Pity’s gaze flitted between safe and unsafe as they traveled through the room: the luxuriously patterned carpet… a pile of cushions swarming with bodies… Santino’s broad back… a couple in a booth furiously grasping at each other. Her body roiled with nervousness, embarrassment, and a twisted knot of other sensations she didn’t want to dwell on.

They came to another elevator, with more Tin Men positioned on each side. Pity pressed herself into the back of the space, feeling her stomach drop as their ascent began. There were no buttons for other floors, only a single display that ticked up steadily. Finally, the doors slid apart to reveal a vast floor of black marble. It was so polished that when she stepped onto it, Pity locked eyes with a reflection of herself.

This room was as large as the one they had left but nearly empty, its dark floor stretching to meet bleached white walls with high, arched windows. Plants in massive stone pots were positioned at intervals—ferns, bushes, even small fruit trees. The only other fixture in the room was a desk, set before an open terrace. Gauzy curtains floated in a light breeze.

Two men flanked either side of the desk. The one on the left, wearing an immaculate gray suit, had pale eyes in a handsome but severe face. Not a hair on his head was out of place. Clean was the first word that popped into Pity’s mind as his raptor’s gaze tracked them. Dangerous was the second. But it was the lanky man on the right who invariably drew her attention; he was dressed in a purple-and-orange-striped tuxedo.

It wasn’t until the woman behind the desk stood that Pity took note of her, though it was the tuxedoed man who spoke first.

“Santino, Santino, Santino, my good man! Wonderful to have you back.” The long tails of the tuxedo fluttered as he approached them. “Dear Olivia! Cessation was a drearier place without your presence.”

Olivia snorted.

“And Max! Without Max the color was all gone. Everything was gray, cloudy, dismal—”

“Halcyon.”

A single word from the woman quieted him immediately. He backed away, smoothing his dark hair as she stood.

“It’s good to be home, Halcyon.” Santino bowed his head respectfully to the woman. “Miss Selene.”

In a sleek black dress, her petite form moved with feline poise, eyes downcast as the tips of her fingers trailed across the desk. Pity could make out the digital displays set into it, reflecting off a shallow bowl filled with decorative glass spheres set on a corner of the surface.

“Everything went smoothly?”

“Yes, ma’am,” said Santino. “The porters—”

“Delivered your package moments ago.” She flicked a hand at a transport container nearby. “And it appears you acquired an additional body as well. Who is she?”

Pity felt the woman’s eyes sear into her before she found the courage to meet them. Once she did, she was afraid to look away. Full-cheeked, with a delicate nose and golden skin, Miss Selene had the look of a predator considering its prey, trying to decide if she was hungry or not. From the strands of gray in her deep brown hair and the faint lines that crimped the edges of her eyes, Pity guessed that she was a few years older than her mother would have been, had she still been alive.

“Your show, Max,” said Santino.

Max cleared his throat. “We found her on the plains, ma’am. Scroungers killed her friend. She was injured.”

The careful subservience in his voice unnerved Pity even more. Who was this woman?

“And why,” Selene continued, “did you bring her here?”

“Well, because, uh…” Max faltered.

“Because I asked them to.” Pity brushed by him, taking a few steps toward the desk. In a flash of movement, a handgun was leveled at her head.

“Stay right there,” said the gray-suited man. His tone was civil but as chilly as a winter wind.

Pity took a slow step backward. Common sense told her to keep quiet, but an explanation bubbled out anyway. “I had nowhere else to go.”

Selene moved around the desk, paying no attention to the man in the gray suit as she crossed in front of him. He sidestepped deftly, keeping Pity in his sights. A cold sweat broke out on the back of Pity’s neck. She said a silent prayer for intervention—from Santino, Max, the good Lord himself—but had the sudden and distinct feeling that she was on her own.

Selene’s expression was pleasantly neutral as she came closer, a hint of perfume preceding her like a warm breath. “Too rough for an easterner, too well fed to be a dissident. Commune worker?”

Pity nodded once.

“Seeking your fortune far from the dirt and hard work?” Selene smiled faintly. “Cessation has seen its share of runaways. Most don’t last long. Perhaps you should reconsider your stay here, Miss—?”

“Pity.”

“Pity?” Her head tilted in curiosity. “Not a very well-fortuned name.”

“It’s Serendipity, actually. Serendipity Jones.”

“Those two names are rather polar,” said Selene. “Which, pray tell, do you tend toward?”

“Right at this moment, ma’am? I’m hoping for the luckier one.”

Selene’s laugh was surprisingly melodious. “Take my advice,” she said. “Return home while there is still time to forgive your youthful foolishness. I’m sure you’re missed.”

Pity’s fear shifted to frustration. “With all due respect, ma’am, the best thing I’ve got waiting for me back there is a beating I may not walk away from. And if I do, things will only get worse.”

Selene stared at her for a moment, her long-lashed eyes blinking once. Without looking away, she called back over her shoulder. “Beau, would you put that thing away.”

