him so worked up, there won't be enough left of him to smudge the cobblestones."

Bertram rolled his shoulders and fingered the makeshift bandages over his arm. "Shame, though. I really wouldn't mind letting some crafter smoke that flame-bitten little shit and solve our problem for us. I'm not that keen on having someone try to kill me."

"Is that what it looked like to you?" Samuel asked, surprised.

"You don't think he was trying?"

"I think he was trying to not kill us, actually," Samuel replied. He swallowed and tried to explain. "Don't get me wrong, it was clear Silas was prioritising his escape over our lives. But his actions looked more like he was trying to drive us off, push us back. He welded the door shut, and cut off the elevator in a building in high central. There's the service elevator, but he knows we don't have keys for that. And he didn't pursue us when we hid from his fires. Those aren't the actions of someone looking for a fight."

"It might be best, Samuel Fraser," Bertram said as he pointed at the burns running across his arm. "If you leave that kind of thinking to the professionals."

"Your 'professional thinking' is exactly why I've been handed this burning cauldron of shit," Samuel rasped. "Look at the burning evidence on your own smouldering arm! This cinder-stained kid slagged fourteen people who had him encircled. We're still alive only because he didn't decide to kill us!"

"What, by the embers of the abyss, is your point?" Bertram asked in a raspy voice.

"That this kid has a motive! Something set him off yesterday, something that Starson Vontusk tried to calm him down over, which was working until 'professionals' like you decided knives were your first burning option." Samuel practically shouted, and he jabbed his finger against the wooden desk for emphasis. "In Silas Miller's head, he was defending himself, and now he's on the run. To find him, we need to understand him. Which means the next burning time you think about questioning my judgement, get on a train to Lower Central and ask your chief to send a replacement."

"I did it!" Angela exclaimed from the doorway to the balcony. She was only half leaning inside. "I caught their attention, and they agreed to assist. They'll be here in about five minutes. What else did you find, Sam?"

"Remember Amanda Destir? Silas's former flame? She works for Research," Samuel said. He smiled, enjoying the surprise and joy that spread over Angela's face. "Now, she dumped Miller shortly after getting her posting. And more recently, within the last week or two, she's been getting sick. All of this happened after someone else that Rosemary Miller mentioned, Francis Pilchmer, died of some sort of illness. And I'm willing to bet you a dozen tokens Pilchmer worked for Research."

"No bet. I trust your instincts over most reports, Sam," Angela said, clapping him on the back. "Sounds like we need to go to Research."

"I suspect Captain Raeth might be willing to take us there," Bertram said. "We would make better time than we could by train."

Samuel glanced over at Angela and gave her a long, meaningful look. He watched her longer than she should have until she gave him a subtle nod.

"Then we'll ask. Worst the captain can do is tell us off for wasting valuable military resources and time. I suspect he's wanted to tell someone that all morning," Samuel reflected.

Samuel began to pick up the letters off the table, and fold them up. "It's all evidence now," he said to Bertram, who was giving him a quizzical look.

Samuel barely finished folding the letters up into a bundle, and only began to stuff them in his pocket when the room suddenly turned darker. Samuel swivelled quickly and was stunned to see a gleaming length of metal blocking out the horizon.

And just as Samuel looked at the balcony, a figure holding a rope plummeted into view, swinging on a line down in front of the metal hull, and over the railings of the balcony.

The man landed with adroit, practised ease as he gently touched down on the balcony and detached the cable from his belt. He turned back to the ship, let the cable drop into the empty air, and gave someone up above a quick salute with a flick of two fingers off his right eyebrow.

The man was very familiar to Samuel. He had the same black coat Samuel had seen him wear a few hours ago. He still wore a sword at his belt, with a pommel piece depicting a bird perched on a branch in front of a crescent moon.

The man strode to the balcony door and slid it open.

"So," Captain Gerald Raeth of the Midnight Songbird said, as he strode inside. "You say you need me to open a door?"