“And I’m guessing the security system recorded no entry in the door?”

“Nope.” Leo walked over to the doorway and ran his hand along the side. “It only recorded his entry before he died and then his wife’s a few hours later. If the door’s locked from within, only hand chips could open it from the outside—unless you had the demolition equipment to bust it down. Obviously, that didn’t happen.”

“Then it’s the most secure room in the house.” Justin examined a picture screen on the dresser that scrolled through various personal shots of the family’s life. “Like with the other murders. I’d almost say whoever did this is showing off.”

He’d seen a head shot of Mr. Hata in the official case files, but the personal pictures showed a whole different view into the dead man’s world. A wedding picture focused in on the happy couple’s faces. He couldn’t see much of their attire, but she wore a traditional Japanese hood that hid the scarring and short haircut. At a glance, Mr. Hata’s face showed no ostensible signs of Cain, but that wasn’t uncommon. A family whose child had good genes could arrange an expensive marriage to a family hoping to weed out Cain. He’d observed it in the previous castal investigations as well. It was why Mae’s vocation—and the fact that she even had one—was so unusual.

Other pictures showed the Hatas on vacation or with other family members. A pretty portrait showed Mrs. Hata posing in a flower garden, while a more candid shot showed Mr. Hata grinning triumphantly at what looked like the end of a marathon. Still another—

Justin did a double take and scrolled back to the marathon picture. “He was a runner,” he told Leo.

Leo was still engrossed in the door. “So?”

“So no asthma.” Justin flipped through a few more pictures, scrutinizing Mr. Hata’s face. It was as flawless as it had seemed before, emphasizing his wife’s very subtle defects. A shot of their extended family showed occasional appearances of Cain, but even among his unmarked relatives, there was something especially bright and attractive about Mr. Hata.

The wheels of Justin’s mind began spinning. His instincts told him there was something here. He flipped through all the pictures again, consumed by the dead man’s face.

“He’s perfect,” he said to Leo. “Beautiful and perfect.”

“Sad you can’t ask him out?”

“I’m just surprised, that’s all.” Justin could feel it in his chest. He was so, so close. “It’s uncommon.”

“Is it? Go look at your girl out there. She’s sporting a pretty good set of genes.”

And that’s when it hit him. “So did our last victim. And the others.”

Justin took out his ego and pulled up all the data on the case. Mostly, he’d been going by the summary Cornelia had first shown him. Now he delved deeper into Mr. Hata’s file, looking for the number he was certain he would find.

“An eight,” he said triumphantly. “He was an eight.”

Even that gave Leo pause. “Not bad for a castal.”

You’ve got it, said Magnus.

Justin searched through the other victims’ files, a thrill running through him at the breakthrough he’d made. “They’re all eights and nines. And look at their pictures—beautiful and perfect.”

Leo gave up on the door, his own face puzzling out the new development. “Our killer has refined tastes.”

Mae stepped into the room and glanced between them. “What is it?”

“A pattern,” said Justin. “There’s always a pattern.”

He scrutinized Mae, for once with little attraction. His view was detached and objective. Another flawless specimen, in the prime of her life. The image of her screen came back to him, providing another shocking revelation.

“You’re twenty-eight years old. All the victims were twenty-seven and twenty-eight. All were genetic eights and nines.”

“You worried she’s next?” asked Leo wryly.

“No,” said Justin. “But I think something remarkable happened the year she was born. Were you in vitro?”

Mae looked uneasy at the direction this was going. “Yes. So were my brother and sister.”

The answer wasn’t a surprise. In an effort to grasp at any genetic hope, most patricians were conceived in petri dishes using their parents’ healthiest eggs and sperm. “Were you all made in the same place?”

“I have no idea. It was literally before my time.”

Justin barely heard her. He was too excited by the theory developing in his mind. “I would love to know what clever doctor worked on you guys. Leo, they’ve got full gene analyses of all the victims in the case files. Would you be able to tell if they all had the same sort of manipulation done?”

From his eyes, it was clear Leo had picked up on Justin’s train of thought. “Yes. Geneticists who do this sort of thing almost always have their own unique style. It kind of leaves a ‘mark.’ If their conception was all orchestrated by one person, it should be obvious from a side-by-side comparison.”

