Page 85 of Gunslinger Girl

“I tried…”

“Not hard enough.”

Frustration, flowing like blood from a fresh wound, drove Pity to her feet. “If you wanted me to kill him why were Eva and Marius there, too?”

“Why?” Selene slammed her glass down. “That was a kindness. Do you think I didn’t see your reluctance? You were afraid—I wasn’t going to fault you for that. The Zidanes were with you so you wouldn’t be alone.”

Speechless, Pity sat again, light-headed as a shiver scraped over her skin.

“And despite that, you still couldn’t do it.” Selene tapped her nails on the marble bar. “At least Eva had the good sense to cover your shortcomings.”

Of course she did. Eva may not have known in advance, but she knew the Theatre—knew Selene—and would have understood what her role was the moment the Finale deviated from its usual format. It was Pity who was too foolish to see how the pieces on the board were set up.

“When I ask you to do something, I expect it done. Do you understand that?”

Pity licked her lips. “Yes.”

“Then why didn’t you shoot him?”

“I…”

“You’re young, but you’re not a coward,” Selene pressed. “You were trained well—you know how to use those guns, and you’ve killed with them before.”

“I-I told you,” she said. “I tried… but I couldn’t—”

“Then what good are you?”

Pity burned all over, her muscles bone-shatteringly tight. Selene was right. She was trained well. All you needed to do was pull the trigger. Block out everything else and… Her thoughts would go no further.

“You helped save my life, and don’t think I’ve forgotten that. But I have no use for someone who can’t follow orders.” Selene stalked over so that she loomed above Pity, her eyes two shards of crystal. “Especially when the next request may not be so simple. Which raises the question, can I rely on you or not, Serendipity Jones?”

Pity searched for an answer but found none.

Silence smoldered between them before Selene spoke again. “You may go.”

Pity stood, but a continuing fear kept her rooted in place, unable to believe she was being dismissed with only a scolding.

“This isn’t over,” Selene confirmed. “I suggest you put some hard thought into what your personal misgivings might be. And whether they truly have a place in a city like Cessation.”

The words still seared her skin the next morning: What good are you?

She twisted in her sheets, eyes singed sore by tears that wouldn’t fall. The prior evening replayed on an infinite loop in her thoughts, alternating between the assassin’s plea for death and Selene’s reproach. Entwined as the memories were, it was impossible to decide which left her more ill. All confidence was scraped out of her, leaving a hollow pit in her chest.

Another moment that mattered. Another failure. It wasn’t about the showiness of it—Selene had never asked for that. She would have forgiven a mundane performance. The only thing Pity really needed to do was follow orders—to be a good, obedient soldier, like her mother. But that was exactly what she had failed to do, jeopardizing everything she had in Cessation.

And yet the thought of another Finale—of being in that bloody spotlight again—set her heart pounding with distress.

A knock on the door split her thoughts like a hatchet.

“Pity?”

Any other voice, save Selene’s, she would have ignored. “Just a minute.”

She slipped on some clothes and opened the door. Max waited on the other side.

“Hey. You didn’t come to the Gallery last night.”

“No, I didn’t.” Pity moved away from the door.