It was partially true. There’d be no avoiding Max now, and Pity wanted to pick the battleground on which she faced him again—upright and resilient in the Gallery rather than lying in bed, looking like an invalid.

As she had expected, Max appeared quickly. Nervousness and anticipation snaked through her, twisting together in a perplexing knot as she stared at him from across the room. But before she could begin to unravel it, Max spotted her, the vague panic on his face relaxing only slightly. He rushed over, breathless, his silver piercings turned coppery by the Gallery’s low light.

“I went to the clinic when I heard, and then your room, but you weren’t—” He stopped when he spotted her bandaged leg, stretched out on one of the Gallery’s cushioned couches. “It’s true, you were shot?”

“Yes.” She kept her tone even. “It’s nothing serious.”

He stared, lips parted slightly. “But you—”

“I’m okay, Max.” A few days ago his concern would have been a balm. Now it grated on her, poked at the invisible wound. What hurts worse, she chided herself, your leg or your pride? “Dr. Starr patched me up.”

“Keep on the way you’re going,” Garland said as he returned from a trip to the bar, “and you’re going to be as patched as an old quilt. Here, it’s ginger ale.”

Pity used it to wash down one of Starr’s pills. Garland pushed in beside her so that she leaned against him. When he dropped an arm around her, she didn’t object; his scent drowned out the smell of blood that lingered in her nostrils. Being close to him sent a heady sensation through her, one she doubted came entirely from the painkillers. But guilt stained its edges. She stole a look at Max as Luster pulled him down beside her.

“Better injured than dead.” Duchess curled in a chair like a thoroughly cross cat. His fingers dug into the plush arms. “Just think. If you hadn’t been there, Selene might have—”

“Don’t even say it!” Luster said.

Max remained quiet, his face troubled.

Pity told herself it was because of Selene. Without her it would all fall apart—that’s what Max had said. She understood Selene’s sway over the city, but it wasn’t until that moment that she realized the fierce loyalty Selene garnered as well.

“Has anyone seen Patrick Sheridan?” She hadn’t spared him a thought since Selene dismissed him, but now she wondered where he was. “He was there, too.”

“He’s probably hiding in his room,” Duchess said, “regretting ever coming here in the first place.”

Garland repositioned so that Pity was more comfortable. “He’s spending an awful lot of time with Selene.”

“They have business,” said Pity, unsure if she should say more.

Luster leaned in conspiratorially. “Ooh, what kind?”

“Politics,” Max interjected. He noticed Pity’s surprise. “What? It wasn’t hard to figure out. CONA politicians always have something about them—like a bad smell.”

“He’s right,” Pity said. “Selene says he’s going to be the next president of CONA.”

“Huh,” said Luster. “I know Selene can do a lot of things, but I didn’t think she could fix a presidency.”

“She can’t.” Clouds gathered in Max’s eyes. “She’d need too much help—especially from the corporations. And even then she wouldn’t get it from the one she really needs: Drakos-Pryce.”

“Tsk,” chided Garland. “Such little faith in Selene.”

“It’s not that,” Max said. “No one back east rises that high without Drakos-Pryce’s approval, and they’re the one corporation that won’t have anything to do with Cessation. They don’t like a candidate? All it takes is a scandal here or an ‘accident’ there, and that candidate is gone. If Sheridan thinks Selene can get him the presidency, he’s on a fool’s errand.”

“Well, maybe Selene knows something you don’t.” Pity couldn’t stop the annoyance that leaked into her voice. “And Sheridan seemed like the decent sort to me.”

“Not to mention you saved his life.” Luster grinned. “I bet a future president owing you his life is worth a whole lot more than a bottle of wine.”

She hadn’t considered that. Sure, she had helped save Sheridan, but only in the course of saving Selene. And herself. It had been easier than she would have expected, in the moment. Pulling the trigger. Surviving. But instead of pride she felt bitter guilt.

If those scroungers had cornered both you and Finn, would she be alive?

