“Alban’s eyes widened, palpable shock rolling off him. “Daisani’s assistant? That Vanessa Gray?” “That one.” Alban whistled, a long high sound of wind howling through stone, and Margrit looked at him in surprise. “You can whistle?” His eyebrows wrinkled. “Can’t you?” “Of course, but it’s so frivolous. You’re sort of stolid. I wouldn’t have thought whistling was in a gargoyle’s nature.” Alban chuckled. “I don’t do it often.”

“I’m a lawyer. I meet people every day who are on the surface considerably worse than you are. You, Janx, Alban, you’re really all so…normal. You can do stuff I can’t, but so can Michael Jordan.” Dismay hit her palpably enough to make her want to step back, though she held her ground even as she groaned. “Please don’t tell me he’s one of you.” Daisani’s shoulders rose and fell, a single admission of silent laughter. “I believe Mr. Jordan is as human as you are, Miss Knight.”

“A shrill whistle scratched out of the dank cloud surrounding him. A second soon followed.„Two freighters are doing a whistle pass,“ Betty said behind him. „Is that how you intend to leave this, Gabriel? You and Mr. Harris were but two lonely hearts conducting a whistle pass through the fog of your lives?”

“Our eyes meet. I hear a train horn, so faint it could be wind whistling through an alleyway. But I know it when I hear it. It sounds like the Dauntless, calling me to to them.”

“I whistled. "You have evil thoughts for a goat.”

“If she’s out here and not locked up in the barracks, I’ll know,” he said. He took a deep breath and whistled.“You share a whistle?” Trevanion said in disbelief.“Do you have a problem with that?” Finnikin asked.“I have a few whistles,” Lucian murmured. “Very confusing sometimes.”“Whistles are meant for combat,” Trevanion said. “Not wooing women. Women do not understand whistles.”