Jubilation rained onto the Imperial Highway as the Verloren armada paraded its way across the Bruckhaven bridge. Streamers and confetti showered from the rooftops, falling onto sidewalks packed full of enraptured revelers. They roared with excitement as the column of warships slowly rolled along, accompanied by the triumphant tones of a two-hundred piece marching band. It was all more than Vogel could bear.

  She stood atop the National Treasure’s forward deck, backed by hundreds of officers and workers all dressed in their finest uniforms, flooding the ship’s many levels and waving excitedly to the crowd. Unlike the rest, Vogel remained rigidly poised, brooding as the confetti rolled off her body. Parades—she could scarcely recall a time where she hadn’t detested them. Her homeland of Dierros had a penchant for pageantry, and its recurrent festivals had plagued her childhood there. The suffocating throngs of people packed in like rations, the deafening wail of the music—it haunted her earliest memories. Even now the disdain remained, stuck on her like a birthmark. These days Vogel saw parades for what they were: wasteful, useless expenditures of money and time, empty spectacles to sell the masses on fantasies forever beyond their reach.

  That day was the hottest of the year thus far, cruelly timed for the occasion. Though the coolant in Vogel’s mask kept her somewhat chilled, the midday sun still hammered on her shoulders. She could feel drops of sweat amassing underneath her most ostentatious of gowns: black as pitch and laced with silver sequins, showy enough to successfully convince her peers that she actually cared for such pomp. Relievedly, the sting of the sun abated, momentarily eclipsed by a titanic vessel hovering overhead. Vogel raised her eyes, catching a shaded glimpse of the airship parading above them.

  The executive airship Etherean Jewel was the newest addition to the armada—a dramatic feat of aeronautics and one of Chairman Metzer’s most cherished creations, second only to the National Treasure. For two decades now, Verloren airships had remained a symbol of the company’s technological prowess and their role in bringing about an end to the Sky War, and the Etherean Jewel was specifically designed to commemorate those ideals. It was an impressive beast: a fin-shaped fortress of power and luxury in equal measure, held aloft by a bulbous envelope of gas and a pair of twin fan engines. And at the chairman’s insistence, the ship was to be her home for the length of the journey.

  As Vogel gazed up at the passing airship, she longed to be back amongst her work. Her personal study now lay within its bowels, bursting with half-realized plans: stratagems for apprehending the thieves of Tribune Oreleah’s journal. With every hour the Redland Runner was slipping away from her. There was no time to waste, and yet, here she was, wasting time.

  “—Wouldn’t you agree, Lilith?” beamed Chairman Metzer beside her, waking her from her stupor.

  Vogel lowered her eyes to the horizon. “Indeed,” she stated, providing the Chairman with the answer he was likely seeking. Whatever the question had been, she cared not to know.

  The tip of the parade pierced the downtown district. Vogel’s eyes were drawn towards the clamorous crowd, denser and rowdier than any she had seen thus far. They thronged at the feet of a series of makeshift towers built of scaffolding. Perched along the tops of the towers were press boxes teeming with reporting from all corners of the Empire and beyond.

  “Ah, here come the cameras,” Metzer sang, his photogenic grin widening. “Do remember to wave.”

  Vogel grumbled and stiffly raised her hand. She swiveled her wrist back and forth as a curtain of flashbulbs unfurled over the press area. Metzer waved gleefully beside her, soaking in every drop of adulation. Vogel sighed—doubtless the press were enjoying themselves. Those Weller brothers at The Word of the World were presumably rambling about the usual: Verloren’s great achievements, how Aurik Metzer was a shining example for all citizens of the Empire, et cetera. They were likely even speaking of her, ignoring her myriad research contributions in favor of making the usual hackneyed cracks about her mask and its energizing properties. ‘I could use me one of those,’ they would say, or some such other asinine thing.

  After an eternity, the National Treasure passed beyond the boundaries of the press area, the barrage of flashes fixing its attention elsewhere. Vogel vented a pent up breath—she could no longer stomach another second of this. It was imperative that she resume her hunt for the map. Blissfully freed from the eyes of the cameras, she stepped forward and spoke into Metzer’s ear.

  “Aurik, we cannot delay any further,” she said. “The outlaw vessel remains elusive. I have sent a wave of ships ahead to guard the pass, but I am in need of more troops.”

  “Come, Lilith, this is not the time,” Metzer said, speaking through his smile as he continued waving at the thinning crowd.

  “I am requesting additional support,” continued Vogel. “The Admiral still has contacts within the Empire. We can utilize them to scramble the Air Force. With the skies under our watch, these thieves will have nowhere else to hide.”

