The District of Embers Tears had a distinctive smell to it.

The region had, much like the Billows, been lost to the Gloam during the Fifth. Embers Tears, along with the legend of Withering Heights, was the closest the Golems had penetrated into the City fifty years ago. But the entire district had been the sight of a running battle, as trains carrying Valkyries harried the Golem until it had collapsed in front of the next wall.

Because of the devastation of the Golem rampaging through the district, Embers Tears had been abandoned for decades after the Fifth.

Many of the buildings had been constructed around the largest pieces of rubble. So much so that many buildings had massive pieces of cement or stone bricks jutting out of the walls at odd angles. The pieces had been reinforced, but the monuments served as a reminder of the danger the City was constantly in.

All things considered, it was an odd place to ask for a clandestine rendezvous.

"So Bert," Inspector Angela Ostal said, as she and the shadow both stepped off at Breakwall Station. The odd shape to the stones that made up the walkway was what had earned the name of the station, as it had been made from the ruins of the wall collected after the Fifth. "Have any idea why Samuel was called away this morning?"

"My lottery tokens are on Samuel being offered a job," Bertram replied. "He left quite an impression on Agrias."

"I'd have mixed feeling about seeing him in Oversight," Angela admitted, with a sigh. "Mostly because our last job for them was such a burning mess. But I could see him there, he'd be good at it."

Bertram nodded, and the shadow glanced around. Angela could see out of the corner of her eye how he was carefully marking the distance between themselves and anyone who could listen to their conversation.

"So," Angela said, preempting his question. "I should tell you why I asked for company."

Angela fished a note out of her pocket and unfolded it. "This was left for me at my precinct desk by a kid. Said some woman gave him the token and the letter, said to give it to the one-armed inspector."

Angela glanced over the contents of the letter one more time before she handed it to Bertram.

Inspector Ostal,

I believe the two of us share a degree of curiosity. Momentous events have happened right in front of us, and not knowing the cause must rankle. Particularly since you are so close to someone who will not tell you the truth.

If you wish to compare notes, come to the south wall of Ember's Tears, a half-mile west of the station. You may bring the shadow who accompanied you during your investigation, but I will not show if you bring more orderlies, Samuel, or if I even suspect an airship is nearby.

I do hope we can help each other.

Q

Bertram read the note, nodded solemnly, and returned the note. "Quentin, I take it?"

"Of course," Angela remarked, as she rolled her modified Salamander in her holster and shifted her coat. "I should have asked already, but you're armed, right?"

"At all times," Bertram admitted. "It's policy in Oversight."

"Good. Because I don't know what we're walking into. Quentin might be willing to just talk. But if not, we might have to fight our way out," Angela explained. "My only backup plan is a bunch of letters that get sent if I'm not back in the office by late this evening."

"Who are the letters for?"

"Captain Vaska, Sam, Chief Sunbane, my old instructor sergeant from my army days, and Captain Raeth," Angela explained, with a menacing grin.

There was some comfort in knowing that she would be avenged if this meeting went badly.

"Yeah, that's a lot of firepower to bring down on their heads. Still, I'd rather not fight our way out, so try to channel your partner more than yourself," Bertram said.

"Right. I'll try for a level head," Angela agreed, pointing up ahead. Nearby, neatly carving the horizon, was the outer wall of Embers Tears. Like every fortification in the City, a full hundred feet high, and easily wide enough at the top to accommodate a set of train tracks. Sloped so that it was quite a bit wider at the base, the foundations were set deep into the ground, giving the wall the appearance of having grown up and through the surrounding urban area.

Bertram and Angela turned to follow the setting sun and walked the next few minutes in silence.

Up ahead, Angela could see a pair of figures standing near a small fountain. And as plain and unremarkable as Quentin's face and stature were, his features and mannerisms were now burned into Angela's memory.

But as they drew closer, Quentin's companion struck Angela as the more unusual of the pair. The woman's coal-black hair was tied loosely on one side, so much so that her cascading locks blocked her right eye. Her dress, her stance, and even the way her hands rested at her sides struck Angela as imperious, a self-assurance matched only by the Crafters Angela had met a few times in her life.

"Odd," Bertram muttered.

"What is it?" Angela asked.

"That woman with Quentin. Just for a moment, it looked like she glowed," Bertram admitted, but he grinned and shook his head. "Must be a trick of the light."

"Does this look like an ambush?" Angela asked.

"No. Line of sight is long, we'd see them coming from almost a quarter mile away. Rooftops are too high for a clean crossbow shot, no nearby balconies. If I were picking a place to meet someone I didn't trust, I'd choose a place like this."

"That bodes well," Angela grinned, but her fingers rested on the Salamander stock beneath her coat. "Shall we?"

As the approached, Quentin took a couple of steps forward and stopped by the small fountain. "Inspector, evaluator. I half expected you to come in force."

"If you wanted to turn yourself in, you could have just dropped into my precinct. I'd be happy to process you," Angela rebutted.

Quentin flinched, but he pressed on. Angela marked the decision, confident it meant he wanted their cooperation. "And you didn't bring Samuel. Which means he hasn't told you what he knows."

It was Angela's turn to flinch. Samuel had mentioned that Quentin was clever and observant. If she wasn't careful, Quentin could learn a great deal in this conversation.

But he wasn't the only one who could play this game.

"You're not here hoping you can learn something from us," Bertram said, and Angela cringed inwardly.

"No. But you're here because you're curious. You wouldn't be meeting out here unless something about the last few days bothered you as much as it does me," Quentin said. "Rejects getting sick, and someone so keen to cover it up that they'd send that attack dog Theo Ratterson."

"I'd give my other arm to watch you call Crafter Ratterson that to his face," Angela smirked. "Seeing the air burn like that still creeps me out."

"Not scared enough to enjoy ignorance," Quentin said with confidence. "Has it ever occurred to you, to wonder why the Gloam has besieged us for four hundred years? Why the Golems and Gloamtaken march for it? And if that truth is also being covered up? If that incident two days ago has taught us anything, it's that there's a cabal in this City, made up of people willing to kill to keep those secrets."

Angela flinched. She trusted Quentin about as much as she'd trust fire to not burn her, but something about the last few days stabbed at her thoughts.

"The Gloam is a Craft. It is related to fire," the woman said, and she spoke in an accent that Angela was certain she had never heard before. An accent so foreign she couldn't place it from anywhere in the City. "Let me ask, if this cabal were hiding the fact that the Gloam is made from a Bore, just like the Spire, would you be so quick to lend this secret group of murderers your allegiance?"

Angela didn't respond. She couldn't respond. Something about the possibility hammered at her thoughts and left her reeling. "Do you have proof?" was all Angela could ask.

"Of course not," the woman said. Looking closer, Angela could see the woman's face had odd lines etched in her flesh, strange and unnatural looking scars. "If I had proof, we wouldn't be having this conversation."

"We reached out because dragging this secret cabal into the light serves the interests of the Cult of the Quashed Redeemer. And I think our interests are aligned in this."

"Spit and ash," Bertram said, nodding.

"We're not helping you destroy the City," Angela warned.

"No, of course not," the woman said smoothly. "But where it is in our interests to give you information, I rather hope we will be able to."

Angela cursed but nodded. "I'll take it. Just don't expect much more from me than what I feel like sharing."

"We wouldn't dream of it," Quentin said.

"The cult calls me The Burning Lady," the woman said, introducing herself. "My name, though, is Titania du'Aloreen. And I am glad to see you're reasonable."

In the back of Angela's mind, she couldn't help but wonder what she had unwittingly given away in this bargain.