Cora's "Safe-House" was suspended inside a massive, decommissioned ventilation turbine. To get there, we had to climb a series of swaying chain-ladders that groaned under the weight of the humid Basin air.
Inside, the turbine blades acted as walls, creating a circular, ribbed chamber filled with the hum of localized generators and the smell of strong, bitter chicory.
"Sit," Cora commanded, gesturing toward a surgical cot made of stretched canvas and iron pipes.
I collapsed onto it, my vision swimming. The adrenaline that had kept me upright since the industrial tunnels was evaporating, leaving behind a cold, hollow ache.
Cora didn't go for the father or Elara. She went for a heavy wooden trunk in the corner, pulling out a bottle of clear, stinging spirit and a roll of clean linen. She sat on a stool in front of me and reached for my left arm.
"Don't," I rasped, flinching back.
"Kaelen," she said, her green eyes hard as flint. "I've seen 'Burnout' before. If I don't vent the stagnant mana in those blackened veins, your arm is going to turn into a bomb. Do you want to take out the whole turbine?"
I closed my eyes and let my head hit the canvas. "Do it."
She sliced through the charcoal-stained rag with a combat knife. The air hit the raw, violet-streaked skin, and I hissed through my teeth. Cora poured the spirit directly onto the fracture.
I didn't scream. I couldn't. I just felt my soul trying to crawl out of my throat.
"You were always the best 'Breacher' we had," Cora muttered, her hands steady as she began to scrape away the crystallized mana-shards. "The Spires loved you. Until you broke."
"I didn't break," I managed to say, my breath hitching. "I just stopped believing in the mission."
"The Siege of Oakhaven Gate," Cora said, her voice dropping to a whisper. She looked at the father, then at Elara, who was standing perfectly still in the corner, her sapphire eyes tracking every movement of the needle. "Ten thousand soldiers. We were supposed to be the liberation force. But the Mages... they didn't want to free the city. They wanted to harvest it."
I remembered the smell of the gate. The way the sky turned purple when the Spires opened their valves. They hadn't sent us to fight an army; they'd sent us to provide "Emotional Frequency" for their soul-engines. We were the fuel.
"My core... it didn't just fracture," I whispered, the memory of the explosion flashing behind my eyes. "I tried to reverse the flow. I tried to shut the valve."
"And you almost did," Cora said, wrapping the clean linen tight around my forearm. "But a man can't fight an empire with one soul, Kaelen. Not even a soul as stubborn as yours."
She stood up, wiping the blood and violet sludge from her hands. She turned to Elara.
The porcelain girl hadn't moved an inch. She looked like a statue, but the golden light in her chest was pulsing in a slow, steady rhythm.
"So," Cora said, crossing her arms. "This is the 'Key.' The one the Silt-Sharks are willing to die for."
"I am Elara," the girl said, her silver diaphragm vibrating. "And Kaelen is not 'fuel.' He is my Ferryman."
Cora let out a short, sharp bark of a laugh. "He's a fool, little doll. He's been carrying the weight of a thousand dead soldiers for five years. Why would he stop for you?"
Elara stepped forward. Her porcelain hand reached out, touching the fresh bandages on my arm.
"Because," Elara said, her voice sounding hauntingly human. "He is the only one in this city who knows that a broken thing can still hold a purpose."
The father stood up from his corner, his voice trembling. "We need to get her to the Low-Spires. There is a resistance group there. They have a way to broadcast her frequency. If she 'sings' through the main grid, the Spires will lose their grip on the city's mana."
Cora looked at me, then at the girl. "The Low-Spires? That's a suicide run. The Watch has the border locked down with 'Null-Wards.' Your Ferryman is half-dead, and your 'Key' is covered in cracks."
"I'll take the job," I said, pushing myself up from the cot. My arm was still throbbing, but the "Quiet" Elara had placed on it was holding.
"Kaelen, you're in no condition—"
"I'm a Ferryman, Cora," I interrupted, my eyes locking onto hers. "The fare is paid. And I don't leave my passengers in the middle of a shark-tank."
Cora sighed, reaching for her double-barreled crossbow. "Five silver, Kaelen. You still owe me five silver. I guess I'll have to come along to make sure you live long enough to pay up."