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Fix your own damned machines, then.But I don’t mean it. I’m twitching again, desperate to get my hands on this mess, eager to understand how it works. There’s justso much of it.

I decide to start on the southwest side. I prop open one of the heavy outer tower doors with a stone and find a convenient hook on the wall to hang one lantern. The other one that Moseus retrieved for me flickers on the floor. I notice some shieldings here—long, slightly curved bars of metal protecting the machine’s guts—that have been loosened andpushed aside, likely by Moseus’s hand. It’s a good hunch; this area looks a little more accessible than the others.

I carefully turn hidden screws and loosen fasteners to move some of the shieldings and spines, then take an hour just familiarizing myself with the exquisite monstrosity of this machine. A gentle hum builds in my mind, luring me like a bewitching lullaby. I follow cables and test gears, marking on a slate which direction they turn, though most seem to twist both ways. Interesting. What did Moseus say this thing was supposed to do, again? Does he even know?

I pull the floor lantern closer, balancing it on a small beam, and run my index finger over a faint engraving on one of the bars. A simple symbol, but an intentional one. I’ve found them on about half the artifacts I’ve uncovered, though not this particular design. It’s a half circle, flat side down, with a bottomless triangle cutting upward through its curve. At first I thought the markings labeled parts, but after seeing similar symbols on different pieces, I’ve determined it’s some sort of Ancient signature. A way that the men and women of old saidThis is mine.

I’m halfway inside Machine One when footsteps approach. I peer back out, past the coils of a spring, to make out Moseus’s robes. It’s not until I shimmy free that I notice the dimming light outside. Have I been working so long already?

“You will return?” he asks.

Pulling a rag from my pocket, I wipe my hands. “Yeah, definitely.” Then I remember. “The metal?”

“On your first success, as agreed. And I have a few requests before you go.” Moseus frowns at the stone propping the tower door ajar.

“I’m listening.”

“First”—he holds up a finger—“do not do that again.” He points to the door.

Stifling a sigh, I nod.

“Second, do not take anything that isn’t explicitly given to you.”

Leaning my weight on one foot, I answer, “No stealing, got it.”

“Third, do not discuss your work with anyone outside the tower.”

I hold back a frown. “But—”

“Surely you see the value of these things.” He makes a broad gesture to Machine One. “Please understand. It is my duty to keep this place, and my people, safe.”

A whole two people,I think, but bite it back. “No one in Emgarden is a thief.”

Moseus says nothing at all, only waits.

A sigh pushes past my teeth. “Fine. But I can’t help if someone asks where I’m going.”

“Which brings me to my fourth request,” he replies. “Only come and go in the mists.”

A sinking feeling, almost like hunger, lines my stomach, but I don’t understand it. If he’s worried about thieves or dangerous people, it makes sense to mask my comings and goings. It makes sense to avoid questions. And yet the request—more of arule—sits uncomfortably. It’s hard to see in the mists, yes, but not impossible. Not dangerous. Scorpions claim the spot as Tampere’s biggest predator, and they’re delicious. Yet something feels ... off.

Then I remember that I haven’t really slept for a few cycles.

“They’ll ask where the metal comes from,” I point out.

Moseus mulls over this, his lips rolling tightly together. “True. But try, and reflect on my third request.”

Don’t discuss the work.“You give in so easily?”

He tips his head. “I am a peacekeeper.”

I blow hair out of my eyes. “Okay. Anything else?”

“Fifth,” Moseus says, and I try not to roll my eyes. I won’t squander this enormous opportunity. “Give me regular reports of your progress.”

“Oh.” I relax. “Can do. So far I’ve done mostly diagnostics.”

“Thank you.” Glancing at the door, he says, “You may go.”