We stayed on the terrace until the river had carried off three barges and most of the city's noise. Then Rose straightened, and I felt her decide before she said it.
"Come down with me," she said. "I left her on the floor."
She didn't say mother. She didn't say Evelyn. She said her, and let the word carry what it could.
"I'll come," I said.
The glasshouse stood at the edge of the east quarter, where the old catacombs run under the streets like roots under a lawn. Someone had built it a century ago for orchids and money. Now it was steel ribs, broken panes, and a smell of cold earth and burnt sugar that I knew belonged to sloth-magic going stale.
Reika was at the door. She hadn't moved from the outer ring since Rose went in. Two Redeemer lanterns stood dimmed behind her, their bearers silent in grey coats. Rachel's teams. They had kept the street empty and the catacomb grates sealed, and nobody had asked them to be gentle about it.
