“For both of us,” he says. “People don’t bother couples on dates.”

“Ahh,” I say with a sigh. “Sure.”

“Plus, you make me look good.”

I frown, but he hangs an arm casually around my shoulder. He’s pretending, but I can’t help but realize I like how his arm feels there. Safe, warm.

“What’s this?” Erik says. He traces the crook of my elbow.

His fingertips sear my skin, and I gasp, shaking my head, trying to focus. Dark flecks pepper my pale arm around a thin red scratch, but I barely notice them since I’m consumed with the fire scorching under my skin.

“Freckles,” I say, pulling my arm away, unsure where the scratch came from.

“Those aren’t freckles,” Erik says. “Are you being careful during training?”

“I don’t remember hurting myself, but it’s nothing. It doesn’t even hurt,” I assure him.

“What’ll ya have?” a waitress asks in possibly the most bored tone ever. She could pass for a stewardess in Arras except her skirt stops too short, revealing more of her lengthy legs than I’m used to. Her head cocks to the side, examining the small platform stage behind her.

“What do you have?” Erik asks.

“Same as everywhere, hon,” she says with a shrug, her eyes still occupied elsewhere. “Gin. Whiskey. Moonshine.”

“Moonshine?” he asks.

“I didn’t make up the name,” she says.

She couldn’t have, I think. She’s probably never seen the moon. I can’t imagine she’s gone exploring past the Interface’s border.

“Gin. Do you have tonic?”

“Sure, sure.” She doesn’t write anything down, but I hear her call out the order to the stubby bartender.

“So what now?” Erik asks, turning his attention back to me. His voice is low.

I take a deep breath. “I’m not sure.”

“You know, your mother was probably toying with you,” Erik says gently.

“I know.” But the words are thick on my tongue. I don’t like thinking of the monster wearing my mother’s face.

The waitress plops down two smudged glasses and asks what else we need.

“There was a place around here,” Erik says. “A loophole. Do you know what happened to it?”

“The refugee shelter? Sure,” she says with a smack of her lips. “It’s gone now.”

“Yes, we assumed that,” Erik says in a measured tone. “Do you know where it was?”

“Yeah, next door, down the stairs. But it got closed up a long time ago.”

“Who closed it?” Erik asks.

“Owner, so far as I know. She still lives there. She rents this place, too. She comes in for a drink now and then, but she keeps to herself.”

“Do you know her name?” I ask.

“Nah, not really my job,” she says, her eyes elsewhere again. “You need anything else?”

“No, thank you,” Erik says.

“If it was next door,” I start, but my thoughts are too jumbled for me to continue speaking. It could still be there, and if the owner is there, we could ask her. I know Erik is thinking the same things.

“It’s risky,” he says.

He’s right. It’s dangerous to go asking around after the loophole, especially knowing nothing about the owner.

“To almost-solutions,” Erik says, raising his glass. We clink, but I don’t take a long draft like he does. It’s too strong for me. I take a small sip and let it burn my throat before setting the glass back down.

“Strong,” I say with a grimace.

“You didn’t have any dinner,” he reminds me. “You should probably take it easy on that—not everyone can handle liquor like Cormac.”

“I have no desire to drink like Cormac,” I say, but the conversation jogs my memory. I hadn’t eaten dinner because Erik was already done with his and playing with the digifile I’d brought from Arras. I stare at him and he responds by raising an eyebrow.

“The digifile,” I say in a quiet voice. “I’ve always wondered where Enora got that program. The tracking program.”

Erik’s arm drops from my shoulders and he leans away from me for a moment.

“It was you,” I say when he doesn’t speak.

“I’m sorry, Adelice. I should have convinced Enora to drop it when she came to me. If I had done more, she might be alive now.”

“You didn’t have anything to do with her death,” I say, but then it strikes me that might not be true. Erik is a Tailor. A fact I keep forgetting.

“I didn’t,” he assures me, as though he can read my mind. “At that point, things were out of control. I think Cormac suspected me after the State of the Guild.”

“You finally made an impression on him,” I say. Cormac had written Erik off early on during my time at the Coventry.

“Adelice,” Erik says, taking a deep breath, “I worked for Cormac.”

“We all worked for Cormac.”

“No,” he says with emphasis, “I worked for Cormac. He had Tailors all over the coventries, spying on the operations and keeping tabs on Spinsters.”

“And you were keeping tabs on me?” He told me that during our last hour in the Coventry, but I haven’t brought it up since then. Now I wish I had.

“Would you let me off the hook if I said it was really complicated?” he asks.