Pity’s hand trembled with the weight of every missed shot as Beau began counting down with his fingers. Blood cascaded through her veins, alternating surges of ember hot and icy cold. She took a deep breath. Across the chasm of floor separating them, Beau looked as calm as a light snowfall.

Three.

Beau, who wasn’t injured. Who didn’t hesitate and didn’t miss.

Two.

Who only needed a few moments.

Pity grabbed the jagged lip of the planter and stood. “Hey!”

She fired double-handed as two of the remaining men snapped toward her.

Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang!

Her first two bullets found their mark, dropping one assassin before he could get a shot off. The third and fourth were less on target but caught the second man’s rifle, sending it flying from his hands.

It was the last of the three attackers she knew she’d be too slow for. He spun as his companions faltered, rifle barrel finding Pity as she prayed the seconds she’d bought would be enough.

Fortunately, a sliver of time was as good as an hour to Beau. He charged from behind the desk, firing.

A handful of shots and it was over.

Pity fell to her knees, hands still clenched around her revolvers, waiting for the new pain to come. When it didn’t—when the only blood she found on her person was from the first wound—she started to shake.

“Pity?”

As Sheridan spoke, the elevator dinged. Santino and half a dozen Tin Men spilled out, guns raised.

“It’s about time!” Beau snarled.

“The alarm just came through.” Wide-eyed, Santino took in the scene.

Behind the desk, Selene stirred.

“Stay down for a moment, ma’am.” Beau uncovered his wristband again. “Santino, there are at least two more outside. Ready?”

The Tin Men formed up around the terrace entrance. At Beau’s command, the windows opened.

Ignoring Sheridan’s attempts at assistance, Pity pushed to her feet and limped after them, one thought beating in her head like a drum: One bullet left… one bullet left…

But when she got outside, only a single attacker remained—the man she had shot first—his arm clenched to his ribs. She spotted a pair of hooks gripping the edge of the balcony, ropes pulled taunt behind them. Santino was beside them, looking over the side. He slung his rifle over his shoulder, pulled out a knife, and sawed through the ropes. When that was done he peeked out again before turning back, satisfied.

“Pity?” Beau appeared beside her. “Are you okay?”

She blinked at him. Only the faintest flush tinted his sharp cheeks. “I’m fine, thank you.” Her voice sounded thin, distant.

“You’re bleeding.”

She looked down. The bottom of her left pant leg was soaked through; bloody footprints trailed behind her. “Oh. A scratch. It barely hurts anymore.”

“That’s because you’re going into shock. Santino, sit her down before she passes out.”

“It’s nothing.” But the moment the words were out, a buzz began in her head. She holstered her guns, shivering.

“Don’t argue.” Santino gathered her into his arms and carried her over to the desk. With his knife, he slashed the fabric of her pants. “Looks like it went straight through,” he said. “Not too bad, but it’ll need attention.”

“Sir!” called one of the guards. “Got another warm body here!”

It was the man Pity had hit in the helmet. Some of the Tin Men surrounded him, the others dragged in his cohort from the terrace. The guards bound the attackers’ hands behind their backs and deposited them before Selene, who was steadying herself against the other end of the desk.

With a tender touch, Beau brushed the hair away from the cut on her forehead and dabbed at it with a handkerchief.

She waved him away, eyes ablaze. “I’m fine.”

“You need to see Starr.”

His tone carried something Pity had never heard in it before: worry.

“When we’ve finished here.” Selene brushed the dust from the front of her dress. “Patrick? Are you okay?”

Sheridan, to his credit, did not look nearly as bad as Pity felt. His face was flushed, and a line of sweat painted his brow, but he took in the proceedings with restrained aplomb. “I am.”

“Good.” She addressed two of the Tin Men. “Take him back to his suite.”

“Selene, I—”

“This isn’t something you need to see. My apologies, breakfast will have to wait for another day.”

As the men escorted him to the waiting elevator, Pity made a move to follow.

“Pity, you stay.” Selene gestured at the prisoners.

The Tin Men pulled them into kneeling positions and ripped off their helmets. The one from the terrace had pale hair and a ratty face. His companion was older, with a red scar over one eye.

Santino looked them over. “Mercenaries. And not cheap ones, judging by the armor and weapons.”

Selene considered the pair. When she finally spoke, her voice was as soft as a kiss. “Who sent you here?”

Neither replied.

“Ma’am,” Santino said, “would you like me to—”

“No.” The kiss turned to ice. “I’ll give you a choice. The first one to tell me who sent you dies right now, quickly. The other will be interrogated for everything else. Hours, days, weeks… as long as it takes me to feel satisfied that anything of importance has been disclosed. Do you believe that I will do this?”

One nodded, and then the other.

