Chapter 33 · The First Xia Lan in the Black Box

The red switch rose from the black box with a soft mechanical click.

It was a small thing. Barely longer than Xia Lan’s thumb, set in a strip of brass darkened by age. Yet the instant it locked upright, every wing carved into the ruins opened its eyes.

Crimson light spilled through the chamber.

The floor vanished beneath a lattice of glowing lines. Threads of red climbed the walls, crossed the ceiling, and converged on Nolan Vey. They wrapped around his wrists, his throat, his chest—not touching him, but measuring him. The air filled with the smell of hot metal and rain striking stone.

Milo’s voice crackled through the broken speakers overhead.

“Xia—Lan—listen to me. The broadcast is still running, but I’m losing—”

A burst of static swallowed the rest. Somewhere far above them, machinery groaned. The city’s defenses answered with a distant thunder of artillery, one shot after another, as if the whole of Riftport had begun firing in its sleep.

Xia Lan stared at Nolan.

He stood three steps away, one hand pressed against his bleeding side. Dust silvered his dark hair.