The Lynx sputtered, the arrow perched in the Hawk’s slender fingers moments before now jutting from his neck. Even in the dim light, Anji could see blood pooling where his leathers met at the collarbone. The Lynx fell to one knee, desperate gulps issuing from behind his grotesque mask. He jerked a hand to his neck, feeling at the mess of flesh and bone, of smooth wood, the glistening point of the arrow sticking out under the base of his skull, and fell to the ground, spasming once before lying still.

The Hawk marched to where the man lay like a crumpled sheet and squatted for a moment. She tore away the Lynx’s mask and shoved it under one arm. Then she untied his boots, wrenched them off, and carried them back to the circle of firelight before tossing them on the ground at Anji’s feet.

“Try those on,” she said, settling back to her place at the fire. She picked up her cup, frowning at the leftover contents.

Anji gaped at the woman, her tongue going cold in the rising wind. She closed her mouth, opened it to say something, then closed it again.

“You look like a fish, working your maw like that,” the Hawk said, flipping her thin gray hair out of her face. She took a final gulp out of her cup and flicked the remnants over the fire.

“What—why did you do that? You threw that arrow?” Anji said, finding her voice once more. “You just—you—Nine, you didn’t even have a bow!”

The Hawk narrowed her eyes, her head tilted just to the side. “How observant of you. They should have written that on the sheets: ‘Miracle girl, understands what people don’t have in their hands.’” Then she shoved the Lynx’s mask into a satchel Anji hadn’t yet seen. It was silk of such a deep blue it seemed out of place among the Hawk’s other things. The fabric shimmered like liquid, and Anji felt the sudden urge to reach out and touch it. It might have been a trick of the light, but Anji couldn’t quite see where it opened, and by the time the Hawk had twisted the sack and tucked its strap under the bulging contents, she couldn’t be sure she’d seen it open at all.

A gust of wind tore at the flames, and as though it were a cue, the Hawk stood and began kicking the fire out with one boot. Anji gaped at her.

“Why was he so surprised to see you?”

“None of your concern.”

“I thought the Menagerie all worked together?” said Anji. “You’re—you’re friends, aren’t you? Why did you kill him? It sounded like he—”

“Leave it, girl,” said the Hawk. “I’m not here to answer questions or fulfill your childhood fantasies.”

“But you let him see your face,” Anji stammered. “I thought—”