His face is haggard, the dark hair grown lighter with gray and white at temple and nape. His anguish is different from the anguish we have learned from the gray world. This anguish is special, individual, unique. He is teaching us pleasure. They have a word for it, this species. Revenge.

“Please,” the blue-eyed man whispers. “If not for me, then for my little girl. She needs her mother.”

We stay silent. Let him know loneliness. Let him understand. Let him be the one to watch, and wait, and learn. His lessons are bitter.

And I will learn pleasure.

I FIND MYSELF DRIFTING OFF to sleep as Gideon works at his screens, trying to figure out who we should contact to warn the Daedalus gala attendees about LaRoux’s plans. I know I should stay awake, but it’s the first time I’ve actually felt safe since I first saw the rift at LRI Headquarters, and exhaustion is catching up with me. Down here I have no idea what time it is, but it can’t be more than early afternoon and I feel ready to drop. I was thinking for a while about venturing out for some supplies. I cooked enough on Avon, and I learned about off-world ingredients when I spent a little time as Lucy, a waitress on Paradisa, but the prospect of moving seems to make my body even heavier. I wedge myself upright in the corner to keep myself from slumping, but despite my best efforts, it seems like only a few seconds have passed when I wake up to darkness.

For a moment I’m disoriented, but then the cushion I’m leaning against moves and memory floods back. I’m not leaning on a cushion. It’s Gideon. He must have stopped working and decided to join me in my nap. For a moment, indignation flares through me as he shifts again, chest rising and falling under my cheek in a sigh—but as my eyes adjust to the darkness, I realize that I’m no longer in my corner. I’m the one who’s moved, to the other end of the bed, to lean on him.

God, I’m even lonelier than I thought.

I ought to pull away and creep back to my corner, and hope he was sleeping deeply enough not to have noticed me. I barely know him, except that he’s the closest thing I’ve had in a long time to someone I could trust. Even so, I remind myself sternly, he’s worked for the Knave. He’d probably try to stop you if he knew why you were after LaRoux. And you don’t know he’s telling the truth about anything.

And yet I don’t move.

A tiny sound rises above the gentle whir of Gideon’s various computers, and I open my eyes again. I listen hard, lifting my head so that Gideon’s heartbeat doesn’t drown it out. It’s a high-pitched whine, like the noise of far-off construction, only it doesn’t sound far-off. I’m unused to the sounds here in the undercity, so perhaps it’s nothing.

It’s not until there’s a thud, muffled but clear enough for me to recognize that it’s close by, that I sit bolt upright. I grab for Gideon’s arm, no longer caring if he notices how close I crept while we were sleeping.

He wakes quickly but groggily, barely a silhouette in the dark. “Mmph?” he asks, starting to sit up.

“Does anyone else use this building?” I whisper.

Gideon finds his voice, but thankfully keeps it low to match mine. “No, it’s just me.”

“There’s someone outside. Listen.” For a few seconds there’s only silence, but then the high-pitched whirring starts up once more.

Gideon’s forearm goes rigid under my hand. “It can’t be,” he murmurs. He waits one second more before scrambling abruptly out of bed, still in what he wore when he came to my rescue. He stumbles over to his screens, waving a hand at them to wake them up. There’s a soft chime, and a synthetic female voice speaks calmly. “Intruder alert. Security breach in process.”

“Now you tell me?” he snaps. A few flicks of his fingers summon up the display from his security camera. “Oh, God.”

I move off the bed and over to the screens, where the centermost one shows a trio of people, difficult to make out through the fuzziness of the footage. But I can see enough to tell one of them is crouched in front of the door, using some sort of device on Gideon’s locking mechanisms.

My heart seizes, fear banishing the last vestiges of sleepiness and warmth from Gideon’s body. “What’re they—”

“They’re drilling into the door.” Gideon’s voice is tight and cold, and without wasting another second he’s moving, throwing open cabinets to reveal banks of computer drives, shelves of equipment for breaking and entering, and a host of other things I can’t identify.

“How did they find us?” I gasp—I don’t waste time asking who “they” are. This has to be LaRoux’s doing.

“It doesn’t matter,” Gideon replies. “We’ve got to run. There’s a back exit. Here, take this and pack anything useful you see.” He tosses an empty bag at me, then grabs a bag himself, the same one he wore when he came into LaRoux Headquarters after me. He shoves in a couple of handfuls of electronics, then reaches for the bottom drawer of his desk to pull out an old, battered, antiquated paper book. He carefully, gingerly tucks it into his bag to nestle against his lapscreen. He takes a precious moment to seal the bag, then dumps it on the ground.

I get to work, shoving gear and protein gel packets into the bag. Abruptly there’s a scream from outside the door, audible even through the layers of steel, and when my gaze flies up to the security screens, one of the fuzzy figures is lying on the ground.

“Defense measures won’t hold them forever,” Gideon says tightly. “Gas should release in a minute, but if they’re smart they’ll have masks.” He grabs for a handheld device that, once he clicks it on, emits a drone so high-pitched it’s nearly silent, while at the same time making my jaw ache. He starts swiping it up and down the banks of drives—the screen showing the security feed flickers, striated by white and black lines, then goes blank. A paper clip lying on one of the drives zips over and clings to the device—an electromagnet. He’s erasing his tracks.

“These here,” he commands, gesturing at a cabinet, and I dutifully empty a box of thumb drives into my pack. Then Gideon’s pressing tiny bricks of what looks like thick clay against the interior of the computer drive cabinet. I’m moving to add a bigger, heavier external drive to the others in my bag when he jerks to his feet and takes it from me. “No—that goes in here.” He slips the drive into his own bag, giving it an affectionate pat. “This one’s aluminized, keeps it from being wiped. That drive’s too important to risk.” As he speaks, he’s moving—a few steps and he’s at my side, stooping to grab at the edge of the faded rug on the floor and fling it aside.

“Oh, for the love of—” For a moment I forget the people trying to break into our sanctuary, staring at the trapdoor that the rug had been hiding. “You’re like a villain out of an old movie. I should’ve known the only homey touch here was to hide your getaway.”

“Can’t go wrong with the classics,” Gideon replies, and though the joke sounds like him, his voice doesn’t. It’s still tight with distress, and I can see panic starting to seep into his gaze, despite what must be a well-rehearsed contingency plan.

He’s not used to people finding him, I realize. He hasn’t lived the life I have over the past year, always only a step or two ahead of the Knave, always waiting for him to find me and drive me to move on again.