“The one for my friend is good,” she said, casting another quick glance at the photo of the man he’d procured for Teo, taped to a white card with Spennard Cleaning Company at the top. The man in the photo was older than Teo, but had the same dark hair and a similar cut. She pocketed that one, then said, “Come on, show me what else you’ve got.”

He leaned back and put his feet up on the desk, his eyes roving over her once before he said, “Show me what you’ve got under all those clothes and maybe I can—”

Before he finished speaking, she’d jumped over the desk and placed a knife at his throat. When he gulped, the cigar tumbling from his mouth to the floor, she said, “I don’t have all day.”

Minutes later, he found a suitable photo of a girl with Sumeranian features—dark hair, light eyes and skin. It was hardly a match, but at least they were the same age, and the servants wouldn’t notice smaller differences if she flashed the card quickly enough. It took the man a while to tape the photo to the card while her knife was still at his throat, but he managed, and then she set off to meet Teo.

Since that had taken longer than expected, she had to take shortcuts to meet Teo on time, passing as quickly as she could through the Center.

Her first year as a Blade, Kohl had kept her close on his forays into the city. At first, she’d been miffed, thinking he didn’t trust her to go anywhere on her own. But it was something else. Those nights skirting authorities, discussing technique in the train station’s tower, Kohl introducing her to all his contacts, were a special type of training. While the others had been left to figure out Kosín on their own, Kohl had given her a front-row seat to his mastery of the city. She’d never known why he did this for her, but she hoped it was because for some reason, he didn’t want her to fail.

She entered a café, waved to the owner, and proceeded to the alley of overflowing dumpsters behind the building. She passed the receiving doors of shops, restaurants, and bars until a street opened on the right and a small huff of air caught her attention.

The alley served as a grimy courtyard where the residents of each building could hang lines of clothes to dry. Halfway down was the person she’d been thinking of: Kohl.

But he wasn’t alone. Three men were with him, including their Shadow, Mazir. Kohl slammed one of the other men to the ground, his movements swift and nearly soundless. The second man lunged at him, but Kohl grabbed his arm, stretched it taut, and slammed into it above the elbow to break it.

A sliver of red moonlight flashed on the barrel of Kohl’s gun. He raised it, and with one bone-shattering shot, Mazir fell to the ground before he even had a chance to defend himself. Two swift shots took out the other men. Aina had stopped breathing. Something about Kohl’s kills always stunned her, as if they were an unattainable level of efficiency that would forever mark her his inferior.