She fought through a mess of bodies and swinging blades that spread numbing haze where they cut. Grapnels arced from Bounty’s deck to the rails of Dream, and Raz’s people scuttled across like evil acrobats: skeletons and leeches, a snakeling corkscrewing along steel cable to wreathe a sentry in the cords of its armored body. Where Blacksuits struck, Varg’s sailors fell; Raz’s people joined the fray, tangling swords with their rib cages, forcing living sailors screaming to the deck. Raz leapt from ship to ship and laid about himself with cutlass and fierce fanged smile, dueling three sailors at once.

On the forecastle, a woman leveled a crossbow at his exposed back.

A year ago, Cat would have been submerged entirely in the Suit, barely conscious, her body a higher power’s puppet. No longer. She was herself enough to seize control.

The Suit said no. She was holding down half the forecastle by herself, pinballing from pirate to pirate; she risked letting them regroup, had to trust Raz to evade the shot, or the sailor to miss.

Cat said yes. She forced divinely wrought muscles to obey her, tore free of the scrum, and vaulted into the sailor’s line of fire. The quarrel crackled through the air, and Cat caught it in her hand.

Her skin burned even through the Suit. Lightning discharge blanked her. She slammed to deck planks, stunned. Saw Raz turn, shocked—then spin back around as a sword raked his side and blood stained his shirt. Cat, struggling to regain her feet, saw one of the sailors she had been fighting sprint toward the gong at the bow, grab its hammer, and strike.

The gong made no sound.

Nor did anything else. Silence covered the deck.

She tried to rise but could not. An enormous weight pressed her down; her Suit strained and surged, and with tremendous effort she forced herself to stand, every movement trembling at the max-rep edge of her enhanced strength. The gong’s silence pealed through her. Raz sunk to one knee. Blacksuits and sailors and skeletons alike lay prone.

The captain’s cabin opened, and a figure of knives and wheels emerged. Clawed feet cut into deck wood, and the lenses within its eyes slipped from point to point of focus. Scalpels unfolded from its fingers, and springs turned wheels within the hollow of its chest.

Golem, Cat thought, though she had never seen a golem like this before—a mouthless work of art, moving delicately despite this weight that pressed upon them all. Maybe it was immune, or so strong it did not feel the pressure. It approached Raz and bent over him. Scalpels clicked into place. Its head turned sideways, considering how best to cut. Internal mechanisms ticked through the artificial quiet, as if she held a watch to her ear. The ships’ lanterns glinted off its blades as they slid, so gently, along Raz’s jaw.