“Oh, hey, you look familiar.” Luster peered closer. “Can’t quite place your face, though.”

“Ha, ha.” Pity climbed onto the barstool beside her. Around them, the Gallery’s energy was sluggish, only a handful of the gambling tables occupied.

“You look tired.” Luster sipped at a mug of coffee. “Funny, since you seem to be going to bed plenty early.”

“Morning practices. That’s all.”

“Really? Then why didn’t Halcyon deliver this himself?” She brandished a folded square of orange paper.

Pity snatched it away.

Serendipity, it read, despite your respite from tomorrow evening’s performance, please join me in the morning. I’ve had the most brilliant idea for your act! Devotedly yours, Halcyon.

“Hmm, he must have forgotten.”

“Serendipity Jones, you are the worst liar I’ve ever seen!” Luster leaned in conspiratorially. “And every time I’ve caught a glimpse of you lately, there’s been a big, silly smile on your face.” She cocked her head. “You know what? Come to think of it, someone else has been walking around with a fresh glow…”

“Shh!” Pity’s cheeks blazed, fear coursing through her. She looked around, but no one was within earshot. “Keep your voice down! Okay, I admit it! Max and I… we…”

Luster laughed, a great whooping cry. “I knew it, I knew it, I knew it!”

“Be. Quiet,” Pity said through gritted teeth.

Luster settled, with a grin so wide it nearly split her face. “It’s about damn time. Tell me everything. Well, not everything, but tell me what finally happened. And what about Sher—”

She broke off.

Pity followed her gaze. Adora stood a few feet away, arms crossed.

“Miss Selene would like to see you,” she said. “Right now.”

Adora led her to the suite’s elevator, snapping her fingers impatiently at the guards as they reached it.

“Wakey, wakey, boys. Look sharp,” Adora snapped. “Or at least pretend. Pity? Guns. Leave them here.”

“What?”

“Leave your guns”—Adora accentuated each word—“here.”

She’d never been barred from carrying her guns in front of Selene before. Fingers dumb with reluctance, Pity yanked at her belt strap. She removed it and handed it to one of the Tin Men.

“Watch those,” Adora ordered, a little cat’s smile on her lips. “But don’t play with them. Pity doesn’t like it when you do that.” She motioned for Pity to enter the elevator.

When it opened again, Selene stood before a window, her back to them. Adora cleared her throat and sat on a couch, eyes wide with expectation, something Pity had seen plenty of times before.

It was the look of someone waiting for the show to start.

A nervous sensation grew within her, as if a nest of ants had settled in her stomach.

Selene’s voice, when it came, was low. “Have a seat.”

Pity took a few steps forward, one eye trained on Adora. “Is something wrong?”

Selene’s figure turned partway, so that the light of the noon sun glazed the edges of her form. “Sit,” she said again. It was not a request.

Pity went down the stairs and obeyed.

Selene moved closer so that she stood above them. “Sheridan. What did he tell you?”

“About what?”

“When is the last time you were with him?”

“I… yesterday. At the party.”

“You were supposed to stay with him.” A streak of red entered Selene’s voice. “To report back on whatever you observed.”

“I did. I was there whenever he wanted me—”

“And what about when others wanted you? From what Adora has told me, you’ve been spreading your attentions around.”

Her skin prickled, a frost of fear blooming. “Miss Selene—”

“I gave you a task,” Selene spat. “Play your part. Keep Sheridan content—and observed. Instead of doing that, you’re off with Max—Max, for goodness sake—and now Sheridan is leaving!”

Pity stiffened. “What?”

“He sent word this morning.” A vase of white flowers sat on a table nearby. Selene went over to it, plucked a dead leaf, and crumpled it in her fist. “He’s leaving and you’re carrying on however you please.”

“That’s not true! I did exactly what you told me to do!”

Selene tossed the ruined leaf away and snapped her fingers at Adora. “Look!”

Adora pressed a button set into the arm of the sofa. A screen flickered to life on the wall, cleverly hidden among the paintings.

“What—” Pity began. The sound was muted, but the headline scrolling beneath the picture of Sheridan was all the explanation she needed.

DRAKOS-PRYCE ENDORSES DARK HORSE PRESIDENTIAL CANDIDATE PATRICK SHERIDAN.

“Do you understand now?” Selene demanded.

“Yes,” Pity said quietly. This had nothing to do with Max. “Drakos-Pryce decided to back Sheridan. He doesn’t need you anymore.”

“Drakos-Pryce didn’t decide anything. They would never give away support like that for nothing. Sheridan must have been hedging his bets from the beginning, dealing with them behind my back.” Her expression darkened. “Drakos-Pryce would never suffer a president indebted to us, so they indebted him first. Either way Sheridan gets what he wants. The minute he’s elected they’ll probably have CONA’s forces on our doorstep, ready to reduce the city to ash.”

“He… wouldn’t…” She fixated on the broadcast again. Selene or Drakos-Pryce—if what he wanted was the presidency, what did it matter who handed it to him? Cold dread pierced her gut. Maybe Max had been right. What if Sheridan had told her only what he thought she wanted to hear?

No. Sheridan had been a Patriot once; he wouldn’t turn on the people he’d fought with. And he knew the city’s power. He wouldn’t want to see it destroyed. “But Drakos-Pryce could back whoever they wanted and still get rid of Cessation. Why Sheridan? It doesn’t need currency. What else does he have to offer?”

“That”—Selene signaled for Adora to turn off the broadcast—“is something I don’t know.”

