12
I stand on the main stage of the Spires, the most beautiful complex of buildings in all the Dark Lands, aka ghoul central. Everything in the ghoul’s realm looks either like a Goth graveyard or a Brutalist concrete lump. Not the Spires. This complex of buildings is lovely with winding white towers that reach into the dark, lightning-filled skies like so many delicate fingers.
And I don’t say that simply because my favorite ghoul engineer and architect designed them, either. I’d adore this place even if Walker didn’t mastermind it all.
I lean into Lincoln’s body, feeling his warmth beside me. We spend about half our time standing on some stage or other. Somehow, this comforting routine almost makes me forget why we’re here.
Almost.
The image of Maxon’s screaming face appears in my mi
