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His lips thinned. Resentfully, and slowly, Roma submitted to the threat. He made a steady step back, glaring at her as he scrubbed a hand along his eyes. If Juliette didn’t know better, she would have thought the gesture to be an act of self-consciousness. But no—it was exhaustion; the shadows under his eyes were almost smoky, like his bottom lashes were fringed with soot.

“Have you not been sleeping?” Juliette found herself asking suddenly. There was a direct correlation between her willingness to be civil and the distance between them. With him several strides away, she wanted to commit homicide a little less.

Roma’s hand returned to his side. “I’ll have you know,” he answered, “that I am well, thank you very much.”

“I wasn’t asking after your well-being.”

“Oh, give it a rest, Juliette.”

Juliette folded her arms thoughtfully. Last night she had heard

the news about the sudden spike in White Flower deaths, all lost to the madness. It was the biggest mass casualty yet. Which meant Roma wasn’t going to leave just because she made a few barbed remarks—he was here now precisely because this strange madness had crept so close to home.

She tilted her chin at the closed door. “Is that his office?”

Roma didn’t need to clarify who she meant. He nodded. “Zhang Gutai won’t take visitors until the hour. Don’t try anything.”

Like what? Juliette thought nastily. It wasn’t as if she could run Roma out without making a scene and offending the Communists, and she certainly refused to leave before she spoke to Zhang Gutai. To find answers, it was this or nothing.

Juliette marched to a chair and sat down. She tipped her head back and stared at the ceiling, resolute not to look anywhere else. Directing her mind elsewhere too, she reached into her coat pocket and fingered the drawing she had stashed away. It was uncertain whether these frightening sketches confirmed trouble with the Communists specifically, but it confirmed something. She would have to inspect it further, because she thought she recognized the background to be the Bund. It was nothing more than a few harsh lines, but for somewhere as distinctive as the Bund, a few harsh lines were enough.

Meanwhile, Roma had settled back onto his seat along the other row of chairs, his fingers tapping to the tick-tick-tick of the clock on the wall. He kept his gaze pinned to Juliette, much to Juliette’s annoyance. She could feel his inspection like it was a physical thing, as if he were inches away instead of across the room. Every sweep of his eyes felt like he was mechanically pulling her apart, piece by piece, until her insides were out in the open for inspection. Juliette could feel a flush creeping up from her chest, coloring her neck with discomfort, then spreading until her cheeks were blazing hot.

She was going to skin herself with her own damn knife. Her cells were betraying her on a molecular level. He was just looking, for heaven’s sake. It did not qualify as an attack. Juliette was not going to rise to the bait. She would sit here until Zhang Gutai was ready to meet, and then—

“What?” Juliette snapped, unable to bear it any longer. She tore her gaze down, finally supplying her own ammunition against Roma’s weaponized stare.

Roma made an inquisitive noise. He pursed his lips slowly, then tipped his chin. “What’s got you so worked up?”

Juliette followed the direction of his gesture. She yanked her hand out from her pocket.

“Again, that would be none of your business.”

“If it is to do with madne—”

“Why would you assume that?”

Roma’s expression thundered. “Can I finish my sentence—”

The office door opened, cutting him off. A harried assistant came out and summoned Roma to go in before she quickly hurried away. With a huff, Roma shot Juliette a look that said this isn’t over, before entering the office.

Juliette broiled in the wait, her toes tapping erratically against the hard floor panels and her fingers twisting around one another. For ten minutes she drove herself up the wall, envisioning Roma doing all in his power to convince Zhang Gutai to give him all the answers and disregard Juliette. Roma was a liar through and through—his tactics of persuasion knew no bounds.

When Roma came out, however, it was immediately clear in the slouch of his head that he hadn’t gotten what he wanted.

“Don’t look so smug,” he whispered while Juliette passed him.

“That’s just my face,” she hissed back.

With her chin held high, Juliette walked into Zhang Gutai’s office.

“Well, it must be my lucky day,” Mr. Zhang declared when she entered, putting his fountain pen down. Despite his laudatory tone, he was frowning as he spoke. “First it was the heir of the White Flowers, now the Scarlet crown princess. What can I do for you, Miss Cai?”

Juliette flopped into one of the two large chairs placed opposite Mr. Zhang’s heavy mahogany desk. In seconds she took in everything before her: the framed black-and-white photographs of his elderly parents, the hammer-and-sickle flag hanging from the side of the filing cabinet, the festive red calendar on the wall marked with daily meetings. Her eyes returning to the Communist before her, Juliette relaxed and made him see what she wanted him to see, letting out a small, careless laugh, vacuous as could be.

“You know how rumors work in this city, Mr. Zhang,” she said. She held her nails out in front of her, squinting at a little chip marring her pinky. “They come to me, and I follow them. Do you know what graced my ear the other day?”

Zhang Gutai appeared mildly entertained. “Do tell.”