The clapping came from the dark ahead with Ty's old hands.
Each sound bounced along the service lane, wet and patient. Pipes ran across the low ceiling. Arena runoff dripped through grates and carried the smell of blood, oil, spoiled incense, and whatever the crowd threw down when it finished cheering.
Ty lifted both sickles.
His stolen face stepped into the first lamp.
It looked worse in the service light.
The seventh cut had burned silver scars across its ribs and shoulder. The left cuff hung open in two broken pieces. The throat was bruised violet from Yun-Jin's bind. Blood still slicked the teeth.
It clapped again.
"I enjoyed that," it said.
JJ slid one hand along the wall to stay upright. "You got here fast."
"You opened the filthy gate. Filth connects everything."
Heissman made a small sound. "That is upsettingly practical."
Omina kept one palm pressed to Yun-Jin's side and the other aimed at the stolen body. "Name yourself."
The borrowed face smiled.
"Direct."
