You laugh. “Me neither. Fortunately, this isn’t a wrestling match. It’s the Races. Adrian made a lot of noise yesterday, but remember, that’s all thunder ever is. Noise. It’s the lightning you have to worry about. Ever seen a good storm out on the plains?” The girl nods. “You always see the strikes before you hear the boom. That’s how I’ll handle the Longhand. I’ll ride hard and I won’t look back. I’ll be in the distance, and he’ll just be the noise that follows.”

The girl nods like she’s the lightning, too.

“Besides, we know the Longhands aren’t accustomed to winning.”

That draws a laugh from the crowd. You watch the mannequin spin through an endless sea of faces. It stops on a fourth fan. Pretty eyes, round face, hair styled short like most middle-aged women in Furia. She doesn’t smile and she isn’t nervous.

“Pippa, I wanted to know something.” The voice isn’t familiar, but you hear something in her tone that’s like a second language. Your fame has negative consequences, too. It comes with denouncers and haters. You know the kind of words that always dance with a tone like this one. “How many Beholder shots did you pose for? How many marriages are you planning on ruining as you put yourself out there for money? Do you have any idea how it makes us feel?”

It’s the only question you’re not ready to answer. The natural cues don’t come. You stare at her, wondering how to lie to her and to the cameras and to everyone, but she doesn’t let you get that far. The mannequin lunges out of its chair. You duck back instinctively, but the chair you’re sitting in is high-backed, and your escape routes are all cut off. Your eyes widen as the metallic hands reach for your throat.

And fall short. The machine’s fail-safe system hums to life and the hands hang lifelessly in the air, just a few inches from your neck. The audience stares in horror until Maxim’s blue tie appears and the mannequin takes its seat again. He sweeps a hand through that perfect hair and starts to apologize.

“We’re so sorry about that, Pippa. Always a few people out there trying to ruin the fun.”

He’s smiling, but you see his head tilt slightly to one side, and you know his producers are feeding him some fresh bit of news. You remember he’s got a show to put on. To him, that’s all that matters tonight. Not you and not your feelings and not your privacy.

“We are receiving reports,” he says, “of several sources claiming these Beholder shots do exist. My producers would kill me if I didn’t take the time and at least ask—”