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He left me in the room to wash, to change my clothes.

“Meet me downstairs,” he said. “I want to take you somewhere.” He took his fingers slowly away from my face, like it hurt to do so, and shook his head to himself as he led Isaiah out the door.

Afterward, I stood there alone with my thrumming heart. I traced my lips to check if they were real. Perhaps they would dissolve and I’d come awake from a dream so cruelly vivid it left marks.

I smiled. I buried my face in my palms and relished in the lingering adrenaline until it ebbed away. You’ll stay , I told myself. You’ve picked your side. You will stick to it.

I’d open a tunnel all the way to Belavere City and free my mother. I’d remove Tanner’s leverage, then be free to do as I pleased.

I didn’t know if there was a true end to this conflict. But even if it continued, I’d be safe here in Kenton Hill, where the people knew me as Nina Harrow, and the threat of killing the last Alchemist kept the House from crushing it flat.

There was a way to save this place.

And what of Theo? invaded sense. Polly?

Polly didn’t necessarily want to betray the Colsons any more than I did.

Theodore, however, was another case entirely.

He came from a life of Artisan privilege, and it was clear that Kenton’s charms had made little impression on him.

Not to mention Patrick, whom he sometimes looked at as though he’d like nothing more than to bury him himself.

So I couldn’t tell Theo. He might care about me enough not to throw me at Lord Tanner’s feet, but he would certainly never see Patrick’s plan executed without trying to stop it.

Polly was the key, then. She was the sole channel of communication between us and the House.

If Tanner could be misled, then Patrick and his men had a chance.

I’d watched him deflect those bullets, hadn’t I?

He was a Smith, and I a Charmer. We had the Alchemist. We had a way in.

I just had to show Polly there was a way to remove one of those two guns pointed at her.

But the Colson brothers could never learn why we had come here. If they ever believed themselves betrayed, our safety was forfeit. Patrick’s affections for me, however strong they might be, were not strong enough for that.

I would seek out Polly and speak with her. A new plan would be made.

And Theo?

I saw no hope that he would abandon his loyalties to the House.

He was angry, eager to leave. I reasoned that he had to be kept in the dark, and that when the moment came, he would have to accept that we were on different sides of a war, that he would take the opportunity to leave safely, at a time that would not completely hobble Patrick’s plans.

He only needed to be kept ignorant for a while longer.

I hoped enough of the old Theo lingered that he would allow me this choice.

Hope erupted.

I bathed hurriedly with warm water that chugged out of the brass pipes.

I emptied the basin with the pump and lever—genius.

I wore a dress too thin for the cold air, but in a pleasant pale blue.

I defined the curls of my hair and pinned them up as I always did.

When I was done, my reflection in the armoire mirror didn’t seem all that terrible for someone whose liver had pickled overnight.

Sam was waiting in his chair outside the door. “Hello, miss,” he yawned, tossing a polished ball from hand to hand.

“Hello,” I said, hesitating. The ball rose and fell, rose and fell. “You must be tired of sitting there.”

He shrugged. “Better than minin’.”

I grimaced. “Is Patrick really so worried someone might come to attack us?”

“Nah,” Sam said. “Ain’t no one stupid enough.”

“He doesn’t trust us,” I said aloud.

“Of course not. You’re Artisans. But I don’t think it’s exactly that.”

“Then what is it?” I asked. “If it’s not to keep us in, or to keep others out?”

“I think it’s to keep me off the street, miss,” he said. “Me dad got buried in the tunnels. Sometimes Patty invents jobs just to keep people paid.”

I considered the burden of it, of ensuring everyone had what they needed. “Sometimes I can’t tell if he’s as good as he is bad.” I wasn’t sure why I admitted as much to a boy.

But the boy in question seemed to take care in his answer. For a moment his face tightened in thought. “He’s bad to those who’re bad. No idea if that makes him good, though.”

Perhaps Sam and I weren’t of the authority to decide who was good or not. But I thought Sam’s father might be thankful that Patrick had kept his son out of the tunnels and off the streets. “Goodbye, Sam.”

He nodded, lit a cigarette.

I descended the flights of stairs with a genuine grin, and my limbs felt lighter.

I got the strange urge to jump down to the landings, slide down the rails.

I was eager to be near him again. Too eager.

I could still feel the sensation of his lips traveling over my mouth, my throat.

In my mind, I crashed out of the stairwell and Patrick was waiting, already taking my weight in his hands and kissing me again.

I pushed the swinging door open to the pub and there he was, his hands in his pockets and his back to the bar top. He turned at the sound of my footsteps.

For a brief moment, a spell was cast wherein only Patrick and I existed—the rest of the universe reduced to a slither. He grinned and offered his hand. I blushed as I reached to take it.

And then the illusion was blown to pieces.

From some distant rooftop, a familiar siren whirred.

The sound grew, stampeding down the lanes, permeating walls and rib cages. It droned outward, upward, pitching.

I was transported back to childhood, sitting beneath a kitchen table, my back mashed against a brick wall.

Patrick’s face drained of color.

On the street, voices shouted, “ Collapse! ”

“Collapse,” Patrick whispered.

And sprinted for the door.