The gun disappeared into his jacket. The intensity etched on his face did not. Pity was certain the weapon would reappear in a heartbeat if needed.

“So,” Selene continued, “you want to stay in Cessation.”

“I… do.” It was a half-truth at best, but if Selene noticed it, she gave no indication.

“And how do you expect to make your way? I’m sure a CONA-raised young lady such as yourself knows that little in this world comes free.” She lifted Pity’s chin with one dark-nailed finger. “How old are you? Has Flossie gotten a look at her yet?”

Pity jerked her head away. “I’m not interested in selling myself, ma’am.”

A flash of amusement crossed the woman’s face. “It’s not a calling for everyone, I suppose.”

“I didn’t run from hard work,” Pity said. “I’ll scrub toilets if that’s where the need is.”

Selene raised an eyebrow. “And that’s the best you have to offer?”

She felt her cheeks redden. “No. My mother was a sniper in the war. She taught me to shoot.”

A small smile appeared on Selene’s lips. “We do learn so much from our mothers, don’t we? Marksmanship is something you’re proficient in, then?”

There were better times for humility, Pity decided. “I’m the best.” So why didn’t you save Finn? The thought slithered into her mind before she could stop it, searing with accusation. She fought to remain focused on the opportunity presented. “But Olivia took my guns.”

It was a gamble, but one that was rewarded when Selene gestured. “Bring her weapons here, please.”

With unenthusiastic obedience, Olivia unclasped the belt and put it on the desk, then returned to her place beside Santino.

Selene removed one of the revolvers and held it gingerly. “Lovely.” She eyed Pity again and returned the gun to its holster. “Santino? This would be a good time to complete our other business, I think. The package, please.”

Confused, Pity waited for Selene to say something more to her, but the woman’s attention had shifted. Selene returned to her seat behind the desk. The guns sat on its edge, scant feet out of Pity’s reach. Beau, noticing her interest, cleared his throat. Pity stepped back another pace and risked a glance at Max. He reached out and gave her arm an encouraging squeeze.

At the container, Santino knelt down and tapped the control display. With a low hiss the top of the box cracked open. White smoke spilled out of it, crawling over the black stone floor like a fog. When Santino flipped the top open all the way, Pity recoiled in surprise.

Inside was a body.

It was a man, average-sized and rough-looking, with an untidy brown beard. His skin was pale and hung around his face.

What’s going on? Pity tried to telegraph the question to Max with a look, but he shook his head and put a finger to his lips.

Beau drew his gun again. Meanwhile, Santino pulled a med injector from his pocket and thrust it into the neck of the dead man, then backed away.

A heartbeat later, the eyes flipped open. The corpse sat up straight, a strangled cry ripping from its throat. As the sound died away, the man looked around wildly, shocked and uncomprehending… until he spotted Selene. With a lurch, he tried to stand, but his legs went out from under him and he plummeted to the floor, landing half in and half out of the box.

“Don’t try to run, Beeks,” said Santino. “Beau will shoot you if you do.” All the warmth in Santino’s voice was gone, and Pity hardly recognized it. “Get up. Slowly.”

Beeks looked around again, the hysteria in his face fading to a simpler terror. But he did as he was told. “Now, Miss Selene,” he croaked, limbs shaking, “I know what you’re—”

“Be. Quiet,” said Selene. “Do you know why you’re here, Beeks? Do you know why I had to send Santino halfway across this godforsaken continent to drag you back to Cessation? Hmm?”

Beeks shriveled. “Ye-yes, ma’am. I do.”

“Say it.”

His face drained of what little color it had. “I—I stole from you… ma’am.”

“Very good! And you know how I feel about people stealing from me.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he replied. “You—you can’t abide it.”

“No,” said Selene. “I can’t. That currency was supposed to go to our friends in the east to ensure a new port was built exactly where our friends in the south wanted it. As you might imagine, it took no small amount of work for me to smooth that situation over.”

Though her words were calm, Beeks collapsed to his knees, eyes wet and pleading. “Please forgive me, Miss Selene, please. I knew it was wrong—I did. I couldn’t help myself. I’m a weak-willed idiot. I’ll do anything, anything—”

“Get up.” She touched a hand to her brow. “I don’t like begging fools any more than I like thieving ones.”

He staggered back to his feet.

“Tell me something, Beeks.”

“Anything, ma’am.”

Selene’s eyes flicked to Pity, then back to the sniveling thief. “Am I correct in recalling that you know how to juggle?”

Beeks’s mouth opened and closed, but no answer issued forth.

“Halcyon,” Selene continued, “you remember Beeks juggling, don’t you?”

Halcyon nodded emphatically. “Why, of course! There was many an evening when his juggling garnered the rapt attention of our patrons downstairs! In fact, there was one time when he—”

“Thank you, Halcyon.” Miss Selene gestured to the bowl of glass globes. “You said you’d be willing to do anything to be forgiven. Would you juggle those for me?”

“For—for you, I—” He stared blankly. “Yes, yes of course.”