  “I am not going to crawl to the Imperials,” growled Metzer, barely maintaining his smile. “And certainly not for this goose chase. I will tell you again, we currently have all that we need. This supposed map does not matter.”

  “The map is far more important than you realize,” she asserted. “We must possess it.”

  “Enough,” said Metzer. “We will find these meddlers in time. Have patience.”

  Vogel pressed her fingers into her palms, stewing indignantly.

  Just then, a figure pushed their way through the crowd of officers—a corpulent man with a wide mustache waxed to a razor point, a waterfall of medals pinned to his primly pressed uniform. Marching up to the bow, he stamped his heels into the deck and greeted Metzer with a snappy salute.

  Admiral Erlok Handler.

  Vogel glowered. To her, Handler was little more than a pompous braggart, unaware that his command of the flagship was more for marketing than for merit—he was the first decently decorated officer of the Sky War willing to abandon their Imperial post for the promise of riches, and even then his battle achievements had to be bolstered by Public Relations. She would be inclined to actively dislike him, if she chose to give him any thought at all.

  Chairman Metzer brusquely acknowledged Handler’s presence with a limp flick of the wrist. “What is the forecast, Admiral?” he asked.

  Handler stood up even straighter. “The Deadlands are clear, sir,” he reported. “And there have been no major Unbound sightings between us and the pass. At our projected pace, we should reach the Graven Frontier in two weeks time.”

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  “Excellent,” Metzer grinned.

  The Admiral shifted his weight, nervously smoothing his outrageously flared facial hair. “I should say… that is, it’s worth noting… Chief Bauman in engineering has expressed concerns over the human cost of our speed. Perhaps we might adjust to a slower pace… for, uh, crew vitality and morale purposes.”

  “Are you questioning my orders, Admiral?”

  Handler quickly shrunk back. “N—not at all, sir!”

  “If you’re quite finished, Admiral,” said Vogel. She moved in closer to the Chairman. “Aurik, I cannot understate the urgency—”

  “You should have no trouble recovering your artifact with the resources I’ve already given you,” Metzer sternly said. After a sharp exhale, he flashed her a broad, genuine grin. “Come, Lilith. Enjoy the parade. Smile.”

  Vogel’s vacant mask matched her feelings. Hissing out a breath, she stepped back, leaving Metzer to his pageantry. With or without his support, she could not tolerate another wasted minute. She quietly slipped away from the Chairman and signaled a set of standby sentries to escort her to the stern. This parade would come to an end soon enough, and she would have her agents ready.

  There Rhane was, shoulder to shoulder with his idols, standing on the deck of one of the finest landships ever built as it forged a path towards the great city of legend. Music and streamers filled the air, while a crowd of thousands euphorically chanted his name. Every sight, every sound, should have felt like a victory. And yet, the spectacle phased right through him. Instead, a horrible truth percolated behind his phony smile. He was now a corporate-owned killer—a glorified assassin—and the people out there, the children dressed in his image, were all none the wiser.

  Standing inches beside him was Darius Meyer, his thick arms thoroughly folded, uninterested in showing off to the crowd in any way. A few days back, Rhane would’ve been ecstatic at the idea of parading next to the one and only Lanzer 13, but after their conversation the night before, he would rather be standing next to literally anyone else. To make matters worse, it almost seemed like Darius was intentionally shadowing him. Rhane could swear he kept catching the cowled figure watching him out of the corner of his eye, studying his every move. Even if he was just being paranoid, Rhane did his best to keep up appearances, determined not to let his unease show through.

  Thankfully, Seras Pfeiffer was there to save him, so to speak. As the rear deck passed in front of the press area, she plowed in between the two men, muscling her way into the eyes of the cameras.

  “Move, idiots!” she hissed.

  Dashing towards the edge of the deck, she threw her body in front of her fellow agents and absorbed the flurry of photos for herself. She struck a series of sultry poses, basking in the flashing of the bulbs up until the very moment the ship crossed the borders of the press box. Rhane didn’t care—he’d have enough pictures taken of him for one day.

  As the parade moved on, Seras stepped back. She buttoned her lips, her practiced, enticing expressions sagging into something more melancholic.

  “Those might be the last photos the public will ever see of me…” she pouted as she resumed waving to the crowds.

  “What do you mean?” asked Rhane.

  Seras stared at Rhane like he’d just said the dumbest thing she’d ever heard.

  “Are you stupid or something?” she asked. “Don’t you know where we’re going?” Under her layers of glittery makeup, Rhane could see an actual glint of fear.

