Shadowed in the upper ranks of the theatre’s seats, Pity rolled a bullet back and forth between her fingers, watching the act below slowly knit itself together. The floor of the arena was a hectic patchwork of performers and props, but with a hint of underlying reason to it, too, a pattern working itself out. By the time of the next show, order would be established, she had no doubt, and the act would emerge as another of the Theatre’s mesmerizing creations.

Already she found herself craving the day when all she had to worry about was pleasing her audience. Onstage, she knew what to expect, how to react. Onstage, her mother’s guns were as familiar as her own two hands. Nothing escaped her; she dispatched every one of the Theatre’s targets with merciless precision.

Below, oblivious to her presence, Max adjusted pieces of the blossoming set.

A pang of guilt pierced her.

The arena was simple. Everything beyond it was where her control seemed to fray.

Footsteps approached, dragging her from her thoughts.

“Hi.” It was Garland. “Mind if I join you?”

Pity’s fist tightened around the bullet. “I was about to leave—”

“No, you weren’t.” He sat down next to her. “I think we need to have a talk. You’ve been avoiding me.”

“No, I haven’t.”

“Don’t look away like that; it gives away the lie. You’ve been avoiding me,” he repeated, “and you’ve been avoiding Luster. She thinks you’re mad at her.”

“Why?”

“Because,” Garland said with a mix of patience and amusement, “we’ve hardly caught a glimpse of you for days. And here you are, hiding in the dark.” He paused. “But I don’t think you’re mad at her or at me.”

“Good,” she said. “I’m not. Now I’ve got to—”

“I think you’re mad”—he nodded in the direction of the arena floor—“because what happened the other night didn’t happen with the person you really wanted it to.”

Halfway out of her seat, Pity stopped. She sank back down, defeated. “Dammit, does anything stay a secret in this place?”

He smirked. “Not much. Don’t worry. Luster didn’t say anything.”

“Then how did you—”

“Pity…” His tone turned serious but not unkind. “I’ve seen how you look at Max. And it’s nothing like how you look at me.”

Her cheeks burned. “Oh.”

Was it really that obvious? There was no mistaking what she felt around Garland. But even now her attention was drawn below, to where Max worked. It was Max who always seemed to rise to the surface of her thoughts, along with that brief moment on the night of her debut when he seemed to kiss her back.

“I’m…” A wave of embarrassment overtook her, so strong it brought frustrated tears to her eyes. “I’m sorry about the other night. I never meant to…”

“Hey, stop. Don’t get upset.” Garland reached over and pushed a loose strand of hair away from her cheek, a touch that felt more like a comfort than a temptation. “We’re friends, right? There’s no need to make it any more or less than that.” His hand fell away. “But there’s something else bothering you, too, isn’t there? Luster thinks so, and she’s always right about these sorts of things.”

I almost died. I killed two men. There’s a bounty hunter still hanging around who may have been sent by my father. Max… The reasons jumped to the tip of her tongue, each one good enough to serve to Garland… but all fell just short of the truth.

“I missed.”

“What?”

“When the assassins attacked, I missed.” A full confession in two words. Her hand tightened into a fist around the bullet. “More than once. More than twice. If it wasn’t for Beau…”

Garland blinked at her. “Is that still eating at you? It wasn’t the show, Pity. It must have been terrifying—of course you missed a few times!”

“It’s more than that!” She stared at the ground, her voice rising uncontrollably. “I could have done more. I should have done more. I just watched when Finn was murdered… I could have saved her and I didn’t. And then the attack on Selene… I’m not helpless. I’m not!” Every word pained her to say, as if they were fresh bruises on her soul. “So why does it feel like I am? Why is it so easy in practice and when I’m performing? Why do I only fail when it really matters?”

For a long moment Garland was silent. When she finally looked up at him, she found the warmth gone from his features. In its place was something else, something Pity recognized but couldn’t name.

“You didn’t fail,” he said, his voice hollow. “You did the best you could in the moment. It’s just that sometimes… that’s not enough.”

At first she didn’t think he was going to say more. Then he took a breath and let it out slowly. “Y’know, before I came to Cessation, I lived on a settlement. It got sick… really sick.”

That’s when she saw it—the nothingness. Pity knew it from the commune, a dark souvenir of the war. Women and men who had seen too much, lost too much; some deep part of themselves had withered away, no more likely to grow back than an amputated limb. “Luster told me. I’m sorry.”

