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The door splintered inward before Lucan could think.
Mira moved first. She grabbed his wrist and hauled him sideways, away from the spreading pool of blood beneath Scar-Nose's body. Her grip was hot against his skin, tight enough that he felt her pulse hammer through his veins. The bone tablet under his shirt pulsed once in answer, a flicker of heat that made his ribs ache.
"Don't say a word," she hissed. Her blade was already out. "Let me handle this."
Lucan wanted to argue. He was the one with the target on his back. But the door slammed all the way open and three men stepped through, and the one in the middle made every protest die in his throat.
Orin Rook looked like someone's favorite uncle. Soft gray coat, tidy beard, hands folded behind his back. He glanced at the corpse on the floor the way you'd look at a stain on the carpet. Annoyed, but not surprised.
"Blade Officer Thorn." His voice was warm. Friendly, even. "I heard there was trouble."
Mira didn't lower her weapon. "Trouble's dealt with. I'm taking the suspect into custody."
"Suspect." Orin smiled. It didn't reach his eyes. "Is that what we're calling him now?"
Lucan's gut twisted. The tablet burned hotter, a warning he couldn't decode. He forced himself to stand straighter, even though his legs felt like wet paper. Blood still dripped from the knife in his hand. He hadn't had time to drop it.
Orin's gaze slid to him. Lingered.
"Lucan Vey," he said, like he was tasting the name. "I came to pay my respects. I was told you'd drunk yourself into the ground."
"Not dead yet," Lucan managed. His voice came out rough, but steady enough. "Sorry to disappoint."
One of the men behind Orin shifted. Lucan caught the glint of a chain wrapped around his fist, something that looked like a collar dangling from the end. The air in the room changed. Got heavier.
Mira stepped between them. Close enough that Lucan felt the heat rolling off her shoulders, smelled the faint tang of steel and sweat on her skin. She didn't look at him, but her free hand brushed his elbow. A warning or a promise, he couldn't tell.
"The Watch has jurisdiction here," she said. Her tone was blade-flat. "If you have questions, file them through the captain."
Orin tilted his head. "Of course. I wouldn't dream of interfering." He gestured, and the man with the chain stepped forward. "I only thought it prudent to confirm young Vey's... stability. There are concerns, you understand. About his recent behavior."
The chain rattled. Something at the end of it moved.
Lucan's stomach dropped. The collar wasn't empty. There was a shape inside it, low to the ground, lean and wrong. It didn't have fur. Its skin was mottled gray, stretched too tight over ribs and spine, and when it lifted its head Lucan saw eyes like coins dipped in oil.
A spirit hound. He didn't know how he knew, but the name rose up from somewhere deep, maybe Lucan's memories, maybe the tablet. The thing's nostrils flared. It turned its head toward him and growled, a sound that vibrated in his teeth.
"Standard procedure," Orin said mildly. "Blood oaths are delicate things. If someone's... compromised, the hound will know."
Mira went rigid. "You can't—"
"I can." Orin's smile didn't waver. "The Vey covenant requires verification after any incident involving clan blood. You know the law, Officer Thorn."
The handler let out more chain. The hound crept forward, head low, tongue lolling. Lucan could see the teeth. Too many, too sharp, all the way back to the jaw hinge.
His mind raced. Blood oath. Covenant. He had no idea what that meant, but the hound's growl climbed into a whine, eager and hungry, and Lucan knew if it bit him it was going to find something that didn't belong.
The tablet flared hot enough to sear.
Lucan sucked in a breath. The thing wanted a trade. Pain for power. Loss for leverage. He'd used it once already, back when the poison was tearing through him. It had kept him alive. Maybe it could keep him hidden.
He met Mira's eyes. She was staring at him, her jaw tight, and for half a second he saw the subway platform in her face. The blood on the tile. The way her hand had reached for him before the world split open.
She knew. She didn't trust him, but she knew.
Lucan turned back to the hound. Let his shoulders drop. Let the knife slip from his fingers and clatter to the floor.
"Fine," he said. "Check me."
The hound lunged.
It hit him low, jaws locking around his forearm, and the pain was immediate and total. Teeth sank through cloth and skin, scraped bone. Lucan's vision whited out. He heard someone shout, maybe Mira, but the sound was far away and underwater. The hound shook its head, worrying the flesh, and something inside Lucan's chest cracked open like a dam.
The tablet drank it down.
He felt the pull, sharp and greedy, dragging the pain out of his arm and into the fractured stone pressed against his ribs. The hound yelped. Its jaws sprang open. It staggered back, shaking its head, and a thin wisp of smoke curled up from its muzzle.
Lucan's arm was a mess of blood and torn skin, but the tablet hummed, satisfied, and the air around him shimmered. Just for a second. Just long enough.
The hound whined and slunk back to its handler, tail low. It wouldn't look at him.
Orin's smile finally slipped. His eyes narrowed.
"Interesting," he murmured.
Mira grabbed Lucan's shoulder and hauled him upright. Her fingers dug in hard enough to bruise. "He's clean. Now get out."
Orin didn't move. He studied Lucan the way you'd study a map with half the roads missing. Then he reached into his coat and pulled out a small brass lamp, no bigger than his palm. The flame inside was blue.
"One more test," he said. "Just to be thorough."
He tossed the lamp.
Lucan's body moved before his brain caught up. He snatched it out of the air, and the second his skin touched the metal the flame inside surged. It burned cold, so cold his fingers went numb, and the light spilled out through the seams and painted shadows across the walls.
The shadows didn't match the people in the room.
Mira cursed under her breath. Orin's men shifted, hands going to weapons. And Lucan saw it, clear as glass: the shadow stretching from his feet wasn't his. It was taller. Broader. And where his chest should be, there was a hole, ragged and black, like something had been torn out.
The tablet burned white-hot.
Lucan didn't think. He squeezed his fist and crushed the lamp.
Glass and brass crumpled. The blue flame snuffed out. The shadows snapped back to normal, and the only sound in the room was Lucan's ragged breathing and the hiss of steam rising from his palm.
Orin stared at him. For the first time, he looked genuinely surprised.
Then he started laughing.
"Well," he said, and his voice was bright with something that might've been delight. "You're full of surprises tonight, aren't you, Lucan?"
Mira stepped in front of Lucan again, blade up. "That's enough. He's under Watch protection. Touch him again and I'll file a formal complaint with the Council."
Orin raised his hands, all innocence. "No need for that. I got what I came for." He turned toward the door, his men falling in behind him. But he paused at the threshold and glanced back.
"Your blood seal's fading, by the way," he said casually. "I'd get that looked at. Hate to see you lose your claim before the convergence."
Lucan's mouth went dry. "What convergence?"
Orin's smile returned, warm and terrible.
"The gate's already cracked open," he said. "We're just waiting to see what walks through."
Then he was gone, and the room was silent except for the drip of blood and the soft, pained wheeze of Lucan's breathing.
Mira turned on him, her face pale. "What the hell was that?"
Lucan looked down at his mangled arm, at the crushed remains of the soul lamp in his other hand, at the faint glow still pulsing under his shirt.
"I have no idea," he said.
It wasn't entirely a lie.