The journey back to her room was a fever dream.

Get what you need, her mind screamed when she finally made it there. Get what you need and get back to Sheridan. She fought to stay attentive, to focus on the instructions like a target. But her limbs moved like clay as she changed into traveling clothes. Move. Don’t think. No matter what is about to happen, you need to protect Max. She didn’t think for a moment that she could trust Sheridan once Max was freed. And she wasn’t about to allow Max to be handed over like currency.

We’ll escape. Get out of Casimir, Cessation, and then… then…

No plan came to her, but she’d have to worry about that later. Getting to Max was her first priority. She grabbed her gun belt, the beautiful thing he’d bought for her. It felt like eons ago. Instead of putting it on, Pity froze, mesmerized by the glossy black leather and the weapons it cradled. An almost electric sensation crawled down her spine.

It’s going to be a bloodbath. Casimir wasn’t going to roll over. People would resist. Fight.

That’s how wars go. She heard her mother’s voice suddenly, thick and sullen. People fight, people die.

But Pity didn’t have to do either. She strapped on the gun belt. All she had to do was walk away for a little bit, and Max would be safe.

All she had to do was stand by and let others die.

And who is it going to be? This time she heard Finn. Luster? Duchess? Garland? How many friends do you want to lose, Serendipity Jones?

She tried to ignore the thoughts, but they burrowed out of the earth of her mind like worms during a rain.

I can warn them. Tell them to stay hidden in their rooms. But if she did that, they would alert Selene. And Selene would kill her and Sheridan, maybe even Max. And probably not in that order. Even if Pity convinced them to obey her without question, who else might die? Which lives were worth Max’s, and how many of them?

All of them, the selfish part of her said.

None of them, said another, and that part sounded too much like Max.

Her skin crawled with frustration. He wouldn’t let this happen, she thought. He wouldn’t risk losing the friends—the family—that had embraced him when he’d had no one.

She was the one about to do that.

Max would tell Selene. Max would stop it all.

“Dammit,” she hissed, because the decision wasn’t Max’s.

It was hers.

But if she went to Selene, tried to bargain Sheridan’s betrayal for Max’s life, would Selene even believe her? She wanted Sheridan in her grasp so badly. She’ll think every word out of your mouth is a lie to save Max. And even if she did believe it, what would happen to Max when Selene discovered who he was? He would be in more danger than ever.

But at least Casimir would be safe.

What is it going to be? she asked herself. Stand up, take a risk… or stand by and watch the slaughter?

“Dammit, dammit, dammit.”

With a last, decisive yank on her gun belt, Pity flew out the door and into the graveyard silence of the hall. By the time she reached the end, she was almost running. Consumed by her thoughts, she rounded the corner and collided with an unyielding mass of flesh. The impact sent her sprawling to the ground, but when she looked up, cool relief coursed through her.

“Santino!”

“Pity?” He yanked her back to her feet as if she were made of straw. “Where are you headed in such a hurry?”

“Thank goodness!” She dropped her voice. “I need to talk to Selene. Now.”

“Why? What’s wrong?”

“I’ll explain when we get to Selene. But she’s in danger. We’re all in danger!”

“Pity, chica, relax.” Santino pressed his hands down on her shoulders, then gestured behind him, to a pair of Tin Men she hadn’t even noticed. “They’ll take you to Selene. I’ll get more men and meet you there.”

Pity’s hands tensed into fists. “You need to hurry!”

“I will.” He turned to the Tin Men. “Take her up the restricted way. And don’t let anyone near her.”

They parted, Pity and the Tin Men heading for the nearest elevator. Her body ached with anxiety as they traveled. Distant sounds of laughter and music echoed in her ears. The Gallery was doubtless in full revelry, unaware of the danger that was camped just beyond the city limits, readying to strike.

And Max… did he have any idea what was happening? Why he was imprisoned?

Pity roused from her ruminations as they entered the elevator. It jolted beneath their feet and began to descend.

Down. She tensed. Not up. “Where are we going?”

“The restricted way,” grunted the Tin Man to her right. He stood a step in front of her, the other, a step behind.

The floor numbers ticked lower. “Is that through the basement?”

“You’ll see when we get there.” He didn’t quite manage to keep the note of irritation out of his voice.

Instinct kicked in, and Pity went cold. Santino hadn’t asked what she knew or how she knew it.

He trusts you, she tried to tell herself. That’s all.

But the icy feeling spread. I’m not alone in this, Sheridan had said. What was Santino doing near her room so soon after she had left Sheridan?

Pieces began to slot together.

Santino was too late to stop the assassination attempt. Daneko narrowly slipped through his grasp, and he was the one who took control of the gang leader as soon as he was captured.

At every juncture, what appeared to have been innocuous timing on his part suddenly seemed as precise as a clock.

And now he knows you were going to warn Selene.

She sucked in a sharp breath as understanding gut-punched her. It must have shown on her face, because when the Tin Man who had spoken glanced back at her a moment later, his eyes were hard. But it was the flash of movement behind her—reflected in the polished metal wall of the elevator—that stirred her from the paralyzing realization. She reached for her guns and turned—

—a fraction of a second too late. The prick of a med injector registered right as her limbs went dead, a cry of surprise misfiring on her lips. One of the Tin Men caught her as she fell—she knew only because she stopped moving. She felt nothing. She was a doll, nothing but rags and stuffing.

The elevator stopped and opened. Her head lolled at an awkward angle, and Pity found herself staring out at the vast, deserted garage.

“Get the truck,” said the man holding her. “Hurry, she’s heavy.”

The other Tin Man rushed off, his boots thumping on the concrete. Pity blinked; she had that much movement still. But even her sight was beginning to dim around the edges. Her thoughts jellified, and she wasn’t sure if they had been waiting for a minute or an hour when her captor carried her a few feet forward and out of the elevator.

“What’s taking so long?” her captor called. His voice echoed faintly.

There was no reply.

With an angry scoff, he lowered her to the ground. Her head knocked against the floor, jostling her sight back into focus. But she was facing the elevator, the whole of her vision filled by its metal panels. The Tin Man’s reflection was a watercolor blur.

Get up! She tried to move, but nothing happened. The world distorted more as tears filled her eyes. She blinked them back. Dammit! Get up! Reach for your guns!

Fresh footsteps sounded.

“Stop!” the Tin Man ordered. “Turn around. This isn’t any business of yours.”

Another blur appeared in the panels.

“I mean it! Not another step forward or I’ll—”

There was a sharp, airy pop, followed by a heavy thump that Pity recognized all too well. Only one blur stood in the wall of the elevator now. Her sight started to fray again, the world churning as someone rolled her onto her back.

A weathered face stared down at her, framed by flickering spots.

Siena Bond.

The spots turned to clouds, and everything went black.