The team rendezvoused exactly where Lancet had asked them to. It was a little bit far away from the old citadel tower, where the broken streets widened into a broad, fractured terrace of stone that overlooked the lower district of Deathrock.
It had once been some kind of civic square or quarry overlook, though the town's original shape was now difficult to distinguish beneath years of rot, smoke, and the claw marks of the Second World.
Everyone looked like they had been through a fight. But no one was harmed or tired.
Lancet's clothes were streaked with grime and dark demon blood, and the Radiant Guillotine was still damp at the edge from the last thing it had cut down.
Astensia stood beside him with a few smudges of soot on one pauldron and a thin line of black rot on the lower edge of her armor, but she was otherwise straight-backed and composed, as if the ruined city itself had simply failed to make a lasting impression on her.
Espel didn't have a speck on her.