“You think they were all part of illegal gene experiments?” asked Mae. Her eyes glittered at the thought of this new lead, and then her expression shifted to disbelief. “You think I was part of illegal gene work?”

“No,” said Justin slowly. “I mean, I don’t have proof. But come on, a whole bunch of nine and eight castals born around the same time? It’s awfully coincidental.”

It would also explain that striking appearance he’d observed from the moment he saw her. No Cain anywhere. Features too perfect for a patrician—maybe even for a plebeian. No way was that natural. It was the work of an artist.

Here’s a hot tip, said Horatio. Do not expound on that. Look at her face. She doesn’t like it.

The raven was right, as usual. Mae was horrified. “Eights and nines can occur naturally all the time, even in castes. And if you knew my parents, you’d know my dad would’ve never agreed to anything like that. Don’t drag me into this with your convoluted theories.”

Justin made sure to note her words, that her dad wouldn’t have agreed to it. No mention of her mother. Data for later.

He tapped his ego. “Aren’t you at least curious? Even if no shadowy creature’s coming after you, there’s an awfully big coincidence here.”

“I didn’t have an illegal conception,” she said. There was fire in her eyes, which now favored green in the bedroom’s lighting.

“Then let’s prove it. Give Leo some blood, and he’ll run an analysis for you.”

“Leave me out of this,” said Leo.

“If you’re so sure of yourself,” Justin continued to Mae, “then what’s the harm?”

“Don’t try that ploy with me,” she warned him. “I’ve been watching your games for almost two weeks. You’re not going to lure me in with a dare.”

“It’s not a dare.” Okay, it kind of was. “I’m just trying to do my job for my country. I thought that was your goal too, loyal soldier. On the very, very, very remote chance I’m right, think what you could do for the mission! And if you’re not a match, then you’ll have bragging rights for proving me wrong.”

“Wow,” she said. “That’ll really impress my friends.”

For the first time in their acquaintance, Leo looked as though he might actually like Mae.

Justin scowled. “Fine. Let’s make it an outright wager.”

An odd expression crossed her face. “I don’t really like wagers.”

“Everyone likes wagers. What do you want if I’m wrong?”

“Nothing,” she said. “Because I’m not doing this.”

“So. You do suspect something.”

Mae’s frustrated expression rivaled one of Cynthia’s. “Fine. You can buy me some ree when you find out you’re wrong.”

That momentarily derailed Justin’s satisfaction at getting his way. “What’s ree?”

“Prætorian poison,” said Leo, chuckling. Mae smiled hesitantly back at him, and Justin kind of wished they’d go back to their awkward relationship. He didn’t want them ganging up on him. “Expensive prætorian poison. The only thing that can get them drunk.”

“It’s an obscure children’s cough syrup,” she explained. “The implant doesn’t recognize it as a toxin. Take it in large enough amounts, and you get a pretty nice buzz.”

“Buzz?” Leo’s amusement turned to disapproval. “I’ve seen prætorians on ree. It’s a little more extreme than a buzz. And while I respect you guys’ having a loophole, intoxicated supersoldiers make me a little nervous.”

Justin found it fascinating but had to focus back on the real revelation. “We’ve got a deal,” he told her. “So you’ll give him the blood?”

“Thanks for signing me up without asking. Do you know what a pain it is transporting blood?” Leo turned to Mae. “The military would’ve done an analysis when you enlisted, and you have open access. Save me the hassle and just send that file. Do it soon so that we can all enjoy the satisfaction of him being wrong.”

“I’ll make it a top priority,” Mae assured him. “In the meantime, what are you going to do with the actual connection between the other victims?”

“I’m going to use it to make a profile of the killer. I don’t think this is religious at all. It’s some pissed-off geneticist going after his or her—most likely his, from the dagger’s force—creations. Maybe because of guilt. Maybe because the families didn’t pay. Whatever it is, it makes a hell of a lot more sense than a murderous cult,” said Justin.

“But why use such a weird weapon?” she asked.

“And what’s up with the video?” asked Leo.