Pity shook her head. “No. He doesn’t owe me anything.”

They waited. On the heels of long minutes came longer hours. Silence ruled in the Gallery, a blunt contrast to the usual revelry. A few patrons bent over the gambling tables, quiet and intent, but most remained sequestered in their rooms. As Selene promised, no one was let in or out. The only breaks in the tense stretch came when someone would approach Pity to thank her. Flossie gave her a big kiss on the cheek; Kitty gave her a hug so fierce that she could hardly breathe. Halcyon burst in and out like a tornado, fussing fiercely over Pity and then stalking off to find Starr, declaring loudly that she would be fit to perform again before she knew it.

As the afternoon crawled into evening, Pity dozed against Garland, lulled by his warmth and the pills. Sleep was never far away, but every time she crossed the threshold she heard a pop of gunfire or saw the burst of red from the assassin’s eye. Or, worse, heard the thump of dead flesh against marble. Once she started so hard that she knocked over her drink. Max reached for the glass, but she snatched it away before he could get it. A porter instantly appeared and offered to get her another, sounding like he would have retrieved the moon for her if he could.

“You sure you’re okay?” Garland asked quietly.

“Still spooked, I guess.” Pity closed her eyes again, chasing the rest that eluded her. You did good. She repeated the words over and over, but the more she did, the more they bothered her, like an itch she couldn’t quite reach.

A commotion sounded beyond the front doors. Pity roused as they burst open and a tall woman strode in.

“I’ll be damned.” Luster whistled. “Look who’s here.”

The woman wore a long travel-stained coat and carried a pack that looked like it had seen decades, both of which she shoved at the porter who rushed to her side. Beneath the coat were a pair of holsters. Pity’s interest piqued—only Casimir’s inhabitants were allowed to carry weapons into the Gallery, but no one moved to take the guns. At the bottom of the steps, she paused and looked around, flinty eyes scanning the room.

Flossie met her there. “Welcome back, Ms. Bond. It’s been a while since we enjoyed your company.”

“Him.” The woman pointed at one of the young men lounging on a pile of cushions and then at another. “And him.”

Flossie waited expectantly.

“It was a long trip,” the woman said. “Have them up to my suite in half an hour, with the rest of my gear.” She sniffed. “I heard a funny rumor on my way in that Casimir was closed.”

“Oh, never for you.”

“That’s what I said.”

Flossie snapped her fingers at the men as the newcomer went to the bar and sat down.

“Who’s that?” Pity whispered.

“That,” Garland replied, “is Siena Bond. A bounty hunter.”

“The best bounty hunter,” Duchess added, “and someone you wouldn’t want to cross.”

“Oh, please,” said Luster. “She’s a sweetheart. Too bad she didn’t arrive earlier—she would have had Daneko here in two shakes of a lamb’s tail.”

“Speak of the devil…” said Max.

A fresh disturbance overtook the Gallery’s entrance. Santino entered, leading a small army of Tin Men. In their midst was a handful of Old Reds. One, Pity saw, was the wild girl she had shot at the day Max had taken her to the market. All the mad bravado in her face was gone, replaced by a glaze of cold terror. They marched down the center of the room.

“Where’s Daneko?” Pity said as they passed.

“Gone.” Olivia brought up the rear of the parade, rifle in hand. She shrugged off the body armor she wore and gestured to Pity. “C’mon. You should be in on this, too.”

Pity pulled herself up using the crutch Luster had scrounged. The others began to rise, too, but she waved them away and hobbled after Olivia. She didn’t have time to wonder where they were headed; at the back of the Gallery by the elevator, the Tin Men herded the Old Reds into a tight circle and forced them onto their knees. Pity followed Olivia to one side of the assembly.

The elevator opened, drawing every eye in the room. Selene glided out with Beau at her side. The cut on her forehead, now tended, was the only sign of the morning’s events.

Santino went to her and said something, quietly.

Selene’s expression soured. “And where is he now?”