“Come take them, then.”

Beeks obeyed, gathering five of the glass globes into his trembling hands.

“Now go stand over there,” Selene instructed.

In position, Beeks looked around questioningly, clutching the globes to his chest as if they were keeping him afloat. A knot formed in Pity’s stomach. A man like him might have been at home among the roughest of the CONA convoy guards, the most weathered of the war veterans. And yet the attention of a single woman had him looking like he was about to wet himself.

“Serendipity?”

Her head snapped up.

Selene indicated the gun belt. “You may retrieve your property now.”

Pity hesitated.

“Ma’am,” interjected Beau, “I don’t think that’s a wise—”

“Honestly, Beau. If she appears to be a danger, shoot her.”

Pity continued to hesitate. Danger salted the air, though for whom, she wasn’t sure.

“Take them!” Max whispered.

Caution fueling each step, she went to the desk, took the belt, and strapped it on. The weight of it was a comfort, but she made sure to keep her hands from straying too close to the handles.

“Start juggling, Beeks,” said Selene.

Pity’s hands tingled as a spark of understanding ignited.

Eyes wide as eggs, Beeks arranged the globes in his hands. One by one, he tossed them up until all five were arcing through the air.

Selene didn’t even look. “No one is brought into Casimir’s fold lightly,” she said to Pity, “and as you can see, sometimes even I make a poor decision. But Beeks’s betrayal offers you an opportunity to show me why I should let you remain here, in my employ and under my protection. Show me what kind of a markswoman you are. Do you understand?”

“Yes.” Pity exhaled, mouth parched by dread. “I understand.”

So did Beeks. Two rosy blotches appeared on his pale cheeks. His brow was damp with sweat.

She knew she shouldn’t ask, but she did. “What if I miss?”

“Don’t fret about the curtains, dear.”

“I mean, what if I miss the globes? Or… hit him?”

Selene leaned back in her chair. “Then you’re not a very good shot, are you?”

A whimper escaped Beeks.

Breathe, Pity told herself. Relax. The grips of the revolvers warmed in her palms as she timed the balls flying through the air, crossing paths but never colliding. She wondered whether it was skill that kept Beeks from dropping the globes or fear.

She raised one gun and aimed. Her hand twitched and then held steady. Inhale, aim, she thought. Exhale…

Bang!

One of the globes exploded as it hit the pinnacle of its arc, showering Beeks in glass shards. His rhythm faltered.

“Don’t stop,” snapped Selene.

At the last moment, Beeks regained his composure and kept the four remaining globes in motion.

“You, either,” Selene said to Pity. “I’ve seen better.”

Pity clenched her teeth. She ripped the other gun from its holster.

Bang!

Bang!

Bang!

Bang!

One by one the globes shattered. At the last, Beeks sobbed and fell to his knees, a dark stain spreading across the front of his pants.

“That good enough?” Pity spat, and instantly regretted it.

But Selene ignored the comment. “What do you think, Beau? Could you find a use for her?”

Beau considered her for a moment. “No.”

“No?”

“She can shoot, but the only steel in her is in those guns.”

Pity’s confidence withered, giving way to another wave of guilt. Even he sees it. If you had moved instead of freezing up, gotten to Finn before…

Selene turned. “Halcyon, what about you?”

Halcyon was grinning like a madman. He clapped his hands together. “Yes, yes, yes! A thousand times, yes! The ideas are flowing already—Serendipity Jones! Deadliest beauty in the west! No, wait. That’s terrible… I can think of something better…”

Deadliest beauty? Perplexed, Pity holstered her guns.

“It’s your lucky day,” Selene said to her, “but don’t misunderstand. You’ve earned a chance and nothing more. Impress Halcyon. More important, impress me. Do that and you may stay in Casimir for as long as you’d like.” Miss Selene tapped a finger against the desk. A display flared to life. “Adora, would you come in here for a moment?”

“Right away, ma’am,” said a voice.

A moment later, a door opened in the wall. A young woman entered the room. Her neat navy jacket and skirt were a stark contrast to the wildly arranged magenta hair on her head. She didn’t spare a single glance for the blubbering Beeks.

“Adora,” said Selene, “would you please find quarters for Pity here? Somewhere in the performers’ wing.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Max, go along with her as well. And get Flossie to send someone to clean her up.” Selene gave Pity a final shrewd smile. “Let’s see what kind of gem is under that rough.”

“Follow me,” Adora said coolly. She headed for the elevator, heels clicking against the floor.

Max took hold of Pity’s arm and, less than gently, urged her to follow. But he was smiling. “Congratulations,” he said quietly.

“Why?” she said. “What the hell just happened?”

“What do you think? You joined the Theatre!”

Behind them, Beeks finally found his voice. “Miss Selene? What about me? Am I—am I forgiven?”

“Of course not,” Selene said, her words carrying across the room. “I’m giving you to the Theatre, too.”

Pity winced at the howl that followed, a desperate cry that was cut off a moment later as the elevator doors slid shut.