“It…can’t be.”

“This is the world where the gun came from. He’s the emperor there, because Nik Senior died when he was fourteen.”

Nik Nik doesn’t hear me, so he misses my accusation of murder. I don’t exist. He’s walking over to the hologram of Adranik like he can touch him—to embrace or choke, I’m not sure.

He looks over his shoulder at me, half-feral. “I want to see the other one again. Put them side by side.”

I do what he says with trembling fingers. I’ve never seen him like this, on any world. He’s not quite saying his brother’s name, but his mouth opens like he wants to. I give him time with the images, and do my best not to make a sound. Finally, he turns.

“And this is who you want to ruin. Your employer. My blood.”

Brotherly loyalty is something I hadn’t counted on, after all these years.

“He killed my mentor, and blamed it on your runners. You might not have known who he was, but he definitely knows who you are. He still knows his old name. He knew the runners were yours when he pinned it on them.”

Truthfully, Adam Bosch has likely not thought once about his family since his father sent him away, but framing this as an insult might be the only way to make him forget mine.

Nik Nik looks back at the images, then away again.

“We have a deal. For the gun and bullets, you’ll have whatever you need.”

“Thank you—”

    “This is no longer a loan of my men, but an authorized action. You are just access. The credit for the attack is mine to claim, not yours.”

“I understand,” I say, meaning I understand the order, but also I understand what it’s like to have a hurt so bad you need your hands in something vengeful to lessen it.

“A week?” he asks.

“Less. It needs to be this Friday. They’re hosting the analyst interviews and we’ll need the influx of strangers to hide our presence on the elevators.”

He nods one last time, then snaps his fingers. The two runners outside open double doors. He walks out stone-faced, accompanied by the whisper of his coat. Long after the trio has gone, Mr. Cheeks moves toward me. He lifts my chin to check the bones of my neck.

“Not broken,” he says, letting me go. “You didn’t tell me they were brothers.”

“You would have been obligated to tell him, and I would have lost the advantage.”

We’re both staring at the door now.

“If you don’t arrange the attack, he’ll launch one himself. No turning back now.”

“I’m getting that.”

“I thought I’d seen all of his moods,” Mr. Cheeks says. “But never this.”

“Rage?” I ask.

“Hurt,” he says.

When I finally make it back to my apartment I peel off my clothes. Blood has snaked from the puncture wounds on my neck down my white coat, making a mockery of my attempt to be from here. I’m not just a child of ash, I’m a child of blood, and it’s a giant cosmic joke to think I could ever reach higher than that. A line across my throat is already starting to darken, and the bones of my neck hurt so bad the throbbing is traveling up into my skull. The worst part isn’t the pain; it’s the familiarity. It’s how many times I’ve felt this before and how many times I’ve sworn I would never feel it again.

    I sit on the floor, the years collapsing. Yeah, time is flat, but it’s never been flatter than right now, and all the nights I’ve nursed a throat crushed by Nik condense until I am a girl on my knees in the emperor’s bedroom. A girl who never found a body, never got out. Never free, but endlessly dreaming of freedom.

Never has it been easier to know who I really am, because Caramenta didn’t feel violence until the day she died, and I’ve never been more than a step ahead of it.

I should go to a pod and get instafixed, or at least get an injection of euphoria that outlasts the pain of healing. Maybe in the morning. Tonight is for living like I’m still on Earth 22, for feeling every ounce of pain, and converting it into rage. Rage is dirty fuel, but it burns hotter than grief ever could.

* * *

“WHAT HAPPENED TO you?”

The naked concern in Dell’s voice gets at me. “Nothing. It wasn’t even really a fracture. It’s just the bruise left.”

She doesn’t listen. She circles me, prodding along the discolored skin.

“I told you, I’ve already been podded.”

“These cuts are newly healed. How did you…?”

But then, standing behind me exactly as Nik Nik had and at roughly his height, she puts her hand against the spot and must see the way her fingers line up perfectly.

“Who.”

Oddly, there’s no question in the word.

“No one.” I move away from her. “Where am I headed?”

“Nowhere. Doing a pull today might aggravate your injury. We’ll resume tomorrow.”

“I don’t want to get behind.”

“You’re injured.”

There is something in the way she says it that sets me on edge. She’s saying it with the same tone she used after Jean’s death. It’s the same tone she’s been using since she learned where I’m really from.

    “I liked it better when you talked down to me. This constant pity is your worst look yet.”

Her eyes harden, which is what I was going for. She can hate me all she wants, as long as she stops feeling sorry for me.

“I’m canceling the pull. That’s final.”

“It’s a short jump.”

“The decision is made.”

“I’m fine.”

“And I’m the watcher. Which means this conversation is over.”

I grab my jacket. “It’s never a conversation, Dell. It’s just you giving orders.”

“I’m doing my job. I suppose Carrington was gentler about it.”

“I liked Carrington. Loved him. He had twelve horses and a sunny fucking disposition.”

“Oh, he’s a bore and you know it.”

“A ray of sunshine compared to you, sweetheart.” I move to the door, but it slides closed in my face. I turn to see Dell’s hand on the desk’s lockdown button.

“Send me on a pull or let me go,” I say.

“Is there something going on? Something you need to tell me?”

And there it is, the truth sitting on the tip of my tongue, begging to run to her. I grit my teeth.

“Not a thing.”

Dell stares me down. I stare right back, even though making contact with those dark pools is not unlike getting trapped in a bog.

Eventually, she forfeits and releases the lockdown.

“Don’t expect me to clean up your mess next time,” she says.

I don’t know if she’s talking about hiding my unbroken collar, or helping me escape security when I was electrocuted, or sending me to Earth 175 off the books, and the fact that there are so many options fills me with gratitude out of place in the argument.

“I’d never ask you to. Wouldn’t want to soil your hands.”

    She takes it as sarcasm, but it’s the truest thing I’ve ever said.

I spend the next morning in my customary post-fight-with-Dell bad mood, and running through pithy responses I wish I’d used is enough to distract me from my imminent corporate sabotage. On my way to breakfast, I hiss at everyone who smiles at me and glare at everyone who doesn’t. Dell has taken me off rotation for an extra day, and when I try explaining this audacity to my sister she just says, “So…she’s protecting you?”

I hang up on her. My day shifts from gray to black when I get an ominous text from Mr. Cheeks: Expect a batch. Act surprised.

A batch is what you call ten to fifteen runners, but if he means they’ll be here in Wiley City it might as well be a brood, or a whole goddamn parade.

Before I can reply my cuff notifies me that someone has requested a day pass on my residency. I open it up, automatically expecting to approve Esther…but then come up short at the name.

Yerjanik Nazarian.

The emperor himself.

I quickly hit the redial on Esther, determined that, in at least this, she would be sympathetic.

“This can’t be possible, right? He must be on the restricted travel list.”

“Would you restrict the ruler of a neighboring principality? Particularly one known for…less-than-diplomatic responses to insult?”

I’m not sure where Esther is, but judging by her breathing I’d say she’s weeding the interior garden.

“Cara, you did approve it, didn’t you?”

“…I’ll call you back.”

I confirm the pass.

CHAPTER TWENTY