Morning came up over Pyrros clear and gold, the way it always did, as if nothing had happened.
At the north end of the canyon, the Iron Dominion lay where Arthur had put her: broken-backed across the dry riverbed like the carcass of some great grey animal, her hammer crest scraped half off her keel. Around her, teams in Ouroboros grey and in the Southern crown's dark red were already at work, cataloguing the wreck, sealing anything that looked like a weapon, and making sure nothing sensitive walked away in a stranger's pocket.
Arthur stood on what was left of the hotel terrace and looked at it for a while.