“Good. Now… talk.”

An edged silence fell. Even from the safety of the prevailing side, Pity tensed as anxious seconds passed, a bitter taste in her mouth.

The remaining assassins stared at the floor, eyes blank, as if they were seeing nothing. The one with the scar began to shake. But it was the ratty man who spoke first, one word that looked to pain him more than his injuries.

“Daneko.”

“Daneko?” growled Beau.

Selene waved a hand, silencing him. Then she took his gun and went to the confessor. Pity turned away as a single shot rang out—worse, somehow, than all the ones that had preceded it. A meaty thump followed. When she found the courage to look back, the Tin Men were wrenching the remaining assassin to his feet.

“Please… wait… He wasn’t alone.”

Selene signaled for the Tin Men to pause. “What do you mean?”

“Daneko wasn’t the one who paid us,” the man panted. “I don’t know who did, but I overheard him say something to our team leader about help from back east.”

“Hmm.” Selene stared at him for a moment. “I look forward to hearing the details Santino pries out of you on that topic. Take him away.” Any hope for mercy—of any kind—evaporated from the assassin’s face. “To the interrogation cell, not the regular ones.”

Beau accepted his gun back from Selene when they were gone. “Daneko didn’t get them into Casimir unseen. Not with that amount of gear.”

Selene nodded. “He didn’t get them onto my terrace, either.”

“They must have had assistance here as well—codes, maps, a way to bypass the surveillance cameras.”

“I know.” Selene turned back to Pity. She smiled neutrally. “Ugly business, this.”

Pity could think of nothing to say. Selene had just executed someone. Maybe not in cold blood but lukewarm at best. But I killed, too. It felt unreal, though it had happened scant minutes before. Whatever had burned within during the attack was extinguished, leaving a hollow that clawed at her, trying to fill itself. She stared at the tangle of still forms on the marble floor.

I killed them.

“Santino, take a team,” Beau ordered. “I want Daneko here, now. We never should have believed him or the bullshit peace he—”

“Beau, relax.” Selene pulled out her chair and sat, paying no mind to the fresh bullet holes in it. “We don’t need to exert ourselves. Why not have the dogs corner the rat? Send a message to the other gang leaders. Find Daneko, contain him, and send word. If he isn’t cornered by sundown, Cessation shuts down.” Her eyes narrowed. “And Casimir is closed until I decide it isn’t.”

The side door opened. Rifles snapped up, but it was only Adora.

“Everything okay in here?” she said as if she had found them out of drinks rather than surrounded by bodies.

“Everything is fine now, Adora,” said Selene. “Get someone in here to deal with this mess, would you? And the one below my balcony as well.” She paused. “Beau, why not send a head along with each message. It will add a touch of urgency, don’t you think? And, Santino, our new guest will wait a bit. See to Pity.” Selene reached across the desk and squeezed Pity’s arm affectionately. “Thank you, my dear. I’m in your debt.”

Pride joined Pity’s stew of emotions as Santino scooped her up again. It was a pleasant addition, though it didn’t quite neutralize the others.

“I can walk!” she protested.

“Miss Selene said take care of you, so I’m taking care of you.”

“Hold on.” For a moment Beau considered Pity, eyes chilly. “That was stupid. You should have waited for me.”

She held his gaze, acutely aware of the odds they’d overcome. “They would have gone for you first and then killed me and Sheridan anyway. You had more ammo and you miss less. It made sense.”

He glanced at Selene, then back to Pity. “Next time I give you an order, you follow it.” He paused. “But Selene is right—you did good.”

“Thank you.” Pity heard the sincerity in his words.

She could only hope her own belief in them would come later.

“A few more,” said Dr. Starr. “Keep still.”

On the rigid exam bed, Pity lay on her stomach, a towel draped over her bare hips. The wound had been cold fire by the time Santino got her to the clinic, but thanks to an injection from Starr, the pain had receded to a dull, warm throb. Still, with each new stitch, each pull of the thread, Pity squeezed Santino’s broad hand tighter.

“You’re almost done, chica.” He chuckled. “You’ve been blown up and shot at, and look at you—green over a few stitches.”

Pity gritted her teeth, trying to lose the sensation to the narcotic tide. “It feels weird.”

“Not as bad as getting shot.”

“Or getting blown up.” She looked into Santino’s golden-brown eyes. “How many times are you gonna have to get me fixed up?”

“No sé. Seems like you’ve got nine lives.”

“I think I’m down a few.”

Santino chuckled again. “Any gunfight you make it to the end of is a good one. I’m starting to think Beau underestimated you. Seems to me you’d be a good hand to keep nearby.”

“And here I was thinking how much nicer it is to shoot when you’re not being shot at.”