  He offered her a reassuring grin. “It’s just the high north. What’s there to worry about? A few extra Unbound?”

  “Gods, it’s like I’m speaking to a child,” she chided. “The Primordial Valley is evil! Who knows what kind of freaky Angelic shit’s waiting for us up there. Almost nobody who enters that place ever returns. You remember the Palladium Emissary, right?”

  “Uhhh…” Rhane muttered. He wasn’t too well versed in rumors.

  Seras scoffed and rolled her eyes. “That research vessel? Went up like five years ago, vanished without a trace?”

  Rhane sheepishly shrugged.

  “Ugh. The point is, that could happen to us!”

  “You are a coward,” growled Darius behind her.

  Seras spun around. “Oh, who asked you?” she snapped.

  Darius gestured his head over the bridge’s edge. “You should jump into the ravine now, make it painless.”

  “Fuck off!” Seras screeched, thrusting her finger in his face. “I’ll tell my dad about you, I’ll do it! He owns this division. One word from me, and you’ll be finished here, I swear it.”

  Darius just shook his head. He leaned in, bringing his eyes down to her height.

  “He likes me better,” he said.

  Seras could only stand there, shaking and stupefied, her face glowing with anger. Before she could muster an explosive retort, Rhane caught sight of a distinctly dark figure storming towards them out of the corner of his eye.

  “Ah, shh!” Rhane warned, snapping to attention.

  Seras and Darius glanced over and quickly followed suit, acting as though they hadn’t just been bickering.

  Director Vogel parted through the throngs of waving workers, escorted by a pair of sentries. “Agents,” she addressed as she approached the trio. “As you were.”

  The field agents relaxed. Rhane and Seras put on their smiles and continued waving to the crowd, all the while giving the Director their full attention.

  “As soon as we are clear of the city, you are each to take a different region,” she said into their ears. “Locate our quarry, run them aground.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Darius acknowledged.

  “Agent Pfeiffer, I am assigning you to Nairras fields.”

  “Got it.”

  “Agent Rhane—to Old Egaelleah.”

  Rhane nodded affirmatively, doing his best to mask his mixed feelings. On the one hand, he was a bit sick of the old imperial capital, having just spent the last few months forging through its ruins, but on the other, there was absolutely no chance of him running into Kaelis that far west. Unless she and her team somehow got very, very lost, he wouldn’t have to worry about taking them in. Still, he could already imagine the next few weeks: a monotonous slog from empty settlement to empty settlement, checking boxes and marking time, all the while waiting on needles for news of his old partner’s capture and demise.

  “Agent Meyer—” said Vogel.

  Darius turned to face her, giving the Director his undivided attention.

  “The Salt Flats,” she ordered.

  Darius bowed. “Understood.”

  Rhane’s eyes traveled over his two superiors. It made perfect sense that Darius Meyer would be given the Salt Flats as his hunting grounds. It was as prime a location as it got: clear visibility for hundreds of miles, and close enough to the gap in the mountains that a fugitive landship was very likely to pass through it. Plus, Darius’s ship, the Silverhead, was easily the fastest in the fleet—if it caught even a whiff of the Redland Runner, then that would be the end of them.

  Darius’s eyes shifted in Rhane’s direction. Rhane quickly averted his gaze, returning to his smiling and waving as though he hadn’t just been staring. Maybe Darius didn’t notice…

  “Coordinate with the other field agents,” said Vogel. “These thieves will fall into our snare, of this I am certain.”

  “You got it, Director,” said Rhane. “—Anything for the company,” he quickly added, hoping that a sprinkling of corporate spirit might buy him some good will.

  Vogel nodded approvingly. With that, she slunk away like a ghost, off to assign the other Executive Agents with their tasks.

  Rhane’s smile faded. Now he had even more to worry about. Darius ‘Lanzer 13’ Meyer was one of the best adventurers there ever was. If anyone could find Kaelis and the Redland Runner, it was him. And when he did, he wouldn’t be taking prisoners—he’d made that more than clear at the bar the night before. He would tear that ship and everyone in it to little bite-sized pieces until he found exactly what the Director was looking for. Kaelis and her team were already dead, and they didn’t even know it.

  Rhane felt a nudge on his shoulder. He turned to find Seras staring at him, her brows pressed together, very annoyed.

  “Are you stupid?” she said. “Don’t stop. Play it up for the crowd.”

  Rhane shook his head, ripped from his ruminations. As the stern of the Nation Treasure rumbled by the dockyards, he stood tall and resumed his waving, a fake smile painted on his face.