An ear-splitting metallic crash rattled the window slats of the Seventh Spire at noon on Day 29.
CLANG.
CLANG.
CLANG.
The heavy, rhythmic impacts vibrated through the basalt foundations of the tower.
On the cedar side table beside Kaelen Vance’s divan, a porcelain cup of warm pear water was shivering. Tiny concentric ripples chased each other across the surface of the pale liquid.
Kaelen pressed both hands over his ears, pulling his down quilt over his head.
The clattering did not stop.
