Pity was in pursuit in an instant, not pausing to see if it was safe or when Siena yelled after her. She darted through the carnage, leapt over a body, and made it out of the Gallery in time to see the flutter of Halcyon’s coattails down a side hallway. She ran to the corner and took a quick look around it. Empty.

She turned and ducked barely in time as Sheridan appeared at the far end. Plaster exploded above her head. Pity righted herself and took aim, but he was already out of sight. She waited a moment, ready, but he didn’t show himself again.

She took the next corner more carefully, catching another glimpse of them. Heart beating so hard she felt like it might come out her ears, she trailed them through Casimir’s maze of hallways. She thought she heard Siena calling somewhere behind her, but she didn’t stop as more gunshots erupted ahead. A minute later she came across a Tin Man slumped on the floor, a trail of blood on the wall behind him.

She checked for a pulse.

Nothing.

Everyone stay in your rooms, she prayed, continuing after them. Sheridan was desperate now, and there was no telling what a desperate man would do.

The theatre, she realized. That’s where they were headed. Halcyon must have some emergency way out. He’d be a fool not to.

Cautiousness forgotten, she ran, bursting through the doors of the theatre as the two men reached the arena floor, Halcyon leading.

“Stop!” She propelled herself down the steps, firing a pair of warning shots.

The bullets struck the floor between them. Halcyon kept running, but Sheridan stumbled and fell to the floor.

“Wait!” he cried, but Halcyon disappeared through a door at the edge of the arena, slamming it shut behind him.

As Sheridan scrambled to his feet, Pity took aim again. “Don’t mo—”

He spun and fired. Pity dove into the stands, bullets slashing around her. She screamed as her injured shoulder collided with the edge of a seat, the gun flying from her left hand. Razor-sharp pain streaked down her side. She gritted her teeth and searched for the weapon, but it had disappeared among the stands.

Dammit. She tried to lift her arm, but it barely obeyed. One-handed, reloading was almost impossible.

Six shots left.

She flinched as another shot splintered the wood of a seat a few yards away.

“Did I get you, Pity?” Sheridan called.

“’Fraid not.” Sound strong. Don’t let him know you’re hurt. “You’re not that good of a shot, Patrick.” Pity wormed her way down the aisle on her stomach. She had the high ground, but right now he’d pick her off the moment she stood.

“What are you doing here, Pity?” Between the seats, she could see him backing toward the door as he searched for her, face taut with fear. “Why aren’t you with Max? That wound looked pretty bad to me. He might be dying right now.”

She slid along faster. The end of the aisle, and a better line of sight, was only a few yards away. He’s goading you. Don’t listen. But in her mind she saw the blood seeping out of Max’s stomach, his too-pale face. A red haze of anger settled on her. She gripped her gun tighter.

“There might still be time to get to him,” Sheridan said. “If you throw down your weapons now and come out, I promise not to shoot.”

But he didn’t wait for an answer. Reaching the door, he tried to open it.

It was locked.

With a cry of frustration, he turned and fired at the latch.

Pity pushed herself up. In an instant, Sheridan was in her sights.

Inhale, aim…

As her finger tightened on the trigger, the haze dissipated. For all that he’d done, for every corpse he’d left in his wake, she couldn’t bring herself to shoot him in the back. She stood instead, keeping him in her sights as she tucked her useless arm to her side. “Even if you get that open, where are you going?”

Sheridan swung his weapon back to her. But he didn’t fire.

Be careful, said a voice in the back of her head. He’s doesn’t have much left to lose. “Halcyon abandoned you. Do you know a safe way out of Casimir without him?”

Silence answered her question.

“You’re not getting out of here, Patrick.” Wondering whether she’d lost her mind, Pity holstered her gun and raised her empty hand. “Santino and Daneko are dead. Your mercenaries failed to take Casimir. You’ve got only one chance left: surrender.”

He stared at her, uncomprehending. “I don’t understand.”

“If Max dies, you’re dead, too.” The barrel of his gun followed her as she made her way down the stairs. With each step she expected to feel the sharp sting of a bullet through her flesh. But Sheridan didn’t move a muscle. “Whether Selene kills you, or you escape somehow and Drakos-Pryce finds out the part you played in his death.”

