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I felt the smallest pang of envy as he spoke. Nick had a family. As far as I knew, I no longer did.

The operation was short, only requiring a local anaesthetic. Once the tracker was out, Nick showed it to me. It had been placed just deep enough that no one could have seen or felt it under my skin. He cleaned and stitched and dressed the wound, and I drowsed in the medical room for the rest of the afternoon, wanting to be alert for the meeting.

I woke suddenly. Once again, I had a feeling of suffocation, of being surrounded and flooded by darkness. I blinked and looked around, finding Nick asleep on the examination couch. I left him to rest and returned to my room, where I ate dinner by myself.

By nine, the anaesthetic had worn off, leaving a twinge in my back. I changed into a white shirt and my grey suit, then pressed the dissimulator back on, making my face as tight as my burnt shoulders. I headed across the enclosed walkway to the Palazzo del Giorno, where Ducos waited at a door markedstanza blu. She showed me inside.

In the Blue Room, Pivot sat at the head of a walnut table, while a stranger, sitting in his shirtsleeves, was chewing his cheek like it was a tender cut of steak. Pivot gave me a nod.

The windows had been covered, so the only light came from a lamp on the table. I took a seat. One by one, more strangers came. The three voyants among them all clocked me at once. Even out here, my aura was interesting. At least my dissimulator kept me anonymous.

Ducos moved to stand in the corner, watching us all like a well-groomed hawk. Nick took the chair on my left, and I wordlessly poured him a glass of water. Verca and Maria were last to arrive, the former looking as careworn as Nick. Ducos locked the door behind them.

Altogether, there were seventeen of us. When Pivot stood, the stilted conversations died away. Ducos turned off the lamp andactivated the large screen behind Pivot, which showed three white dots on a dark background.

‘Welcome,’ Pivot said. ‘Thank you for answering the summons to this emergency meeting. The people in this room are the agents, associates and valued personnel who I believe are most likely to help us understand the latest Scion military plan, Operation Ventriloquist.’

I traded a glance with Maria. Her instinct had been right. Scion was plotting something big.

‘While all Domino personnel are trusted to know the importance of discretion,’ Pivot said, ‘I cannot overemphasise the pressing need for silence in regard to this meeting, even among our own. For the sake of this organisation, no word is to go beyond the people in this room.’

Everyone nodded.

‘As you all know,’ Pivot said, ‘the Domino Programme is financially supported by twenty-eight nations that oppose the Republic of Scion. In less than half a year, three of those nations have fallen to our enemy. A fourth loss may be imminent, and exceptionally dangerous.’ She looked around the table. ‘The fourth may be Italy.’

The silence that followed was deeper. Verca stared at her, as did several other people.

‘To brief you,’ Pivot said, ‘I call on Aparna Wells, a former military clerk for the Republic of Scion England.’

A thin woman in her twenties stood up. Her dark hair was in a bun, strands framing a bespectacled face.

‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘Until earlier this year, I worked for Patricia Okonma, who stepped in as Grand Commander when Hildred Vance was hospitalised in January.’ She spoke with a pronounced Inquisitorial English accent, reminding me of my schoolteachers. ‘With Vance out of action, Okonma was the one who implemented the majority of Operation Madrigal, the principal objective of which was the occupation of Spain and Portugal. This succeeded in February, when both countries issued their unconditional surrender.’

‘Just to be clear,’ Maria said, ‘you worked for Scion as a spy?’

‘Aparna is a confirmed defector. She is risking her life to assist us with the fight against Scion,’ Pivot said. ‘If she returned to England, she would certainly be executed for treason.’

‘So long as she’s clean.’

‘I would not endanger any of you by not vetting our sources.’

‘I worked for Scion, too,’ Nick said, drawing looks. ‘Can I ask why you defected, Aparna?’

‘Scarlett Burnish. We were classmates at Ancroft,’ Wells said. ‘She recommended me for my first job in the Archon. At first, I was just pleased to have the work, and never considered the sort of violence I was helping to facilitate. I suppose I was indoctrinated.’

Burnish was the most famous graduate of Ancroft. The Schoolmistress had praised her nearly every day, and her portrait had been everywhere, serving as a shining example to us all.

‘My role within the Archon gradually became more senior, until I rose to the position of military clerk. As such, I was privy to more sensitive information,’ Wells said. ‘After the success of the first stage of Operation Madrigal, there were airstrikes on Paris and London, which were assumed to be retaliatory. Okonma didn’t seem deterred by the attacks, despite the perpetrators remaining unidentified.’

Nick slid me a glass of water. I forced myself to take a couple of sips.

‘On the twentieth of March,’ Wells continued, ‘civilian military staff in London were summoned to Whitehall. We were surprised to see the Grand Commander, Hildred Vance.’

Maria closed her eyes.

Vance had been in a coma since I deactivated Senshield. The eruption of energy must have overwhelmed her amaurotic spirit. If she was back to work, everything was about to intensify.

‘Vance was clearly in a frail condition,’ Wells said, ‘but had called us together to tell us about a new and secret Scion plan, which would supersede all future military campaigns. We were not informed of the specifics, but Vance said that Scion had come into possession of an asset – a weapon – of significant value, thanks to the Suzerain. This asset would remove the need for expensive invasions in Europe, and prevent any further attacks on our citadels. She claimed it would end any meaningful opposition to Scion; thatall resistance now would be like fighting smoke. It would choke the life from all who dare to stand against the anchor, leaving no trace of its presence.’