Read Chapter 13: The Mechanism of Lies

Bert’s workshop smelled of coal dust and cheap gin, the latter bleeding from the cracked cup he clutched like a holy relic. Elias stood in the doorway, silhouetted against the sickly orange of the streetlamp outside, and watched Bert’s hands shake before a single word passed between them.

“You told him,” Elias said. Flat. Not a question.

Bert’s cup rattled against his teeth. He set it down, wiped his mouth with the back of a greasy sleeve, and didn’t bother denying it. “Sinjin. He came to me two days ago. Knew your name, knew the shop, knew I worked with you.” He swallowed hard. “Said he’d have my fingers broken one at a time if I didn’t tell him where the work was happening. Said he’d already paid Tommy to watch the place, and that boy—” Bert’s voice cracked. “He showed me what was left of Tommy’s hand before he told me I was next.”

Elias stepped inside. The door swung shut behind him with a groan. “You sold me for your fingers.”

“I sold you to buy time!” Bert’s voice rose, raw and desperate. “I told him about the workshop. I told him you kept the real work in the basement behind the false wall. I didn’t tell him about the journal, or the prototype, or—Elias, I swear, I didn’t tell him you had the extraction device on you. I thought if he burned the place, he’d think it was all gone.”

“He burned the place,” Elias repeated slowly. “Because of you.”

Bert’s face crumpled. He didn’t cry—mechanics didn’t cry, not where anyone could see—but his whole body sagged, and for a moment he looked older than his thirty years. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. He said if I gave him the location, he’d leave you alone. He said he only wanted the machine. What was I supposed to do?”

Elias stood very still. The rage in his chest was a hot, bright thing, but beneath it, colder and clearer, was the truth: Bert was afraid. Bert was always afraid. That was why Elias had trusted him with the workshop key and never with his secrets.

“What else did you tell him?” Elias asked.

“Nothing. I swear. He asked about the machine—what it did, how it worked. I told him I didn’t know. I told him you were secretive, that you never let me see the whole thing.” Bert’s eyes searched Elias’s face. “He believed me. I think he did.”

Elias turned away and ran a hand over his face. Sinjin knowing the general shape of the work was bad. Sinjin knowing the basement layout was worse. But Sinjin not knowing Elias had survived with the prototype? That was a thread he could pull.

He looked at Bert. “You owe me.”

“I know.”

“Not an apology. Action.” Elias crossed to the workbench and set down the canvas sack he’d been carrying since the fire. He pulled out the dismantled extraction device, its brass fittings still soot-streaked, and laid it on the scarred wood. “Sinjin gave you a deadline. He’s going to come back to you, ask what I’m doing, where I’m hiding. You’re going to tell him I’ve gone underground, building something new.”

Bert’s eyes went wide. “You want me to keep lying to him?”

“I want you to feed him a lie he’ll choke on.” Elias pulled out the false memory panel—the one he’d built weeks ago as a decoy, its copper plates etched with circuits that went nowhere, its core hollow and packed with a small charge of black powder. “This is the trap.”

Bert leaned in, squinting. “That’s not the real thing.”

“It’s a beautiful fake. It looks functional, it reads like it’s storing energy when you connect a current—but the internal filaments are rigged to a detonator. If anyone tries to open the casing or tamper with the wiring, it burns. Destroys itself and anything within three feet.”

Bert’s face went pale. “You want me to give this to Sinjin.”

“I want you to tell Sinjin you found it in the ashes of my workshop, hidden in a false floorboard you knew about. Tell him I was building a second unit before the fire, and this was the prototype for the memory-erasure weapon.” Elias pushed the panel toward Bert. “He’ll take it. He’ll try to reverse-engineer it. And when he does, the device will turn itself to slag and take a chunk of his lab with it.”

Bert stared at the panel, his jaw working. “And when he comes back to me, furious?”

“You tell him I must have sabotaged it before the fire. You tell him you’re scared—that you think I know you betrayed me, and you’re afraid I’m coming for you next.” Elias’s voice was low and steady. “You play the terrified traitor, and Sinjin will believe it. Men like Sinjin always believe fear is the truth.”

Bert was quiet for a long moment. Then he reached out, fingers hovering over the panel’s brass edge. “What if he doesn’t open it? What if he just sits on it, waits to see if it works?”

“Then it sits. But Sinjin’s not a patient man. He’s been chasing this technology for years. He’ll want to see inside.” Elias watched Bert’s face. “This is how you pay me back, Bert. Not with words. With this.”

Bert’s hand closed around the panel. It was heavier than it looked—a solid, convincing weight. A liar’s weight. “I’ll do it.”

“Good.” Elias turned toward the door, already cataloging the tools Bert had on his bench—a decent lathe, a set of fine files, a jeweler’s vise. Not enough for the extraction device, but enough for repairs. Enough to work. “I’ll need a corner of this place for the next day. I have my own project.”

“Where are you going to sleep?”

Elias paused at the door, hand on the handle. The cold night air seeped through the gaps in the frame. He thought of his mother’s journal, still tucked in his coat, and the address inside it. The one that might lead to Lila.

“First,” he said, “I’m going to pay Sinjin a visit.”

Bert’s voice was thin. “Elias, that’s suicide. He’s got men. He’s got the Watch in his pocket.”

“He’s got my sister.” Elias’s voice came out rough, like it was being dragged over gravel. “Or he knows where she is. And I’ve been running from him long enough.”

He opened the door. The night swallowed him whole, and behind him, the false panel sat on Bert’s bench like a coiled snake, waiting for the first hand to touch it wrong.