Lirael arrives at the keep with a small detachment, knowing that it will not be enough to finish things off, and certainly not in any manner that leaves room for clean conclusions.
The outer gates are open, not broken, spared the usual hurry and the thoroughness of professionals who have finished their business there. She does not have to sweep the place to know what she finds - impressions linger, ghosts of those who have been taken and returned, disturbed dust and the lingering astringency of people who were here twice. Behind her, six containment specialists move carefully, and at the threshold, two erasure-class constructs wait as silent sentinels. Her detachment, plus the pressure lines from the Outer Gods, remain at a distance, a show of force meant to reassure. This was only an inspection, a confirmation, not an end.
"Sweep," she says.
