Luc Holdfast sat on the rooftop ofthe Alchemy Tower, hunched back against the tilt of the tiles as he absently spun an opium pipe in his fingers. The spire of the Tower, lit with the Eternal Flame, burned above him, a beacon of white light.
The sun was setting, the world hued with bronze shadows as Helena clambered across to join him.
He was so gaunt, he already looked older than his father. The war had chewed him down to the bone. The tendons along his neck stood out like cords when he swallowed, looked over, and then away again.
“What happened to us, Hel?” he asked as she crouched down beside him.
She stared at the horizon, past all the towers, towards the south.
“A war,” she said.
“You used to believe in me. What did I do to make you stop?” His voice was faraway.
“I still believe
