She thought of Harriet Quimby flying over the English Channel and wondered if she’d felt like this. The world seemed to hold a mystery: Sometimes Pin thought it might be her sister, Abriana, in some far-off place never to be found but alive. Sometimes the mystery was inside her, a sensation as though her heart might explode with joy. Sometimes it moved through Glory, the way she laughed or leaned against the wall in the costume room. And sometimes she glimpsed it at the studio, in the machines that transformed drab brown ribbon into living things.

“Pin Drop.”

She turned. Henry stood there, staring at her, but quickly angled his head so that she couldn’t catch his gaze. He wore the same clothes as yesterday—too-big dark jacket, pants rolled at the ankle—but a different hat, a cap like her own.

“Did you find the girl?” he asked, and at Pin’s nod his eyes widened. “You saved her.”

“No. She was dead. I found her in Hell Gate.”

“Hate Hell Gate.” Henry knelt on the grass and started to pull it up. “Flyweight.”

He didn’t ask, but she told him everything. He listened intently and gave her the side-eye, as though it hurt to look at her head-on.

“I told them I talked to you, and they said maybe the girl was kidnapped and her family hired you to find her. You and that fella Willhie you talked about. The Gemini. Did someone hire you to find her?”

Henry’s brow furrowed. “Yes, they did.” He spoke slowly, as though he’d had to think about it first. “Her mother and father hired us to find her.”

“Well, why in hell didn’t you tell me?”

Henry’s face grew red. He clawed at the grass, throwing up handfuls. “Because it’s a secret!” he bellowed, and stumbled to his feet. “A secret, it’s a goddamned secret!”

Pin backed away as Henry shouted words she couldn’t understand—German or maybe just gibberish. He didn’t look like a detective: he looked like Morga the Deranged, the gaffed freak who only pretended to be crazy, though Morga really did eat glass.

“You’re not a detective,” she sneered. “You’re a damn liar. A goddamned liar.”

“Cursing’s a sin!”

“So’s lying! If you were a real detective, you would have saved her.”

Henry opened his mouth and shut it again. The crazy light in his blue eyes dimmed.

“You’re right.” His guttural voice broke. He let a fistful of grass trickle between his fingers to the ground. “But I am too a detective.”

Pin waited to see if he’d start shouting again. If he did, she’d leave and forget she ever saw him. She held her breath, counting to ten. Without a word, he pulled out his cardboard wallet, removed the Gemini card, and stared at it as though he’d never seen it before.