“You don’t believe in the Inheritance?”

The Hawk shrugged. “Wouldn’t matter if I did, would it? That’s the whole point. Seems a strange thing to make a religion from, but everyone is entitled to their beliefs, I suppose.”

“Even the Sun Wardens?”

The Hawk glared at Anji, started to speak, but was interrupted once more by another hacking cough. She bent with the force of it, her narrow chest convulsing.

“Hawk?”

The woman wiped at her mouth, gasped a little. “I told you … not to call me that.”

Anji inched forward, knees still clutched to her chest.

“Are you alright?”

Groaning a little, the Hawk shifted against the wall, her legs straight, the tips of her snow-covered boots touching together. “Coming down,” she murmured, and let her heavy-lidded eyes close.

Of course. The Rail. How long had it been since the Hawk had last used? An hour? Two? That also explained her chattiness. What had the Maxia said on the lakeshore? Something about the drug’s half-life, whatever that meant.

Anji hadn’t done many drugs in the castle, more out of short supply than any inclination to abstain. But whatever she had managed to drink or snort had worked wonders at keeping the stray thoughts away, those of the life she’d led and lost what felt like three lifetimes ago. She couldn’t remember ever saying no to something put in front of her, but she did have some less-than-fond memories of early mornings retching over a toilet in the laundresses’ washroom, of shaking through the night after smoking too much Faze. Those weren’t happy times, but she’d take a night of sleepless, senseless sweating over the insistent nightmares of her parents. She moved around to the Hawk’s side.

“Do you need anything? Water?”

The Hawk shook her head, eyes shut tight, mouth a thin line, then she stuffed her hands between her thighs, the rise and fall of her chest like a tiny animal’s shallow breaths.

“Do you need another dose?” Anji said, looking the woman up and down. “I can—”

“No,” the Hawk said, her voice hard. Her eyes flew open, staring directly into Anji’s. “Don’t touch it. Need to save it. I’m—I have to start weaning off. I can still avoid the—” She gagged, her throat bobbing. “Gah,” she spat. “Gods.”