Chapter 16 · Toll the Iron Bell

"Get the hell back from the ledge, Vesper! Now!"

Lucian’s voice cracked through the comms, sharp and jagged. Vesper didn't move. She was crouched on the rusted catwalk of the broadcast tower, her boots slipping on a patch of oil. Below her, the Undercity was no longer a slum—it was a furnace.

"I can't just leave the signal!" Vesper yelled back, leaning into the wind. "If the feed drops, the people in the Lower Ward won't know the gas is a lie. They'll just keep running into the purge zones!"

"The feed is locked, you idiot!" Lucian snapped. "Look down. Just look down!"

Vesper glanced over the railing. Her stomach dropped. A sea of torches—thousands of them—were flooding the plaza. The slum dwellers weren't running away anymore. They were marching. They were carrying rusted pipes, kitchen knives, and heavy industrial chains.

"They're actually doing it," she whispered.

"They're doing it because I told them the Inquisitors are bleeding," Lucian’s voice had shifted. The panic was gone, replaced by that cold, predatory calm that always made Vesper’s skin prickle. "Now get your ass down here before the tower becomes your tomb."

She didn't argue.