An answer for everything. Yet Finch knew he’d always be searching for the next question. He felt a hundred years old. Like the weight of everything had piled on his back at once.

“What if I say no? What if I want you to just leave me the fuck alone?” Stop fighting, some part of him advised. Just fall into it and keep falling. But he couldn’t. Not yet.

The Lady in Blue sighed. “You know, it’s no good for the Kalif, either, if the gray caps come through. I don’t care who you are or aren’t working for. I don’t care about your father’s spying. I just know you hate Partials and your father had no love for the gray caps.”

“How are you going to protect me?”

“We can’t protect you. But we can make sure you don’t get caught.”

“You mean you can kill me.” Feeling ill. Realized that in some ways the Lady in Blue was no different than Stark. Apply pressure. Squeeze. Get what you want.

The Lady in Blue looked somehow both stern and compassionate. In a quiet voice, she said, “I mean you know too much, John Finch. Sometimes we have to take the cards we’re dealt and make the most of them. You can’t throw away the cards now—you’ve already looked at them.”

There it was. Stated directly. Somehow Finch admired her more for it. A bitter laugh of appreciation as he stood there, facing her down. “So I have no choice.”

“If it’s any consolation, maybe you never had a choice. Maybe there was never a point at which you could have turned back.” She had the good grace to look away as she said, “Our man will be in touch when the time comes.”

Finch anticipated the needle a second before it entered his neck.

When they released Finch back into the crowd at the black market party, everything was different. The sound soared over him at first. Then it was as if he couldn’t hear it anymore. Looked for Sintra but didn’t see her. Looked for Bosun but didn’t see him, either. Didn’t know how much time had passed. But the band was taking a break.

An urgency to the night, but he’d brought it with him. Couldn’t get the image of the Lady in Blue out of his head. On a hill. In a boat. At the wall of the fortress. The images stabbed at him, threatened madness. What didn’t she tell me?

Finch crossed the room on unsteady legs. Wary of Bosun. But still no Bosun. Felt for his Lewden Special. Relief. It had been returned to him.

Made his way through corridors. Gaze unfocused. Seeing nothing. Out into the rain. The towers a steamy green above the tops of buildings. The street nearly empty.