“Still, if you ever get tired of the Theatre, say the word and I’ll see what we can do.”

Pity shifted, uncomfortable with the path of thought the offer led her down.

I killed two men.

Two.

Only two.

She winced as Starr made another stitch, and changed the subject. “Beau, he… Are he and Selene…?”

“It’s no secret. Money and power can command good protection. But you want the best? There’s no better safeguard than someone who is willing to die to keep you breathing.” He sighed dramatically. “May we all find un hombre who cares that much, yeah?”

“There,” announced Starr. “A little bandaging and you’ll be good to go. Try to stay off it for a couple of days, but you can use a crutch if you’re—”

“Pity!” Luster barreled into the clinic, a satin robe fluttering about her diminutive frame. “Are you okay? Oh, my Lord—you’re shot!”

“She’ll live.” Starr finished the bandaging. “These, however, will not.” He tossed the bloody remains of Pity’s pants into the garbage.

“I liked those, too.” Her body felt thick and heavy as she cautiously pushed herself into a sitting position. “I’m okay, really. Just peachy. The men that attacked us, though…” She giggled, unable to help herself.

Luster blinked and turned to Starr. “What’d ya give her?”

“Nothing that won’t wear off in a few hours. When it starts to hurt again, she can take one or two of these.” He put a glass vial of white pills on the exam table. “For Pity, got it? None of these better end up in with your—ahem—party supplies.”

“Oh, shush,” snapped Luster. “What happened? One of the Tin Men came and woke me, but he wouldn’t say—”

“Assassins. They were after Selene. We… we stopped them.” Suddenly, Pity’s eyes filled with tears. She wiped them away, frustrated. “It’s not funny. I don’t know why I laughed.”

“Oh, honey.” Luster’s arms enveloped her. “You’re just a little messed up right now. What kind of fools would go after Miss Selene like that?”

“Dead fools,” Santino filled in.

“Speaking of which,” said Starr, his black bag in hand. “I need to give Miss Selene a look over and then… see to a few other things.” He tossed a bone saw into his kit.

“Yo también,” said Santino, rising. “There’s a living fool still left to attend to.”

They departed with grim determination.

Luster chewed at her bottom lip. “I can’t believe anyone would… How did they…” She shook her head. “You stay put. I’m going to get Max and then we’ll get you back to your—”

“No!” Pity cried. “I mean… I’m sure I can manage.”

Luster’s eyes narrowed. “There something other than an assassination attempt that you want to tell me about?”

Pity hesitated. She didn’t need to say anything. Max was no gossip. Her embarrassment didn’t need to be anything other than a regrettable secret, swiftly buried. And yet she spoke anyway. “Um… I… after the show, I tried to kiss Max.”

“Tried to kiss him?”

“I did kiss him. But he… he didn’t want to kiss me back.”

“Oh.” Luster pulled a stool over and sat. “Idiot.”

“I know, I never should have—”

“Not you, him!” Luster wrapped the robe tighter. “Stupid boy doesn’t know what’s good for him. No wonder he’s been scarce. He’s probably holed up in his room painting everything that isn’t moving. I swear, he’s the only soul in Cessation who doesn’t exorcise his demons by drinking, fighting, or—”

“Painting?” A fuzzy realization floated into her mind. “I’ve never even seen his room.”

“Not many have,” said Luster. “Look, I love Max. And Garland and Dutch and I are closer to him than anyone here. But sometimes he’s so… I don’t know. There’s a distance to him. And he gets into these moods. Like right before you arrived. I’d never seen him so morose.” She sighed. “Then he went off with Santino and Olivia, and by the time he got back, he was his old cheerful self. To be honest, I thought that was because of you.”

“Guess not.”

Luster nudged Pity’s good leg with her foot. “There’s nothing to be ashamed of. You’re not the first one to be taken in by that sunny smile of his. But whenever anyone tries to get too close… He’s never said anything, but I think there was someone before he came to Cessation.”

Is that it? He’s pining for someone else? Pity felt more foolish than ever. “Oh.”

Luster’s face puckered. “Don’t sound so defeated. You think if there were a happy ending to that story he’d be here now? Life goes on, if he’d be smart enough to realize it.”

Pity wiped at her eyes again, suddenly exhausted. “Lord, I’m so stupid. I almost died an hour ago and I’m sitting here talking about Max.”

“Well, if you had died, you couldn’t have done much about it, right? Max, on the other hand…” She shrugged. “Look, let’s get you back to your room and—”

“No,” she interjected. “Can you get me some clothes? I want to go to the Gallery.”

“Why?”

“Because they’re going after Daneko,” Pity said, grabbing her guns. “And I want to be there when they drag in the son of a bitch who almost got me killed.”