“So was I. Nothing we tried slowed the epidemic—not medicine, not prayer. My whole family died, and the only thing I could do was dig their graves in the ancestral land my people had barely begun to reclaim. I remember finishing the last one knowing I’d never feel at home again.” He shrugged. “So I left. But there was nothing I could have done about it.”

“Except…” Pity shook her head. “It’s not the same. You didn’t make your family sick. But I could have saved Finn.”

“Maybe,” he allowed. “Or maybe you would have tried and ended up dead, too. Do you think she would have wanted that?”

Pity’s jaw tightened. Run. That’s what Finn had told her to do, the very last thing she ever did. Run. “No.”

“Everybody loses, Pity—sometimes it’s a little, sometimes it’s a lot.”

Pain shaped Garland’s voice. When she reached out and squeezed his hand, though, his wolfish grin returned. For the first time she noticed how it didn’t really touch his eyes.

“Can’t do anything about the past,” he continued. “Today’s what we’ve got. And at the rate you’re going, you’ll run out of people in Casimir to not avoid. It’s not really my business, but you can’t pretend you’re helpless about whatever’s gone on between you and Max.”

Something unknotted in her chest. He’s right, she thought. Max may not care about you the way you want him to, but he’s still tried to be your friend. And he’s not the one letting a little wound fester. “Lord, you must think I’m ridiculous.”

“I don’t,” he said. “But I do think Luster is right—you need to learn to relax a little. It’s an ugly world, and we need to take what happiness we can, when we can.”

“I wanted to ask… the other night…” Her cheeks burned again, and not entirely from embarrassment. “When I said I was fertile… it didn’t occur to me at the time that it didn’t matter. Because you’re not, right?”

Garland rubbed his shoulder. “Starr gave me my booster shot a few weeks ago.”

“So why didn’t we…?”

“You didn’t want it to go that far.”

Her cheeks flushed. “I never actually said that.”

“You didn’t have to. Here.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a med injector. “Luster snatched this for you.”

“What is it?”

“Same cocktail Starr doses us with. Lasts for six months or so. You don’t have to take it, but she thought it might be one less thing for you to worry about.”

Pity thought for a moment, then held out her arm. “Go on, do it.” She winced at the brief prick, but the pain brought a measure of comfort. They might show it funny, but these folks care. Garland was right about Max, too. Of everything that was eating at her, that was the one she had control over.

The question was, did she have the steel to do something about it?

This was no show, Pity told herself, and no battle. She didn’t need to rush in. She could collect herself first. In the Gallery, she pulled up a stool and began formulating what to say to Max.

Olivia came over. “Getcha something?”

“Not today, thanks.” You’d best start keeping your wits about you.

Pity straightened as Siena Bond appeared in the mirror behind Olivia, heading toward them. Over the last few days the bounty hunter had become a too-familiar sight. Pity had spotted her in the stands of the theatre, watching as she practiced, and in Eden, always alone and smoking ugly, hand-rolled cigarettes. But the woman never approached her again or said a single word.

Today, something was different. Siena moved with the deliberateness of a mountain cat, pack slung over one shoulder.

“So?” Olivia said when she reached the bar.

“So Daneko is in the wind,” Siena replied. “And I’m on the job.”

“Huh. I almost feel bad for him.”

“I don’t. Not with the bounty Selene’s offering.” Siena nodded her head at Pity. “Guess I’ll have to wait to catch your act, Jones.”

“Guess so,” Pity croaked, her mouth suddenly parched.

“Next time,” said Olivia. “She’s not going anywhere.”

Siena’s mouth crooked up at the edges. “I’ll keep that in mind. See ya around, Liv. Jones.”

Pity watched until the bounty hunter was gone, a sensation in her gut like a block of ice melting.

Olivia tapped the bar to get her attention. “Are you all right? You look like someone walked over your grave.”

“It’s just…her.”

“What about her?” Olivia’s brow furled. “Pity, did you do something to cross Siena? Because that’s a very bad—”

“I didn’t do anything. It’s only that…” She glanced back the way the bounty hunter had gone. “What if she came to Cessation looking for someone? And what if… that person was me?”

Olivia blinked at her. Then she laughed.

