Faolan’s claws whished out of her glove.

Orfeus shifted her knife, but she didn’t have time to turn it on, or any need to. “We are the Order of the Vengeful Wild,” Faolan said, and with just that, she took a step and drove her sharplight claws through the man’s throat, then yanked them back. He gave a choked splutter as blood sprayed, and she slashed his throat sidelong, then kicked him back.

Faol killed like other people danced, quickly and with joy.

Weingart sprawled over the bed, eyes wide, blood spurting. His hand reached out, grabbling, and as he fell he managed to clamp his hand over a button. Then he hit the ground, and laid still.

Faol stooped down, frowning at the bloodstained button. Orfeus took a step back.

Whirring past her went a service robot, blinking red-eyed, and it plunged a blade into the back of Faol’s thigh.

Faolan cursed and, turning, kicked it hard. It whirred back with a screech of metal. Orfeus came to her senses and strode forward, ducking down to its level and flicking the switch on its side. The red eyes dimmed out.

No need to kill something blameless. No need to kill…

Orfeus straightened, wiping her clean hands on her sides. Faolan squinted at her. “I said watch my back,” he said tersely. His voice was strained with pain.

“I was too busy watching you murder,” Orfeus said.

Faolan clamped his hand over his injury. She looked at the dead man as though a little surprised, looked at the robot, the blood, then at Orfeus. “You’re new,” he said tiredly.

The Wolf limped out, and Orfeus followed her. Where else was there to go? The blood was soaking into the carpet. The robot they passed in the hallway was silent in its docking station, so she wondered who would clean it up.

Her rational mind kicked in as they descended the stairs: it wasn’t meant to be cleaned up. Weingart was meant to be an example, another horror story of the Vengeful Wild to keep people behaving. And he had done a bad thing, maybe. “What was the proof?” Orfeus said suddenly. Maybe it would help.

“Proof is unreliable,” Faolan said. He kicked the door open. “We just have prey.”

“That’s so much better,” Orfeus snapped, at the empty doorway, as he walked out. She shouldn’t bait a killer, but it wasn’t like he’d killed her yet. Not her, though he’d tried. Seeing how easily the Wolf killed someone made her remember hands gripping her neck, and how close she had come. It felt like stepping into ice water.

Orfeus shook her head, walking outside. She tipped her head back in the sunlight.

“Orfeus,” Faolan said eventually. She might have stood there a while.

Orfeus held up a hand, not looking at him. There was blood all over. She didn’t want to look at him. “Wait.”