After a long walk, Orion found himself standing at the front doors of the permutation clinic. Porcelain faces pointed upwards in prayer. When he looked at them, he couldn’t help but feel as though something up there had been watching him for a long time. He couldn’t tell if it was because of the faces, or something higher in the sky.

True to its name, the entire city was reminiscent of the same angelic style of buildings, with cherubic sculptures and winged patterns etched into the pavement before important-looking buildings. Somewhere down the line, Engelus’ architects must have been trying to make a profound statement.

A couple patrol officers took notice of Orion at the entrance of the facility. Seconds later, one approached him.

“May I help you, sir?” a patrol officer asked; his hand close to the nightstick clipped at his belt. He was one of the few officers Orion saw that didn’t wear those creepy faceless masks.

“I hear Engelus has been under martial law for three years. Is that true?” Orion asked, hoping to give as little reason to set this guy off as he could.

The officer’s eyes narrowed. “That’s right. There’s a curfew as well. People should be heading home now... Also, loitering is a finable offense.”

“I wasn’t aware of that. Thanks for letting me know.” Orion shrugged the backpack over his shoulder, his lip upturned into a grin. “I’m actually just here to see the chancellor. I wasn’t sure whether to wait for him or go on in, but I get the feeling you won’t like some guy walking in without official access. Do you mind if I stay put until he calls me? I won’t be any trouble, promise.”

“What business do you have with Chancellor Tremond?”

Orion lifted his hand. “Just that. Business.”

The officer didn’t say anything, but he also wasn’t going anywhere. His eyes shifted from Orion to his guitar case. “So what, you gonna play Tremond a song or something?”

“With this?” Orion snorted. “Actually, I don’t even play.”

“What?”

“You know how some guys like to carry briefcases for their work?” Orion wiggled the guitar case. “I use this instead... for my work. I think it’s neater.”

“And what kind of work do you have in there, sir?”

“That’s a private matter.” He smiled. “And if you must know, I’m not much a guitar player, but I do play a mean harmonica.”

“You don’t make any sense.”

Orion shuffled his foot over a feathery shape carved into the pedestrian walkway. “I’ve been told that a lot.”