The shop was darker than usual.
Sorin had not lit the gas lamp when Leximus descended the stairs. The only light came from the jars on the shelves—the Characteristics, pulsing faintly in their preserving fluid, casting the room in a dim, shifting glow. The shadows moved with each pulse, reaching and retreating like the tide.
Sorin sat behind his desk, his hands folded, his face still. The woman's body was gone. Leximus didn't ask what had happened to it.
"The Audit will come looking for her," Leximus said.
"They won't find her."
"You sound sure."
"I am." Sorin's voice was flat. "The Audit doesn't care about dead Adepts. They care about live ones—the ones who can still work, still bring in children, still fill their quotas." He paused. "She was dying. She was useless to them. They've already forgotten her name."
Leximus sat in the chair across from the desk. The wood creaked under his weight. The Characteristics pulsed, their light reflecting off Sorin's hollow eyes.
"I need more than the palace map," Leximus said. "I need the whole city. The passages. The hiding spots. The places where no one looks."
Sorin was quiet for a long moment.
"That's a dangerous request."
"I know."
"The people who ask for that kind of information—"
"Tend to disappear. You said that before."
Sorin nodded slowly. He reached under the desk and pulled out a leather tube, the kind used to protect important documents. He uncapped it, slid out a roll of paper, and spread it across the desk.
The map was old. The edges were frayed, the surface cracked with age. It showed the capital—not the official capital, the one with clean streets and noble districts and monuments to the King's glory. This was the real capital. The one beneath.
"There are three layers," Sorin said, tracing the map with his finger. "The streets, where everyone walks. The sewers, where the poor hide. And beneath the sewers, the old city—the one the Church buried when they built the catacombs."
"How do I get to the old city?"
"You don't. Not unless you know the way." Sorin looked up. "The passages have been sealed for centuries. The Church sealed them. They didn't want anyone finding what was down there."
"What's down there?"
Sorin didn't answer. He pointed to a section of the map marked with symbols Leximus didn't recognize—spirals, voids, the same shapes he had seen in the cathedral.
"The palace has a secret entrance," Sorin said. "It's not on any official map. The King's architects built it three hundred years ago, when the old city was still new. It leads from the eastern wing to the river."
"Why would the King need a secret entrance?"
"Every King needs a way out. The question is whether they ever use it."
Leximus studied the map. The route was marked in faded ink, the lines thin but clear. It passed through the old city, through the catacombs, through places that had been sealed for centuries.
"If I use this route—"
"The Church will know. The seals are warded. Breaking them alerts the Sunwardens."
"What if I don't break them?"
Sorin shook his head. "You can't go through without breaking them. The seals are physical—stone, iron, old magic. They're meant to keep people out."
"And in."
Sorin nodded. "And in."
The silence stretched.
Leximus looked at the map. The symbols, the routes, the places where the old city intersected with the new. He thought of the cathedral beneath the cemetery—the void-altar, the congregation, the way the stone had pulsed when he looked at it.
"There's something down there," he said. "Something the Church doesn't want anyone to find."
"There are many things the Church doesn't want anyone to find. That's why they built the catacombs. That's why they sealed the old city." Sorin paused. "That's why they're afraid of the Drown."
"The Drown?"
"The slums. They're built on the marsh—the same marsh the old city was built on. The ground there is thin. The seals are weaker. If anyone ever found a way through..."
"They could get into the old city."
"Or something could get out."
Leximus looked at the map again. The cold inside him was quiet, watchful.
"I need this map."
Sorin nodded. He had known Leximus would ask. He had known before Leximus walked through the door.
"Take it." He paused. "But remember—the old city is not empty. The Church sealed it for a reason. Whatever's down there, it's been waiting for a long time."
"Waiting for what?"
Sorin met his eyes. His were hollow, empty, the eyes of a man who had seen too much and forgotten too little.
"Waiting for someone to open the door."
Leximus folded the map and put it in his coat.
He stood. The chair scraped against the stone floor. The Characteristics pulsed, their light casting long shadows that stretched across the walls.
"Sorin."
The man looked up.
"Thank you."
Sorin shook his head. "Don't thank me. I haven't done anything."
"You gave me a map."
"A map that might get you killed."
"Everything might get me killed." Leximus paused. "At least this way, I have a chance."
Sorin said nothing. He watched as Leximus walked to the stairs, his footsteps silent, his shadow stretching behind him like a wound.
At the bottom of the stairs, Leximus stopped.
"The woman—Lira. Her sister. Do you know where the Audit took her?"
Sorin was quiet for a long moment.
"The re-education camp on the outskirts of the capital. The one the Church doesn't talk about." He paused. "But you can't save her. You can't save anyone. You can barely save yourself."
"I know."
"Then why ask?"
Leximus looked back at him. The cold inside him was still, patient.
"Because someone should remember her name."
He walked up the stairs, through the candle shop, and into the fog.
Sorin sat alone in the darkness, the Characteristics pulsing around him, the map's ghost still spread across his desk..