“Probably headed south as fast as he can,” rumbled Santino. “This is on me, ma’am. We thought he was cornered. A few minutes earlier…”

Selene waved him off and stepped forward, regarding the Old Reds displayed before her. After a tense handful of moments, she spoke, her voice carrying through the room.

“You were dead the moment you walked into Casimir.”

The Old Reds shifted and shuddered, their movements audible in the chill silence that gripped the Gallery.

“So there is no reason to pretend to know nothing about what occurred here earlier. You will tell me everything, and you will tell me now.”

None of the Old Reds spoke. Pity kept her eye on the girl, wondering if she was foolish enough to have been in on the plot, but not once did she look up. Her head hung to her chest, defeat and fear like twin weights dragging her down. Selene snapped her fingers at one of the prisoners. Two of the Tin Men yanked him to his feet and dragged him over to her.

“You were one of Daneko’s lieutenants,” she said.

It wasn’t a question, but the man nodded, his face pale.

“Surely you must have something to share.”

The man trembled. “I would tell you if I knew something. But I don’t. Daneko didn’t say one word about… about…”

Beau pulled out his gun and pressed it to the man’s forehead. “Truth. Now.”

“I swear!” he screeched. “I swear I don’t know anything!”

Stern-faced, Selene put her hand on Beau’s and guided it away. “I believe you.”

Another gesture and the Tin Men returned him to his pack.

“You were dead the moment you walked into Casimir,” Selene repeated. “But another stack of bodies does me no good. As of this moment, the Old Reds are disbanded. You and the rest of your gang have twelve hours to leave Cessation. Anyone left in the city come sunrise will sincerely wish they hadn’t ignored this brief measure of clemency.”

She raised her chin, looking out over the upturned faces that filled the Gallery. “Is that clear? No one is to harm any Old Red in Cessation until the deadline has passed. After that… do what you please. That’s twelve hours… starting now.”

At that, Selene turned on her heel and headed for the elevator.

“Turn them loose,” Beau instructed Santino before following her.

“That’s it?” After how Selene had dealt with the assassins, Pity had expected threats, intimidation, even blood—but not mercy. And why didn’t she ask who helped them get into Casimir?

“Seems like,” said Olivia. “Well, looks as if I’ve got some work to get back to.”

“Wait!”

Pity shuffled after, but Olivia outpaced her. She slid over the bar and went immediately to Siena Bond, where she poured brown liquor into a glass until it was at the rim.

“Good to see you, Siena. It’s been too long.”

“Good to see you, too, Liv.” The woman’s voice was as dusty as her clothing. “Nearly had to have someone else pour my drink for me. I miss something exciting?”

“Just a little ruckus.”

Pity caught up, settling herself a few stools down from the bounty hunter. Up close, she could see that the woman was middle-aged, with a narrow face and cropped, ash-brown hair, fading to gray. But the eyes that snagged Pity’s in the bar mirror were bright and sharp. They lingered briefly before dropping back to her drink.

“Good timing, though,” Olivia continued. “If you’re looking for a job.”

“Could be.”

“I’ll let her know you’re available.”

Siena drained her glass in one go and stood to depart. “Then I guess I should take what rest I can.”

When the bounty hunter was gone, Olivia turned. “Okay, now you can tell me what that look is for, Miss Pity.”

Pity leaned over the burnished wood. “Even if Daneko is gone… what about the other thing? The help. Why didn’t Selene…”

“Shhh.” Her voice dropped low. “Because Selene wasn’t about to advertise that there might be a traitor in Casimir. Could be anyone: a worker, a Tin Man, even a regular.”

Pity stared ahead, at the reflection of the Gallery. The prisoners were gone, but the crowd remained, loosening and unsure of what to do now. It was filled with the faces of strangers, acquaintances, and friends. Max’s black-and-blue hair drew her attention like a beacon, and she saw that he was looking at her.

She dropped her gaze quickly. “Then everyone is under suspicion.”

“Not as far as they know,” Olivia replied. “So keep your eyes open, mouth shut, and those guns close.”