For the first time since coming to Cessation, Pity heard real fear in Selene’s voice. Anxiety pricked at her temples. Selene’s confidence had always seemed adamant, unshakable. And yet, in one move, Sheridan and Drakos-Pryce had undone her.

“We can’t let him leave,” Selene continued. “Not yet. Your romance might have been an act, but he likes you. Trusts you. I need you to convince him to remain in the city while I figure this out.”

“How? Hold him at gunpoint?” Pity’s blood burned with frustration. “And if what you’re saying is true, what happens if Drakos-Pryce—or CONA—gets wind of that?”

Selene paced across the room, thinking. “You’re right. I may not be able to keep him here, but he’s president by my hand or not at all.” She stopped and turned back to Pity. “So you are going to leave with Sheridan. Once you’re in Columbia, find out how Drakos-Pryce got their claws into him. Then, when the opportunity presents itself, kill him.”

Pity sucked in a breath. “What?”

“Perhaps a lovers’ quarrel of some sort?” Adora offered.

“Yes,” said Selene. “That will be believable, given the circumstances, and won’t be blamed on Cessation. Yes, that will work.”

“No!” She stood. “I won’t do it.”

“It wasn’t a request.”

“I can’t.” The thought of putting Sheridan in her sights made her whole body clench. “He might have betrayed you, but he didn’t betray me. Find another way.”

Selene approached again. Her hand shot out, grabbing Pity by the chin. “He betrayed all of us.” Her voice was poison spread on silk. “Does he know about Max?”

Pity shook her head.

“Good. Then tell him whatever you have to—that you’re tired of the Theatre, that you’ve really fallen in love with him—I don’t care. Just make sure you are with him tomorrow when he goes. Or”—her grip tightened, fingers digging into flesh—“the next Finale will be yours to deal with.”

Pity’s gut clenched.

“And instead of Daneko, I’ll make Max its star.”

The air went out of her lungs. No. “But he hasn’t done anything wrong…”

“So?” Selene let her go. “Neither did the porter who hanged himself after Daneko tried to kill me. He wasn’t the one who helped the mercenaries into Casimir, but I knew word would get out, and a living, unidentified traitor is worse than a dead, known one.” An acid smile etched on her lips. “A piece of advice, Pity: Whatever your weaknesses are, don’t let them show. And if they do show, find a way to make them go away. As it will turn out, that poor boy’s death was a cover-up by the real conspirator: Max.”

“Max isn’t a traitor!”

“No, of course he’s not,” said Selene. “But if I put him in that arena and say he is, who is going to question it?”

Pity’s hands dropped to her sides, but found only air instead of steel. “You wouldn’t.”

“Do what you’re told and you won’t have to find out. And if you think you can get to Max first, forget about it. He’s already in the tombs, where he’ll stay until I’m sure Sheridan isn’t a problem anymore.”

Pity gritted her teeth, her whole body petrified by anger. “How can you do this? I did everything you asked. I helped save your life!”

Selene turned away. “My life is only worth something in Cessation. And if the city isn’t safe, none of us are.”

“But… but…” Pity grasped for something, anything. “You said that Casimir is a family! Max is family!”

“He is,” said Selene, “but this family is big. And I’ll do what I need to in order to protect it, including making sacrifices. Now go. And if you need inspiration to do whatever it is you need to do with Sheridan, just picture Max”—she glanced back over her shoulder at Pity—“in the spotlight, and how those soulful gray eyes will look the moment before you pull the trigger.”

The moment the Tin Men gave her back her guns, Pity ran through the halls, not caring who saw, to the nearest stairwell. Then it was down, down, almost tripping over her own feet, until she reached the tunnels. For a brief moment she had no idea where she was. The same dingy pipes and concrete branched out in every direction. She picked a tunnel and began running again, taking corner after corner until, miraculously, some part of her brain forced her in the right direction.

His door was a gaping mouth, wide-open.

“Max!” She ran inside.

He wasn’t there. The lights were on, the bed its usual tangle of blankets. In the center of the floor lay a fold of orange paper, debris incongruous in an otherwise empty landscape of concrete.

As if it had been dropped in surprise.

Trembling, she picked it up. It was nearly identical to the one Luster had delivered to her, a request from Halcyon to report early the next morning, to make last-minute alterations on some sets.

She crumpled the paper in her fist. Other places Max might be crackled through her mind—the theatre, Eden. But she knew exactly what had happened to him.

Selene didn’t make empty threats.

Pity collapsed onto Max’s bed, swallowing a scream. Hot tears ignited as his scent filled the air around her. She wiped at them angrily.

I did everything. The words kept beating through her head. I did everything I was asked.

Regret diffused through her. If only she’d never gone to Max, confessed the deal she’d made. He might be gone, but he’d be safe. Instead, she’d crossed Selene, and Max stood to pay the price.

I won’t do it. Nothing in the world would make her hurt him. But even as she had the thought, she knew it didn’t matter. If Selene forced them both into the arena, only one would walk out, or neither. And no one would intervene—not Halcyon, not the other performers, maybe not even their friends. After all, Beeks had been part of their family, too, and there had been no objections to his death.

Only cheers.

What do I do?

Every minute that ticked by was one less to find a solution to her grim predicament. But no matter which way she turned the situation, looking for a crack, for a way out, she found nothing. No one would defy Selene to help Pity, and if Sheridan departed Cessation, so would any chance she had to save Max.

There was no choice—she needed to go with him.