IT WAS SNOWING AGAIN.

Mori stood between Ren and Argent, shivering in the cold. He'd woken up sometime later to find Ren and Argent deep in conversation. He didn't know how long he'd been asleep, but the thin daylight had faded to early morning. He'd drifted in and out of consciousness for a few hours, trying to follow their conversation. He'd heard a name mentioned a few times — Bashko — and references to a library, certain timepieces.

He'd woken again with the dawn, feeling much more refreshed. The events of the night before felt like a fever dream, hot and fuzzy and intense. Not long after, they'd left Argent's house and onto the streets of Dysis, their feet squelching through the half-melted slush.

Now they stood in front of a brick warehouse, snowflakes settling on their clothes.

"Sure this is the place?" Ren said, rubbing her hands together.

Argent glanced at her and smiled. "Have a little faith in me, Ren."

He took a small pocket watch from his pocket and pressed it to the bolted door of the warehouse. He motioned for them to step back. A second later, a small explosion blew off the lock. It clattered to the floor with a heavy thunk.

"Alright." Argent flipped the latch open and eased the door open. "A word of warning — these guys can be a little...territorial. Stay on your guard."

Argent pushed the door open and stepped inside. Ren followed, with Mori bringing up the rear, gripping a crowbar.

He stepped inside and the smell hit him first: the sickly stench of blood, bitter dust and something sharp and electric that made him flinch. A second later his eyes accustomed to the gloom and he saw the silhouettes strewn across the floor.

"What the..." he murmured.

It looked like a hurricane had ripped through the warehouse. Books and scorched papers littered the floor. Bookcases upended, shelves dangling from the brick walls. Tables and chairs were scattered over the concrete, tipped onto their sides, legs shattered. And whatever had done this had left its victims behind. Mori counted twelve bodies — sturdy, well-muscled men dressed in tailored dark suits. None moving.

Argent rubbed his head, brows knitted together. "Hmm. Not quite what I expected..."

"You were saying something about faith?" Ren said.

"How was I supposed to know this was going to happen?" Argent bent to pick one of the books. The scorched cover crumbled in his grip, along with several of the pages. "Well, check the things left behind. Perhaps we'll strike lucky."

Ren nodded and headed off to the back of the warehouse.

"What are we looking for, exactly?" Mori asked.

Argent shrugged. "At this point, anything legible."

Mori wandered the room, picking at A groan drifted up from the ground. Mori jumped. His eyes followed the noise, landing on the figure of a man just ahead. Mori crept over, stepping over the lifeless forms of his companions with a shudder.

Mori looked down at the man, avoiding the puddle of blood spreading from his body. For a moment he lay unmoving, but then a breath wheezed from between his lips.

"He's still alive," Mori said.

Ren and Argent came over. Argent crouched beside him, withdrawing a timepiece from his pocket. The man's gaze flicked to the pocket watch, undisguised apprehension in his eyes.

"Y-you're one of them clock-makin' people."

Argent looked up at him and smiled. "There's nothing to worry about. We're here to help you."

There was something disarming about his smile, the gentle tone of his voice. Argent rested a hand on the man's shoulder and he relaxed.

"Okay," he said.

"Good." Argent wound the pocket watch and tapped the watch face. "Look here for me, please."

The man's eyes shifted to the clock. Its hands whirled, faster and faster until they blurred into each other. He leaned forward, as if entranced.

Ren shifted beside him. Mori glanced at her, a prickle of apprehension at his neck as he saw the unease in her eyes.

Then, the watch face flashed bright. The man's head jerked back, his eyes flaring pure white.

Mori backed away, watching in horror as the man shuddered in the thrall of the timepiece, light streaming from his eyes to the watch face. He looked down at Argent, who watched the man convulsing before him with nothing but blank disinterest in his expression. How could he be so calm?

"Argent," Mori said, a frantic edge to his voice.

Argent snapped the timepiece shut. "Yes?"

Mori had no idea how he could go from his easy friendliness to that terrifying distance so quickly. It was like someone had flipped a switch. Mori swallowed.

"Never mind."

The man slid to the floor, shuddering. He pressed his hands to his ashen face with a moan.

Ren's gaze lingered on the man on the floor, a frown at her lips. "You could have just asked him."

"Well, we got what we needed," Argent said. He tucked the timepiece back into his pocket and straightened up. "I wouldn't hang around here in case whatever did this comes back. Let's find somewhere safer to watch this."

Mori still had no idea what Argent had done, but a small part of him was too scared to ask. Ren hadn't said anything else, either, but whenever Mori glanced at her, he saw a look of faint disapproval in her eyes. He couldn't stop thinking about the stricken expression on the man's face as they left the warehouse, stunned and empty, like something had been torn out of him.

He wrapped his arms around him and shivered, barely recognising the cold.

Argent took them to an abandoned railway platform, on a spindly metal bridge overarching the cobbled main street. The snow had picked up into a wind-blown flurry, painting crystal-white swirls in the air around them.

Argent set the timepiece down on the ground between them and wound it again. White light unfolded from the pocket watch and gathered into a circle.

"Alright," Argent said. "Let's see what kind of party we gatecrashed."

A dim, flickering image resolved onto the screen. Mori could make out the interior of the warehouse, pre-disaster. The tables were upright, shelves bolted neatly to the wall. The men he'd seen slaughtered on the ground now milled around, patrolling the doors or chatting at the table.

A memory, Mori realised.

No wonder the man had looked so empty — the timepiece had stolen a recollection right out of his mind. Mori shook his head in disbelief. He didn't even know it was possible to do that with a timepiece. Mori looked down at his feet, shifting his weight uncomfortably. It felt invasive to even watch it play out on the screen.

But a couple of seconds later, Argent pointed to a figure in the background. "There."

Mori's eyes flicked back to the screen, in spite of himself. Argent gestured to a man in the background, sitting at a metal desk and leafing through a heavy leather-bound book. Every so now and then he would say something to the spindly man stood at attention beside him, who scribbled it down on a sheet of paper.

"That's the guy we want," Argent said. "Corda Gambrel."

"Who?" Mori asked.

"He's one of the most powerful people in Dysis, the leader of the biggest gang in the city."

Ren frowned. "Why's he so interested in Bashko's work?"

"Bashko kept this place under pretty tight lock when he was around. Corda didn't like being under his thumb. He thought that the clockmaker shouldn't get to decide how the rest of the world lived their lives."

Ren raised an eyebrow. "I imagine Bashko wasn't too happy about that."

"You're absolutely right. They've been at each other's throats for as long as I can remember." Argent smiled dryly. "A few months ago, Corda had an epiphany and realised that Bashko's power came from the timepieces, and since then he's been trying to build one of his own."

Ren snickered. "Poor guy."

"He doesn't know he won't be able to use them?" Mori said.

"Nope, and I'm not going to tell him." Argent smirked. "Keeps 'em out of my hair."

The action picked up on screen. A group of men clustered around one of the entrances, waving and shouting. The door jolted, then buckled, and a crackling explosion of vivid red light rocked the scene. Smoke billowed in through the entrance.

Through the haze, a figure walked through, their body shrouded in a heavy cloak.

Mori's fingers gripped his knees. For some reason, something about the person sent a sick, heavy panic through him. Even with the cloak on, the bright crimson light sparking at her fingers was unmistakeable. His body tensed, bracing for another attack, as if she was there in the room there again with him.

"That's her," Mori said, his voice a hoarse whisper. "The traveller."