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I nodded, and something unfurled within me. Was it terror or defiance?

“We’re stuck between two guns now,” she said. “That’s all there is to it.”

But of course there was more. There was Otto, whom she could hardly look away from, and all of Kenton Hill. All of it pearled in my vision.

And wasn’t that the true evil of war? That it didn’t have the decency to strip the humanity of those we killed?

“I can guess why you’re here, Nina,” she said to me now. “You don’t need to tell me. But promise me, before you do it, you’ll give me enough warning to turn my head. I—I don’t want to see it happen.” She closed her eyes, as though the scene were unfolding here and now. All these men and women buried beneath mountains of dirt. “Either that, or bury me with them. God knows there’ll be no peace for me after this.” She swallowed the rest of her drink and wrapped her arms tightly around her middle.

I felt suddenly sick, but before she walked off, I asked, “Would you do it if you were me?” It came out rushed, desperate. After all, I’d run from these very thoughts for seven years. I’d refused to confront them. “Could you do it?”

She gave me a look that said, very plainly, that the question was pointless. A drain to circle. “Canyou?”

I pressed my lips together. There were two guns, as she’d said, and the answer to that question could fire either of them. It was safest to say nothing. It wasn’t that I didn’t believe Polly—she seemed as reluctant as me, someone with no real loyalty to Tanner. Someone who, like me, had no interest in tearing this town apart. But Patrick’s voice had arisen from some hidden depth.Trust no one, it said.

She watched me for a moment, then stood and waved to Otto. The piano belted a new melody at that exact moment, and the drinkers and dancers brayed.

I thought of Polly traipsing from town to town, leaving fire and ashes in her wake.

Patrick reentered the pub when it was at its most raucous.

I didn’t see him so much as sense him. I felt the crowd disperse, theair stricken, the music slow for half a second. Or perhaps it was all in my mind, the pressure mounting atop me showing its first effects.

He grinned when he saw me. It was small and fleeting; he tore his eyes away to hide it. Took off his coat, addressed a few patrons who slapped his shoulder or raised their glasses and hollered.

He made his way slowly through the swarm, quickly nodding and untangling himself from the people who sought to speak to him, until finally, finally, he was close enough to touch. He lowered his mouth to my ear. “Come on,” he said, his voice drowning all the others. “It’s about time I bought you a drink.”

I narrowed my eyes at him, trying to appear unaffected by how close his face was to mine. “You own all the liquor,” I reminded him.

“Then I’ll buy it twice.”

He pulled me to the bar, then disappeared behind it, pouring two glasses of whiskey. He left bills beneath the till drawer.

Tessa Colson was noticeably absent. The bar was tended instead by a burly man with a low-slung apron and a spotty teenage boy.

“Where’s your mother?” I asked. “Is she well?”

Patrick passed me a glass. “Everyone deserves a day off sometimes,” he said. He held his drink up. “To topside.” An old miner’s toast. He clinked his glass against mine and swallowed the liquor in one gulp.

I watched it disappear with wide eyes. “God. You’ll be dancing on the counter by the top of the hour.”

“Have some faith, Nina.” He reached back to retrieve the bottle. “I can hold off for at least another two.”

I laughed. He appraised me furtively. “I should ask you if you’re all right,” he said then. “After the events of the day.”

I thought of those flashes of light and the smell of gunpowder, Lionel dropping in a heap with a single hole in his forehead. I repressed a shudder. “I shouldn’t have expected much else from a gangster.”

“Revolutionary,” he corrected. “In any case, it was the opposite of what I wanted you to see.” The regret rung clearly.

My answering grin was weak. “Don’t mind me, Patrick. I insisted on coming, and I’ve seen men shot before.”

“But I do mind you,” he said simply, and the heat of his gaze was too intense to hold. I looked away, warmth creeping up my neck.

“Come on,” he said. “Sit with me.”

We returned to a table occupied by Donny and Gunner, engaged in an arm wrestle. The surrounding onlookers were placing bets, shouting at either brother with increasing frenzy. As Patrick and I sat, Gunner smashed Donny’s hand down onto the tabletop, cracking it down its middle, and half the spectators exalted while the other half groaned. Money was snatched, the winners quickly dispersed with their take.

“I let you win,” Donny said, swiveling in the direction of Patrick and me. “Who’s this?” he asked.