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With a deep and courtly bow, paying all homage to Gold manners, I hop off the Telemanus and dip my gloved hand in a pool of blood gathered around the head of a wounded bodyguard. I press the hand into the wall, leaving a blood-red handprint.

Blame placed, I walk toward the passenger compartment.

Time for the part I’ve been dreading.

I find Lyria lying amongst three other servants who had the misfortune of being unbuckled from their crash webbing. One has a broken neck. Lyria stares up at me in the darkness. To her I’ll be a masked shadow, unrecognizable, with a glint of metal in hand. But I feel as if she and she alone can see through the mask. She’ll know that Philippe did this to her. And she’ll tell them. I can’t have them piecing it all together. My life will be over.

Make it clean.

I point the Omnivore at her head.

My hand shakes. Sweat trickles into my eyes inside the humid helmet. She looks up at me blankly. Even in the darkness, she can see the gun. She accepts it. There’s no wild fear in her eyes, just sadness. Resignation. Pull the trigger. Pull it, you son of a bitch.

What is wrong with me? I’ve killed men in cold blood before. I was all professional when I explained the plan to the others. It needs to be done.

“I’ll wrap it up nice and neat,” I said.

You can’t pull a testimony from a corpse.

Pull the trigger.

It will be quick. She’ll feel nothing. I told myself I’d do it without the zoladone. That I’d sack up. I’d own this.

I close my eyes and see her little smile to herself back in that restaurant as she ordered that last flight of oysters. It was like seeing a child laugh at an adult’s joke. So proud to feel accepted, but still self-conscious, wondering if their ignorance will be found out.

Why did she have to smile like that?

Like him.

Fuck it.

I pull the trigger.

Nothing happens. I look down at my gun. The safety is still on. I almost throw up. I’m shaking, backing away from her, my stomach all tied up in knots, disgusted with myself. Idiot. Shoot her. Shoot her.

I can’t. Not twice. I holster the Omnivore and turn to leave.

I’m halfway out the door when I stop. I’m a bastard to leave her here alive. It’s worse than shooting her. The Lionheart will peel Lyria apart. They’ll think she’s a traitor.

What are you doing, Eph?

What are you doing?

I watch myself from a distance as I rush back toward her. She’s light as child. I carry her out of the ship and join my friends at the bottom of the ramp, where our junker hovercar waits. Dano sits on the hood with a pistol in hand.

“What the hell is that?” he says. I ignore him. He blocks my way. “This isn’t part of the plan.”

“Shut up and get in the car.”

“The hell’s your damage, you old flit? Lose your stones?” Dano reaches for his pistol. “I’ll do it for you. Wait in the car like a good little—”

I level the Omnivore at him. “I will shoot you in the fucking head. Get in the car.” I step forward. “Now, ruster.”

“What…” Dano steps back in terror, but not of me. I turn to see a hulking mass emerge from the hole in the ship. All shoulders and thighs, the Telemanus with the red beard slumps there, held up by his hands on the door, his legs butter from the anacene. His eyes filled with hate. I drop Lyria and raise my pistol. The anacene slows the man; he fumbles for his razor before giving up and lunging forward like a drunk bear. He hits me in the sternum so hard my vision flickers black. My gun flies from my hand and I’m lifted off my feet. I slam down into the floor, skidding into a wrecked flier.

From the concrete, I watch as Dano pulls up his gun and shoots the monster twice in the chest. The bullet goes through his tuxedo and slaps into the ship. It doesn’t stop him. Stumbling, the Gold reaches Dano. He grabs the top lip of Dano’s chest armor, holding him still as the Red claws desperately to escape. Then the Gold swings a lazy punch. It hooks in from the right, casual, almost like an afterthought. The reinforced knuckles cave in the side of Dano’s skull. His head lolls, ear touching the opposite shoulder. A white root of spinal cord juts upright into the air.

Drenched in Dano’s blood, the giant hurls Dano’s corpse to the side and turns his horrible bulk to me. He takes an awkward step and is blasted sideways as Volga fires through the windshield of the aircar. The plasma stream hits the Gold in his side, melting through his arm and hurling him off his feet into the ship’s hull.