There’s the Myth Maker standing in front of me surrounded by more of her lackeys. There’s Roc across the room, a mirror image of me: he’s on his knees, swaying. They used the mercury on me, the blade on him. He broke the promise, as I suspected he would. You’re not supposed to be here, I think, narrowing my eyes at him. But he’s too far gone to the pain to read me.
