“I am,” she says. Taavi kisses her mother’s forehead. She says something to her, coiling a bony finger through her daughter’s hair, but it’s too low for me to catch it. Taavi nods in response, but her lip quivers when she snaps back to my side.

“Barricade as much as you can against this door, anything you can find,” I say to Rojala.

“I will.”

Worry takes flight in me, fluttering around in my chest as I shut them inside. Taavi and I set off to find the Chancellor. Her father. I spot Julius dodging a blow at his head and clapping back with a right hook. The Loyalist folds to the ground and Julius crouches over him, pressing the suction gadget to his wrist.

“Rue,” he shouts. “Look!” He pulls the gadget away and there’s a tiny red scar in the Loyalist’s arm where the onyx used to be.

“Oh my god.” I glance at Taavi, expecting her to be blown away, too. But she’s wholly distracted, pulling at her ear.

“Keep going,” I tell him.

“Where you going?” he asks.

“Outside. The Chancellor’s up there. He won’t come in now that he knows about the lead.”

“Rue, last time you faced him one-on-one…” He stops. He doesn’t need to finish the thought, because that same worry has my chest in a knot.

“I have to, Jue,” I say, realizing I’ve been in this moment before. Seen that expression on someone else pleading with me. It is and was honest, true. That I can’t deny. Maybe at some point Jhamal did love me. Julius tucks his lip, his worry, and nods.

“Get Bri and get to the grave,” I tell him. “Take all the onyx you have right now. Then come back for more.”

He holds on to me, squeezing, before letting my hand go.

“I can do this,” I say.

He strokes my cheek, thumb caressing my jaw. “Oh, I know. Just be careful.”

“You, too.” I take his hand and plant a kiss in his palm, hoping it’s not our last, and go.

CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

ABOVEGROUND, THE CHANCELLOR STANDS, magic fizzing in his hands, Patrol flanking his sides. Kai, slick in her gold armor, stands behind him. The breastplate she wears is new, more angular, jutting over both her shoulders. A crown with spires spread like sunrays rests on her head. Jhamal is a shadow behind her. My blood rises from a simmer to a boil. He looks right at me, through me, but I set my glare on the Chancellor.

“You’re looking well these days,” the Chancellor says.