“It’s not funny!”

“Yes, it is,” said the bartender. “You can drop that notion right now. Siena is not after you.”

“How do you know? You don’t know my father! What if he hired her to—”

Olivia raised a hand to cut her off. “Pity, there are two very good reasons why I know your father didn’t employ the best bounty hunter on the continent to hunt you down. The first is that if Siena Bond wanted to get you, you’d already be got. You aren’t exactly hiding, you know. Or is there a glut of CONA-raised young ladies in Cessation who shoot like the Angel of Death herself?”

“No,” Pity said. “I guess not. But—”

“Remember that former occupation I mentioned to you? I know Siena because I spent three years chasing bounties with her before I decided that life wasn’t for me and settled in Cessation.”

“So what’s the second reason?”

“Well,” Olivia said, “is your daddy a rich man?”

In the commune, he had a certain luxury, but it was more power than currency. “No.”

“Then, trust me. As worn around the edges as she looks, Siena doesn’t come cheap. You’ve got nothing to worry about.”

Olivia’s confidence was reassuring. And now that Pity’d said it out loud, she had to admit the idea that her father would—could—send a bounty hunter after her was a little far-fetched. But if she wasn’t the bounty hunter’s target, then why had the woman seemed to show such a peculiar interest in her?

One problem at a time, she thought, summoning her resolve. And you’ve already got one chambered.

It was time to pull the trigger before she lost her nerve completely.

Pity found Max in his workroom, sitting on the floor, surrounded by flames. She was nearly upon him before he looked up from the piles of fabric encircling him—scraps of crimson, vermilion, and yellow. A shadow passed over his features, there and gone in the space of a heartbeat.

“Hi,” she said.

“Hi.”

Oh, good start. Pity swallowed to clear the lump from her throat. “What’s all this?”

He tossed the pieces he had been stitching to the floor. “Feathers. Or fire. To be honest, I’m not entirely sure yet. It’s something Halcyon has in mind for the Rousseaus, but…” He sighed. “It hasn’t quite come together yet.”

“You’ll get it.”

“Yeah.” His gaze remained on the pieces. “Did you… need something?”

“Yes.” She forced the words out before she could reconsider. “I… I wanted to apologize. For what happened the other night. And after my debut.”

Max stood up. “There’s no reason to—”

“Yes, there is. So, I’m sorry. I’ve been unfair to you. I know I haven’t been acting like it, but I don’t mind being just your friend.” She sighed. “In fact, I miss it. And with everything else that’s happened… I guess I don’t want to lose that. Heck, I wouldn’t even be here if it wasn’t for you.”

Max said nothing, eyes glazed with some fusion of emotion Pity couldn’t decipher. His teeth tugged worriedly at one of his lip rings.

“I don’t know if that’s something you should be thankful for,” he said finally. “I promised you’d be safe in Casimir and you almost died.”

“That wasn’t your fault.” She took a deep breath and exhaled. “Or mine. It was just bad luck. And I knew Cessation was dangerous from the beginning. What I didn’t expect is how quick I’d come to like it here. The Theatre… and the people.” As soon as she said it, the honest truth of it filled her. Despite everything that had happened, everything that she had faced, in no moment had she ever felt alone. In a scant few weeks, the people of Cessation had treated her more like family than her father and brothers ever had. “So can you forgive me for being an ass?”

A faint smile touched his lips. “You didn’t even need to ask. Just promise me one thing.”

“What?”

“This place—what it offers—can get the better of you if you’re not careful.”

Fresh embarrassment ignited. “Oh, you can be sure I’m not going anywhere near Luster’s pills again—”

“More than that,” he pressed. “Casimir, the Theatre, the whole city—it’s a puddle on the surface with an ocean underneath. Before you know it, you’re overcome. Promise me that if you ever feel like it’s getting the best of you—well, get out. I’d rather see you gone than drowned.”

Her stomach fluttered, but in a good way. Max had forgiven her. For all the shots she had missed, she was alive, and so was Selene. And for the moment Siena Bond was someone else’s trouble. Bit by bit, the gray clouds that had hovered over her were breaking apart, allowing the light in again. She couldn’t change the past—Garland was right about that—but she could be ready for what tomorrow brought.

“Okay, Max,” Pity said, her voice barely breaking a whisper. “I promise.”