That night, Eolh was not the only shadow on the rooftops. They gathered on the rooftops and balconies—hungry thieves and honest robbers and other lowborn. They came cautiously, at first. Scraggly feathers and scarred beaks, watching out for imperials. And when they saw none, the shadows grew brave.

The good people of Lowtown were opportunists, all of them. And right now, one of the loudest opportunities ever to come to the Cauldron was running through the alleys, her metal feet clanging like the mad bells of the Midcity priests. Despite the coppery rust eating at her joints, she was swift, much swifter than a construct of her age should be.

More than one feathered thief detached from some roost or hiding place up in the crooked eves and slanted spires of Lowtown. They began to trickle after the android in ones and twos. Curious avians, not yet ready to strike. Uncertain of the prey or its value. From up here, Eolh could only hope none of them understood what she carried.

Yet the android saw none of them. Perhaps her eyes were too old, like Mother Angsa, who runs one of the orphan clutches. Or perhaps the android simply doesn’t know about Lowtown.

The human was slung over her shoulders, its small, slender body still dripping with a slick liquid. Its head bounced with every step. The android needed no breath; she stopped only to catch her bearings, so she moved with great speed through the alleys.

But the shadows were born of Lowtown. They knew the streets better than her, and they could flutter over the rooftops. Fortunately, so could Eolh.

Every few steps, he thrust his wings back, launching himself over the dark alleys and the half paths between the stackhouses. He kept his body as low as his old joints would let him. If the other shadows saw him, if they knew how interested he was in this particular android, well, that would only fuel their interests too. Wouldn’t it?

The android stopped in front of a redenite machine shop squeezed between a cluster of tenement housing. The roof of the shop was haphazardly lined with smokestacks of every size, some of them pouring streams of smog into the night sky. Someone had hung their laundry from a line that wrapped around one of the smokestacks, trailing old, patchy sheets down to a window on the ground floor.

The android looked to her left, to her right. But not up. She ripped off a long piece of brown fabric from the line and used it to gently wipe the liquid from the human’s dark, slender frame.

Is that really what they look like? Smaller than I thought it would be. Like an overgrown fledgling. There was a cut on the thing’s head, a gouge of black-crusted blood.

The android wrapped the human in another torn sheet, covering its shivering body.

A sound. One of the rooftop shadows had come too close to the smokestacks and inhaled the greasy fumes. Whoever it was started coughing loud enough to wake the whole block.

The android threw the human over her shoulders and started sprinting even faster than before. Eolh counted five separate shadows from five separate buildings flapping after her.

Then, when he was sure no one was watching him, he followed. The android’s trail was an uneven line moving toward the Midcity ramps. Toward the gate?

Lights flickered on in her wake, and faces appeared in the windows.

A redenite, one of the rodent-faced creatures native to Gaiam, was standing under a balcony, tar smoke curling up its whiskers, when she stomped past. The redenite barely had time to step back before she smashed across the stones where he had been. And then she was gone.

Soon, the whole Cauldron would hear her coming. The trickle of shadows had turned into a stream. So how do I grab the human before anyone else? It wouldn’t be long before a fight broke out.

Up on the rooftops, Eolh could cut corners where the android could not. It gave him time to think.

Why is she running toward the gate, anyway? Even this late at night, the gate would be swarming with traders, crafters, nighthawks. Not to mention the Watch.

Maybe she has a safe house? But that didn’t seem likely. None of the gangs roosted so deep into the Midcity. Too many guards. Too many imperials.

Eolh thrust his wings down, pushing himself to the next perch in the shadow of a chimney stack, his black feathers disappearing into the darkness. The android was standing still. No, she was turning in circles. Searching the alley for something. She threw herself behind a heap of old ale barrels that had powdery-white mold growing up their sides.

A string of half-drunken redenites stumbled together down the alley, huddled together despite the humidity of the night. Masks and machinist goggles and sleeveless uniforms were covered in grime from the factories. They were followed by a two-legged chikroid, one of the smaller constructs found in the Cauldron. It had a white lamp on the front of its head and a red one shining out of the back.

The chikroid stopped and swiveled its hammer-shaped head. It pointed its front lamp at the ale barrels and chirped once.

