The following days found the arena engulfed in barely ordered pandemonium. Acts needed polishing, new sets needed constructing, and as a result, Pity found her practice delayed. She waited in the stands, watching the Rousseaus swoop back and forth in the new firebird costumes Max had created for them. It was a scene wildly out of sync with the sounds of hammers and saws and the brassy carnival music being played. The only thing missing from the chaos was Halcyon, normally in the thick of it all, tossing orders around.

Not for the first time, Pity was grateful for the solitary nature of her act and the pragmatic element that called for the arena to be hers alone when she was practicing. But the approaching Finale marred her thoughts. In too few days, the stands would be filled with an audience eager to decide the fate of the assassin. Offered as executioner for the first time, an undercurrent of unease gripped her.

They want a show, she reminded herself. Not the quick, bland execution she could offer.

“Serendipity! Good, there you are!” Halcyon bounded up the stairs, his long legs taking two at a time.

She stood to meet him. “What’s up, boss?”

“Come, come. We have business to attend to.”

“What about practice?”

He waved a gloved hand. “It will wait. Selene wishes to see us.”

“Why?”

“A mystery we shall solve presently.”

Instead of traveling through the Gallery, Halcyon led her to a secluded hallway, then through a trio of doors, each with a keypad lock. In the chamber beyond the last door were an elevator and two rather bored-looking Tin Men, who waved them through without question. A brief ride delivered them into a sprawling suite. It took only a glance for Pity to surmise that they were in Selene’s personal living space. Unlike her sparse office, the décor was busier, with an overlapping patchwork of carpets and curved walls speckled with gold-framed paintings. The floor was partially sunken, with a comfortable cluster of sofas at its center.

“Please, have a seat.” Selene’s words entered before she did, appearing in a doorway, Beau on her heels. “How is the show preparation coming?”

“Splendid, of course!” said Halcyon.

Pity followed him down the steps and sat on one of the couches.

Though Beau remained on the upper level, Selene joined them there. “I’m glad to hear it. We’re expecting some important guests, so try to dazzle, won’t you?”

Halcyon balked. “I’m offended you’d expect anything less from our sublime syndicate of talent.”

“I wouldn’t, and I don’t.” Selene turned to Pity. “Looking forward to the show?”

Pity examined Selene, searching for clues as to why they were there, but the woman was as inscrutable as a blank page. “Of course, ma’am.”

“Good, because I have a special request of you.” Selene reclined, tranquil as she draped one elegant arm across the back of the sofa. “I want you to perform the Finale.”

The placid tone of the request belied the meaning of the words. “But I…” Confusion twisted Pity’s tongue. “I thought the audience decided who—”

“These are special circumstances.” Selene locked her with a lioness’s stare. “After Daneko’s betrayal, we sent a message. One that isn’t finished yet. This is the next piece.”

“But…”

“He won’t be armed. It’s a simple enough task.”

Too simple—nothing more than the pull of a trigger. And yet…

“I want you to do it”—Selene’s voice softened—“because you were there, and everyone knows that. You’ve been here for months now, Pity. Understand that Cessation is an act of its own, one that requires no small amount of balance. We need to make it clear that those who would upset it will not be tolerated. That they will be made an example of.”

An example. Pity fought a feeling of being dragged down, the gun belt around her hips ten times the weight it was moments ago. Selene was asking her to kill in cold blood.

No, not asking.

“Selene.” Nearly forgotten, Halcyon leaned forward, his voice imploring. “Perhaps it’s not yet the right time to—”

“It’s exactly the right time.” Selene’s attention remained on Pity. “Can I count on you?”

Was there any other answer she could give? This is what you signed up for, she reminded herself. You were bound to have come up against a Finale eventually. It had simply happened sooner rather than later.

Too soon. Pity clenched her teeth, desperate to say no—the one thing she couldn’t say to Selene.

“Yes,” she exhaled. “I’ll do it.”

Selene smiled, satisfied. “Thank you. Together we’ll finish another chapter of this nasty business.”

But not the last one. Daneko still eluded capture. There were whisperings of where he might be—in one of the CONA cities, under the protection of a warlord in a South American jungle, even that he was dead—but nothing definitive. And Pity was positive Selene wasn’t the sort to give up the hunt over rumors. That reckoning was still to come.

She stood reflexively when Selene did, their audience with her apparently over. “Halcyon, stay, would you? I would like to discuss the Finale details.”

“Of course.” Halcyon touched her shoulder as he passed. “Pity… take the rest of the day off.”

“What about—?”

“Practice can wait until tomorrow morning.”

She headed for the elevator as cold understanding settled on her. I just agreed to kill a man. In the span of moments, she had gone from entertainer to executioner. Reeling from the imperative, she didn’t register Beau until he was beside her, remaining a step behind, as if escorting her.

“Don’t overthink it.” He spoke so that only she could hear. “It’s nothing you haven’t done before.”

“I know.”

“And nothing that needs to hang on you after, either.”

She glanced at him, finding less ice in his eyes than usual. Somehow that made her feel worse.

“I’ll do what I need to do,” Pity said as the doors closed her in.

Despite that bravado, the moment the elevator began to drop, her stomach went with it. She braced herself against the wall as the muscles in her legs trembled.

If the agreement had been in ink, it wouldn’t have been dry yet, and already she was searching for a way out of it. The options cascaded through her mind as she descended: she could beg to be released or, at the very least, for fate and the fickle whim of the audience to decide who in the Theatre would do the deed.

But she knew the time to plead had passed.

There was no law but Selene’s law. And when the Finale arrived, Pity would be her cat’s-paw. But, she reminded herself, the man she’d be killing was a murderer. Someone who had killed not for survival or for principle but for money. He was no better than the men who’d slain Finn or the admirer who’d maimed Duchess.

And Pity knew, given the chance, he would kill her, too.

Justice, she thought. Ugly as it is, this is justice.

The idea had once soothed her hesitation. But now, propped up before the blaze of the approaching spectacle, the meaning of the word suddenly seemed translucent. Hollow. A definition molded by circumstance.

But maybe that didn’t matter.

Justice and murder—in Cessation, they were two sides of the same coin.