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I crane my neck up. Leo stands propped against the doorframe. He’s not looking at me. He fiddles with Thaddeus’ gun. He is still in uniform, though without the vest and the shirt half-undone. His sleeves are rolled up, bunched around his thick forearms. I can see his collarbones, the divot between his pecs. His hair is wet like he’s bathed. I look at him and I shiver, and it’s not from attraction, but a sense of awe at the sight of him. At his beauty. I push myself up slowly, wiggling back until my back hits the headboard.

“Are you stealing that gun?” I murmur, only half-jokingly.

Leo glances at me and spins the barrel closed. “Nothing’s too badly damaged. They put a poultice on you, which explains the smell—”

“Very fucking rude, Mr Shaw.”

“—and then they were gone. All they said was the harpy kicked your guts. You’ll have a nasty bruise.”

I scoff. “To complement the nasty scars?”

“Oh, I think they might turn out quite pretty. Give you a bit of an edge, Mr Jones. An allure.”

I ask, “Am I in need?”

And he looks at me, devilish smile tweaking at his lips. “Can hardly hurt.” He slips into the room now, hesitates, turns back to gently close the door. Then he goes to his knees by my side and offers me Thaddeus’ gun.

“Only three bullets left,” he says. He drums his fingers over it, then lets go of it entirely, placing it in my lap. I try to catch his eye; he looks away. It hurts, in an odd way.

“What is it?” I ask.

Leo shakes his head.

Because I am eager for the answer to be yes, I quip, “Worried about me?”

He looks up, just briefly, without a smile, before he stares out the window. “I think I expected you to be different, that’s all.”

I freeze, because I’m not prepared to learn all the ways I’m lacking. But he continues with, “What kind of fool flings himself on a harpy? It could have gutted you. It could have ripped you to shreds.”

I set my jaw. “If I hadn’t, it would have flown away.”

“And what if it had torn out your stomach?”

“Are you actually angry with me?”

He shuts up, jaw slamming closed. “It doesn’t align. Your actions, I mean, with what I imagined a Londoner to be. Every tale I’ve ever heard pegs you lot as little lords in your ivory tower—that kind of man would have run.”

I swallow. “I ran from the manticore.”

“Mm. That you left your wards at all says something about your character.”

He stares at me as if I’m unreal, an assessing glare trying to sort me out. I don’t know why that rankles me.

“What I am now, I wasn’t always,” I say. “I never said I was born here, Mr Shaw. You made the mistake of that assumption all on your own.”

His gaze softens greatly, almost immediately, which makes me feel more ill. “That makes you respect me more, doesn’t it?” I ask him.

“Of course, it does. You can’t blame me for hating the people who sit and languish in safety whilst the rest of us are struggling to live.”

“And what do you plan to do when you graduate, Mr Shaw? When you have a home in London, when you become one of us?”

He doesn’t answer. His throat bobs, and that’s it. I half expect him to tell me he’s going to burn it all down.

“What was it like?” he says instead. “Outside the wards for you, I mean.”

I sigh and look out the window. “Shit.” He waits for me to continue. I shrug. “Really, it was shit. You would know. You barely sleep. You scavenge for food, or try to farm, or you steal from Londoners. You know,” I say, thinking I’ll leave it there. But it feels good to speak on something that feels so secret. Victoria and Bellamy don’t have the same taint Leo and I have. I feel it, in my soul, like a wine stain that only keeps spreading. A residual anger I keep thinking is going away, until I linger on what’s happening here. The rage at my situation. At the helplessness of it. My hands shake, and I reach for the bedside table, fumbling for a cigarette. Leo leans forward and lights it for me, and I breathe deep looking into his eyes, taking him in. When I exhale, I glance away and say, “We lived near Hull. My father was a fisherman. He’d be gone for long stretches, and then would be drunken and angry whenever he was on land. Then an incident at sea rocked him. Completely decimated his crew.” I look down at my hands. “He never sailed again.” I think about saying the rest and can’t bring myself to give it voice. Of those who survived and still had the will to speak, they claimed an argos rose out of the sea, its many eyes not hollow or empty, but full. Full of a stretching void that seemed to reach for them, a dizzying, hypnotic stare that ate sailors’ voices and minds until they were husks of their former self. Whether or not I believe it doesn’t matter. My father never spoke again, but neither did he beat us.

“Anyway, it meant we struggled for a year. He was a liability. Don’t look at me like that. He isn’t a good man.” I look up at the ceiling next, because anywhere is better than Leo’s eyes. “That’s why Thad did the trials. London was laxer, then. As soon as he had a spot in the University, we were allowed to live here. So I’ve been here since.”