One of the redenites barked. The chikroid did not move. Its lamp was growing brighter as it focused on the android’s hiding spot. The redenite barked again, and the chikroid tore itself away from the barrels and hopped after the redenites.

Eolh let out his breath. If the android kept this up, she was going to get caught before he had a chance to do something.

When the android emerged from the shadows of the barrels, her joints creaking as she stood straight, Eolh caught a glimpse of the human cradled in her arms. It was half as big as Eolh, but still the ancient construct carried it as though it were light as a hatchling. Old tech, he thought again. Eolh put no stake with the gods—it had been ages since he’d been in a temple—but the power of old tech was something else.

The human was making sounds, groaning or choking, he could not tell which, and the android was shushing it. And then the human’s body heaved, and Eolh heard a wet splattering sound.

“Let it out,” the android whispered to it. “It’s not good to keep it in after so long.”

Eolh was struck by her tone. So tender. Since when could constructs show such kindness? And when the human was finished emptying its guts, she hefted him back over her shoulders and jogged away, her clanging footsteps bouncing off the uneven walls of homes and crafthouses and run-down storefronts.

Eolh did not follow. Not yet. A notion tickled at the back of his mind. He spread his feathers, trying to cool his body in the humid Gaiam air.

And just when he was starting to doubt that notion, he saw movement on the rooftop across the street. A large shadow peeled itself away from a disused balcony. A big, gray shadow with blue and black feathers ringed around his neck. The shadow unfolded his wings and followed the android. So Eolh followed the shadow.

The android stopped at the mouth of the last alley on this side of the Lowroad—or, as the imperials called it, the Vium Cyruam.

To the right, the Lowroad split Lowtown in half, widening as it funneled out of the city through the cleft in the Cauldron’s mountain wall and wandered down to the old farms and new factories of the Wash.

But the android was looking the other way. Toward the Midcity. Toward the stone-hewn steps and steep cargo ramps that marked the steep passage up to the next tier.

Eolh hooked his talons into the brick of a chimney. From his vantage, he could see the arms of the gate: two semicircles of solid metal gleaming in the moonlight at the center of the Midcity. One semicircle floated—impossibly—several yards above the ground, with just enough space to slide over its twin.

This early in the night, it was still crawling with people: Midcitizens in their clean, colorful clothes and ragged Lowtowners hauling their wares home for the evening. Traders and crews and guards from the Watch. Imperial soldiers patrolled in twos and threes in all the Cauldron’s sweltering humidity, sweating in their half-kit blues and blacks.

The android paused, standing in the center of the alley. It was thinking.

Eolh’s stomach tightened. If the android tried to cross the Lowroad, she would be caught. If she tried to run up those steps, she would be caught. If she came anywhere near the gate . . .

There were far too many cyran soldiers. Eolh would lose any chance of claiming the human.

A patrol of imperials crossed in front of the alley’s mouth, their vicious-looking longstock rifles leaning against their shoulders, the bayonets daggering proudly at the starry sky.

The android backed away from the alley’s exit. She found another branch and started running that way.

That was a mistake.

This branch ended in a cul-de-sac, where a cluster of four- and five-story houses leaned over a small drinking well, roofs with missing tiles and thatch repairs. A tower, one of the gargantuan human relics, made a black shadow over the whole alley, blotting out the stars.

Eolh could see the android’s eyes—two orange-white lights. He could see her recognize her mistake as she came to the end of the cul-de-sac.

Well, he thought. This is my chance. He crouched, preparing to fling himself down into the alley.

But another shadow beat him to it. It dropped from the rooftops and landed heavily on its talons, blocking the android’s exit. Torchlights from the houses illuminated the shadow’s gray feathers, and when it rose to its full height, the shadow’s shoulder feathers brushed against the walls of the cramped buildings.

Eolh knew those feathers. One of Horace’s hired bruisers. Bozmeer.

But he was out of line. Bruisers were not meant to chase; they were supposed to stay near the boss. Which meant Bozmeer had gone off contract.

Can’t blame him, Eolh thought. The reward for cutting out on this contract was unimaginable. The only human being in existence . . . If he could sell it for even half its worth, Bozmeer would have more money than the Coward Queen herself. More money than all the nobles combined.

