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“Could have worn boots like I suggested.”

“Ain’t got no boots,” he said. “Wax stole them.”

“Wax stole your boots. Really.”

“Well, they’re in his closet,” Wayne said. “Instead of three pairs of his poshest shoes. Which somehow ended up in my closet, completely by happenstance.” He glanced at her. “It was a fair trade. I liked those boots.”

Marasi smiled. They’dbeen working together for almost six years now, since Wax’s retirement following the discovery of the Bands of Mourning. Wayne was an official constable, not some barely-within-the-law deputized citizen. He even wore a uniform once in a while. And—

—and Marasi’s boot slipped again. Rusting hell. If she fell, he wouldneverstop laughing. But this did seem the best way. Construction on the citywide underground train tunnels was ongoing, and two days agoa demolitions man had filed a curious report. He didn’t want to blast the next section, as seismic readings indicated they were near an unmapped cavern.

This area underneath the city of Elendel was peppered with ancient caves. And it was the same region where a local group of gang enforcers kept vanishing and reappearing. As if they had a hidden entrance into an unknown, unseen lair.

She consulted the map, marked with the construction notes—and older annotations indicating a nearby oddity that the sewer builders had found years ago, but which had never been properly investigated.

“I think MeLaan is going to break up with me,” Wayne said softly. “That’s why maybe I’ve been uncharacteristically downbeat in my general disposition as of late.”

“What makes you think she’s going to do that?”

“On account of her tellin’ me, ‘Wayne, I’m probably going to break up with you in a few weeks.’”

“Well, that’s polite of her.”

“I think she’s got a new job from the big guy,” Wayne said. “But it ain’t right, how slow it’s goin’. ’S not the proper way to break up with a fellow.”

“And whatisthe proper way?”

“Throw something at his head,” Wayne said. “Sell his stuff. Tell his mates he’s a knob.”

“You have had some interesting relationships.”

“Nah, just mostly bad ones,” he said. “I asked Jammi Walls what she thought I should do— You know her? She’s at the tavern most nights.”

“I know her,” Marasi said. “She’s a woman of… ill repute.”

“What?” Wayne said. “Who’s been saying that? Jammi has agreatrepu- tation. Of all the whores on the block, she gives the best—”

“I do not need to hear the next part. Thank you.”

“Ill repute,” he said, chuckling. “I’m gonna tell Jammi you said that, Marasi. She workedhardfor her reputation. Gets to charge four times what anyone else does! Ill repute indeed.”

“And what did she say?”

“She said MeLaan wanted me to try harder in the relationship,” Wayne said. “But I think in this case Jammi was wrong. Because MeLaan don’t play games. When she says things, she means them. So it’s… you know…”

“I’m sorry, Wayne,” Marasi said, tucking the map under her arm and resting her hand on his shoulder.

“I knew it couldn’t last,” he said. “Rustin’ knew it, you know? She’s like, what, a thousand years old?”

“Roughly two-thirds that,” Marasi said.

“And I’m not quite forty,” Wayne said. “More like sixteen if you take account of my spry youthful physique.”

“And your sense of humor.”

“Damn right,” he said, then sighed. “Things have been… tough lately. With Wax gettin’ all fancy and MeLaan being gone for months at a time. Feel like nobody wants me around. Maybe I belong in a sewer, you know?”

“You don’t,” she said. “You’re the best partner I’ve ever had.”