“Francis. He walked me home, one of the other policemen ran up and told him.”

“He walked you home?” Pin echoed her, stunned. “From where? What were you doing?”

“Stop it!” Her mother whirled. “I said that’s enough!”

Gina sank onto the mattress and pulled on her shoes, fumbling with the buttons. Pin crossed to the door, cracked it open, and retrieved her shirt from where she’d hung it to dry on a nail on the outside wall. It was still damp. So were her socks. She dressed, stiffening as her mother took her by the shoulders and pulled her close.

“I want you to listen to me.” Gina’s hands still shook, but her voice remained steady. “I want you to come by the booth today.”

“I’m not staying there.”

“You don’t have to stay. Just come by so I’ll know you’re safe.”

“They won’t open the park if it’s not safe!”

“Do you really believe that, Pin?” Disdain and despair warred in her mother’s gaze. “Do you think Baumgarten cares for anything except how many people he can crowd in here every single day?”

Pin flinched as her mother strode to the door and kicked it open, the flimsy wood splintering beneath her shoe. “See that?”

She pointed down the alley, to where two men on ladders adjusted a banner on the Cyclone building. “Everything as usual. Girls are murdered, but nothing changes. Nothing ever changes. No one is safe. Come by the booth, or…”

Without a goodbye, her mother left. When she was out of sight, Pin yanked the door closed, but it wouldn’t shut properly—a hinge had loosened when her mother kicked it. Pin kicked it herself, and left it hanging.

She slumped on the mattress and stared at the two photographs she’d tacked to the wall, the room’s sole decoration: Clyde and Harriet Quimby.

To Pin, with regards, Lord Clyde.

Vin Fiz! The Sparkling Grape Drink.

She traced the outline of Harriet’s beautiful face, the aviatrix smiling as she stood proudly alongside the aeroplane she’d died in. Next to Harriet, Clyde gazed out at Pin with a strange half smile, as though some secret kept him safe.

She knew that wasn’t true. Her mother was right: no one was safe. Her stomach roiled as she recalled the newspaper photo of her sister that had fallen from Henry’s wallet, all those other photos in the Black Brothers Lodge.

We keep them safe. Girls. Because.