Finch leaned forward, reached out, and pulled her chin up when she tried to look away. She let him do it. “Listen carefully. Stark knew about Sintra. You told him. He found out about you from his predecessors, the Stockton agents he liquidated once he got here. He came, or he sent Bosun. They either threatened you or paid you, or both. And you told them about Sintra. About me. Maybe you tried to protect me, and that’s all you gave them. You might even think you helped me. But you gave them something. I know you did. You’re the only one who could. If I’m wrong, tell me. Tell me I’m wrong. Right now. But don’t lie to me.”

Her lower lip quivered. She pushed his hand away. “You have to choose a side, Finch. Eventually you have to choose a side, even if you pretend to be neutral. Even if you think giving out information is like selling smokes or food packets.”

“And you chose Stark’s side?” Incredulous.

“No! But Stark would’ve killed me if I didn’t give him something. And he hates the gray caps as much as I do. And I didn’t think it would hurt to tell him what he could’ve found out about you in a couple of days anyway.” She looked small, miserable, utterly alone. But right then he didn’t care.

“Stark’s a psychopath,” Finch said. “Only out for himself.” Repeating what Bliss had told him.

“Maybe. Maybe not. Maybe I just told myself it was okay because I didn’t want to die.”

“Couldn’t your ‘brother’ and his friends help you?”

Rathven shook her head. “Everyone comes to me for information. Everyone sees me as neutral because I give everyone something.”

“And you don’t know Bliss?”

“I know of him. He visited the Photographer a few times, but he never wanted anything from me.”

Bliss. The Photographer. How did that work? And why?

“Finch?” she said, and he realized he’d been lost in his thoughts. “What are you going to do?”

It took an effort of will. But knew he had to do it. For himself as well as for her. There was no one else. Told himself: She delivered Duncan Shriek to you. She helped you when the memory bulbs brought you low. She never lied to you before. There is no one else. Not a soul.

“Stark’s as good as dead,” Finch said. “And, Rath, I’ll forget the rest if you’ll do me a favor. I need a favor.”

“What kind of favor?” Abject relief in her voice.

He placed his extra apartment key on her table. “Take care of Feral for me. Take care of the things in my apartment. If I don’t come back.” Wasn’t looking forward to saying goodbye to Feral. Wasn’t sure that wouldn’t be the final stupid little thing that broke him.