Bozmeer’s iron-coated talons scraped the cobbles as he approached the android. He was larger than most passerine. Like all avians, he was humanoid, except where the knees bent backward. Better for perching. Feathers covered every inch of his body, and his black beak was carved with a latticework of tattoos.

It was incredible how nimble such a huge, muscle-bound avian could be. Bozmeer had cornered the android, and even from above, Eolh could see the smile playing at the corner of his beak.

“Give me the cargo,” Bozmeer growled at the android, “and I’ll leave you alone.”

“Please reconsider,” the android’s voice clicked over the cobbles. “You may not understand the gravity of the situation.”

“I don’t think you do.” He had a small hammer in his hand, the kind meant for driving in roofing nails, and he was weighing it effortlessly in his hand. “The cargo is mine now. Drop it, or die. Either is fine by me.”

Bozmeer was grinning like a fool now. His muscles were tense. All his attention was focused on the android.

The air is full of mistakes tonight. Eolh let himself drop off the rooftop. In a single motion, he slipped his own weapon out—a long-bladed knife—and dove, knife first, into Bozmeer’s exposed back.

The blade plunged through feathers into flesh, striking against Bozmeer’s spine, and the larger avian crumpled to the ground with barely a squawk.

Eolh gripped Bozmeer’s torso with his talons as he pulled his knife free. He stood on top of the other avian’s corpse.

The android looked up at Eolh. Down at the corpse. And back at Eolh.

“What about you?” she asked. Her voice came out in mechanical tones, though Eolh saw no mouth on her smooth, metal face. “What do you want?”

“What he said”—Eolh pointed at Bozmeer’s corpse with the tip of his knife—“more or less.”

“Please, bird-thing. You do not understand the gravity of this situation.”

“I’m not a bird.”

“Please, witness him. Open your mind and see.” She was holding the human in both arms, its legs spilling out over her arm, its head lolling against her shoulder. Not yet an adult, but not a child either. At least, Eolh didn’t think so. The human’s skin was smooth and so black and shiny it almost looked violet in the torchlight, except where a nasty wound was carved into his hairline, still glistening with melted ice and blood.

“He is the future,” the android said, voice full of reverence. “He was foretold.”

The Cauldron was brimming with believers. Followers of the old ways and followers of the new. Some avians followed both. Strangely enough, when the imperials came, they only encouraged the priest castes. Eolh didn’t follow any religion, but from what he understood, the gods were worshipped on many worlds.

But an android? Since when did constructs believe in anything?

“Look, machine. The only thing I know is someone’s going to pay me for that thing. Don’t make me ask twice.”

“No,” the android cut him off, “You must listen to me. The human is dying.”

Eolh shrugged. “Dead or alive, I’m sure they’ll pay me all the same.”

“You don’t comprehend. This is the last one. It was written. There may never be another.”

“Even better.” He took a step forward, flexing his fingers over the blade. “Means I’ll get paid a lot.”

“By whom?” The android’s eyes flashed white. “Imperials will pay you, then kill you.”

Eolh hadn’t thought that far. He shifted uncomfortably. “I know a few chop shops.”

“A chop shop?” the android said. “You would pawn the last living human being off at a parts butcher?”

“Money is money.”

“The imperials will find out. They will find you. No matter where you turn, your results will be the same.”

She was right, though he hated to admit it. If the imperials had one thing, it was access to the resources necessary to turn the city upside down. They had done it before. And if this thing truly was a human, well, where would they stop?

It’s too hot, Eolh thought. Maybe he could take the thing and stash it somewhere. Sell it when things had cooled down.

As if reading his thoughts, the android said, “To hold the human is to be hunted. Anyone who touches the human will be hunted. What good is money when you are caught?”

“If I’m caught,” he said. But the truth was heavy. It leaned on him like a crushing weight.

“They are imperials. They never stop.” The android squeezed the human to her chest. Its body was shivering, and it was so much smaller than Eolh thought it should be. From all the stories, all the myths, he thought it would be eight feet tall. Or more.

“If you attempt to take this human from me,” the android’s voice clicked mechanically, “it will cost you everything.”

One of the doors opened to Eolh’s right. A ruddy redenite face poked out, goggles flashing in the torchlight. It looked at the android. At Eolh. At the knife. And the door slammed shut. The light in the window went out.