She reached the arena floor and made her way toward him. He mirrored her movements, until they stood in the center of the arena, a dozen paces separating them.

“But if he survives…” She tried to swallow the lump in her throat. “We tell Selene who he is. She can use him as a hostage, force Drakos-Pryce to keep up their endorsement of you.”

It was bad coin, but it was all Pity had left to trade. Siena wouldn’t be happy, and maybe Max wouldn’t, either, but there were worse prisons than Casimir. Assuming he wasn’t dead yet.

“Selene wants to protect Cessation,” she continued. “That hasn’t changed. And she is nothing if not brutally practical. Offer her that and maybe she’ll let you live.”

Sheridan shook his head. “No… Selene would never trust me.”

“She doesn’t have to trust you,” Pity said. “She only has to control you. Think about it: You still get the presidency. Selene gets you. Max remains in Cessation with me. We’ll all have what we want.”

“It won’t work.” But there was something new in his demeanor. Hope, she prayed. “Too many people know I tried to kill Selene.”

Her mouth twitched into a smirk. “This is Cessation, remember? Selene’s word is law. Folks will go along with whatever she tells them to go along with.” She paused. “It’s too late to undo what’s been done, but maybe you can cut a deal with Selene and still do some good, like we talked about. Become president. Protect Cessation, stop the raids on the dissident settlements, give the former Patriots a voice in the—”

Sheridan laughed. Pity stiffened as he leveled his gun at her head. “I knew you were gullible, but do you still believe all that nonsense? To hell with the Patriots and whatever scraps of them are left. The war is over. They lost. And the only useful thing that ever came out of their continued defiance was Cessation.” A desperate, manic smile split his face. “But you’re right about one thing. Selene is my only option now.”

Her skin crawled with terror as he took a step forward, eyes like daggers. “I’ll take my chances with her, but not with you. Not again.” His voice dropped to a hiss. “And just between us, I’m finished with this place. If I do make it back to Columbia alive, I want you to know that the first thing I’m going to do is convince Drakos-Pryce to raze this entire godforsaken city to the ground.”

He pulled the trigger.

A white-hot tremor of terror surged through her, so encompassing that caustic moments passed before Pity realized no pain accompanied it.

Sheridan tried again.

Nothing.

Slowly, deliberately, Pity drew her own gun, never taking her eyes off him. “You should have kept better count of your shots.”

Sheridan tossed the weapon away. “I guess so.”

“Me?” Her voice sounded distant as she aimed her barrel at his chest, like someone else was speaking. “I’ve got a full cylinder. Six shots I can put into you. One for Max, one for Kitty, one for Beau and Adora. Hell, even one for Selene. And that still leaves one for me, for all the times you’ve almost killed me now.”

“I surrender.” His face, his voice—the entirety of him was subdued. He put up his hands. “You don’t want to kill me, Pity. I may have been wrong about some things, but not about you. You’re no cold-blooded killer. Take me to Selene.”

She glared at him, gun growing heavier as indecision threatened to drag her to a floor that knew spilt blood as well as a battlefield. Sheridan had lied and manipulated her, even tried to kill her. Because of him, Max might be dead. If Selene allowed him to leave the city, he would still be a threat.

And if she didn’t…

The darkened stands leaned in around them like the walls of a grave. Stretched beyond bearing, something within her ruptured.

A person’s death shouldn’t be a spectacle, whether they deserve it or not.

“I don’t want to kill you,” Pity said, voice shaking. Tears welled up and threatened to spill. “But if I did, I’d only need one shot.”

“I know,” Sheridan said, nodding with relief, “I kn—”

She fired.

The gunshot echoed like a firecracker through the empty arena. Eyes wide with surprise, Sheridan looked down at the crimson stain blossoming on his chest. A moment later, he pitched forward onto the ground, his heart’s blood pooling beneath him.

Soon, even that stilled.

Pity left him where he fell, a faint roar lingering in her ears as she departed the theatre, like the ghost of a thousand rounds of applause.