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"Darrow," he says quickly, then, looking to Victra, "take a hike" She scrunches her face and leaves

"You like her," I tease "I can tell"

He ignores me "He’s still not here"

"Fitchner? You call his datapad?"

"Isn’t going through The bastard said he was co irab his arnar And be careful"

"I’ hi its destiny may be separate from mine Perhaps in the end, he’s more important than I Truly a child of torlds

I follow the crowd through the trees Little lanternsin a hite glow There are no Whites present No forrand The crowd parts for me I walk onto the white cobblestones where Lorn sits with his grandchildren on the edge of a dolphin fountain Augustus motionsa scale and a sword It drowns in ivy The Jackal joins us

"I hear we’re going to be brothers," I tell hilances distractedly at his datapad "Better you than that bastard Cassius Glad Octavia failed in that little scheorydamn requisition orders" He looks up frooodman Just wish my sister were here You still wouldn’t knohere she is, would you?"

I shake rows a little rand entrance and I’d know all ell But soustus announces, cutting through the murmur of conversation "Thank you" He clears his throat and extends a welco his head to the ArchGoverness of Triton "Though our glasses sparkle and bellies are full, this night will not last" He peers through his guests, voice first the trees

"We know that this is only the beginning War will require much from us But let us not be so hasty as to pass over a victory such as the onejust a feeeks ago A triurandeur of the parade was for them Quiet moments like this are for us" He taps his facial scar once "Where we, despite our differences, can nod our heads and raises our glasses to a unique accomplishment of will It was not done alone But the Rain was called by one man So, Darrow au Androas voicestoTo s all this will soon crumble apart Victra seelass to e ivory box cradled in his arms He sets the box in my hands and puts one of his atop so I can’t yet open it

"You and I have seen ht I firstat the blood on your hands Do you reht wrist, the tenderness so out of the past, when our hands had less calluses, less scars