Eolh took a careful step toward the android. He had never seen a humanoid construct this close. Unlike most constructs, androids were made only of the old tech. No modern tinkerer could replicate those complicated, near-organic movements. And all that human-made metal—not even the artisans could come close.

She looked so . . . alive.

The metal components of her wrist slid over each other as the android lifted her hand. Dull brown stained the shining steel of her wrist, and yet she moved with such grace. Not at all like the slow-moving drudges or the jerking movements of sentry constructs Eolh was used to. How strong is her arm, anyway? Back in the Bonebeak tavern, she had killed two imperial soldiers in seconds, but they were both caught unaware. Still . . .

Eolh lowered his knife. “Where are you taking it?”

The android hesitated. Her flashlight eyes dropped to the human, illuminating his face. Instead of a beak, he had lips—almost like imperials themselves—and they were starting to turn an ashen gray.

Eolh could almost see the android processing his question. Debating whether she should tell him. And who knows what else she’s thinking?

“To the gate. To Cyre.”

“But it’s Harvest. The gate doesn’t open for a few more days yet.”

“I will charter a rig. I will steal one if I have to.”

Eolh shook his head. “They’ll have guards all up and down the towers.”

She paused. Her eyes were two white coals burning deep in her featureless metal face. “Then what should I do?”

Eolh lifted his knife, using the tip to scratch the feathers on his brow. All the best routes would be watched. And even if they could find a place to hide in Lowtown, the Blackfeathers had ears all over. If they didn’t get to her first, it would be the Bonebeaks. Or the Stone Eaters. Or even the gear clans. Hells, with this much money at stake, everyone would be looking for her.

Shouts rang out in the alley behind them. Metal clashed on metal. Someone cawed loudly, followed by the unmistakable thunder of a gunshot.

“Please.” It was the android’s turn to step toward Eolh. The lights of her eyes narrowed, boring into Eolh’s. “Help me. Help him.”

“Why?” He took a step back. “What will I get out of it?”

This job was already ruined. If Horace had been honest—if he’d told him what the cargo was—Eolh never would have signed on. Or he would’ve been much more careful. Now, he would be lucky if he got away without the imperials catching his scent.

Would they burn it all down again?

“I was mistaken. You are the wrong one,” the android said. She almost sounded sad. Defeated, even. “Look at your hands. Feathers. Not metal. They said so, but it cannot be you.”

“What are you talking about? Who is ‘they’?”

“Nothing,” she said. “No one. I have nothing to give you.”

Eolh looked at his dagger. He looked down at the dead avian by his feet. What a waste of a night.

Eolh tensed his thighs and stretched out his arms, reaching his fingers and his feathers to the walls of the alley. He angled his beak toward the nearest rooftop, but before he could leap up, the android held out a hand to stop him.

“Wait,” she said. “Name a body part. It’s yours.”

Eolh cocked his head. “What?”

“You may not sell the human, but my parts are valuable.”

Eolh dragged his eyes along her arms, up the scratched, muscular metal of her shoulders. Pieces of her armor, her chassis, once forged by human hands—if the stories were true—all discolored with age.

But she was old tech. And old tech always fetched a price.

“A hand,” she said, her mechanical voice coming from somewhere behind the mask of her face. “An arm. An eye. Anything you wish. Please, help us flee.”

The fighting in the streets was growing louder. Eolh could see more than one shadow on the distant rooftops, though no wings or rigs circling overhead . . . not yet.

Last chance, he thought. Walk away from this night. Walk away clean, Eolh.

Nobody had to know he’d killed Bozmeer. Nobody had to know he’d left his post. And who knows? Maybe he could sell information on the android. Where she ran, what she’d taken with her . . .

Behind them and only a few alleys over, Eolh heard more shouting. He could just make out the marching of imperial boots. And gunshots. And a scream.

“The imperials want it that badly?” he asked.

“Nothing could be more valuable to them.”

Good. It had been a long time since anyone had crossed the imperials. A long time.

The human gave a pitiful, feverish cough.

“I know someone who can help,” Eolh said. “We’ll figure out my price when we get there.”

He held out his feathered hand, and the android took it.