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of the Magistrate garage where the mechanics worked on the Sandcat vehicles they used outside the ville’s walls. There were hunks of greased metal lining the floor, what looked like an industrial turbine resting on the deflated couch, and pots and jars of screws, each carefully sorted by diameter and length.
    Kane checked the other rooms of the apartment: two bedrooms, a basic bathroom, an open-plan kitchen. It was untidy, with worn clothes and dirty towels strewed on both bedroom floors, but otherwise there was nothing especially notable about the residence. He’d unearthed evidence of the smart drugs that would be found in Helena Vaughn’s body when the coroner completed her analysis later that week. The components were scattered across a desk in the smaller bedroom—standard viral radiation blockers and some plant extracts. In fairness to the Pellerito kid, Vaughn’s reaction had been extreme; it was a one-in-a-thousand freak happenstance.
    Kane returned to the living room, sending his Sin Eater back to its hidden holster with a well-practiced flick of his wrist tendons. He looked around at the pots and jars, the greasy metal slabs that lay on the couch and floor.
    Intrigued, the Magistrate reached down, turning over several of the metal parts—machined cogs and gears, something that looked like it could be armor plate. There was paperwork here, too, smeared with oil-stained fingerprints, a line of penciled workings neatly written down one side, adding personal notes to the printed-out design. Removing his helmet, Kane read the words that were typed in bold there: Signal block.
    The term was followed by a series of numbers and reference codes and accompanied a cutaway diagram of what appeared to be an octagonal drum or box. It meant nothing to Kane. The only part of it he recognized was what appeared to be a radio transmission unit attached across the upper section of the octagon.
    Kane glared at the strange design for a moment. The paper was new but the plan that had been printed on it could be ancient. There was no way to really tell.
    Kane looked up as he heard a sound coming from the front door at the far end of the apartment. As he watched, the door pushed open and a scruffy-looking teenager strolled in, hair an unruly dark tangle, a carpet of acne bubbling red and white across his chin, forehead and both cheeks. The lad had a sneering smile, the smile of one raised in privilege who thus valued nothing.
    The Sin Eater was back in Kane’s hand before the kid even realized he was there.
    “Freeze,” Kane instructed.
    The kid froze, not even knowing what he was doing. Fear of the Magistrates had become ingrained in the populace, their dark uniforms designed to instil terror.
    Kane gestured with the Sin Eater. “Get on your knees, Pellerito,” he ordered. “Down on your knees.”
    Wild-eyed, the kid did exactly as Kane told him, his hands raised up at shoulder height. “Who are—?” he sputtered, struggling on the words.
    “Magistrate Kane,” Kane told him. “And you’re Jerod Pellerito, right?”
    The kid nodded, watching as Kane retrieved his Magistrate helmet and placed it over his head with single-handed precision.
    “Girl by the name of Helena Vaughn is dead. Know her?”
    Pellerito nodded again.
    “Then you’re in a lot of trouble,” Kane told him.
    Jerod Pellerito laced his hands behind his head and Kane cuffed him amid the mechanical debris that littered the apartment.

Chapter 4
    It was a given that Jerod Pellerito had always been interested in technology. It should perhaps not have come as a surprise to Kane to find him the spider at the center of this factory web.
    Standing two paces inside the room above the factory floor, Kane held his hands loosely at his sides and offered his most sincere shit-eating grin. “I’m sorry, I don’t think we’ve met.”
    “Don’t remember me? Jerod Pellerito?” Pellerito scoffed. “Don’t you Magistrates remember everyone you