“Ms. Kevarian has suspicions, but no proof. Mara gave her a few scraps, but without evidence those scraps amount to nothing. And if you planned to tell her about this, you’re a greater danger than I thought.”

“I don’t plan to do anything,” she said.

She took her hand from her pocket, and opened it. Two pieces of paper floated to the ground: a business card, ripped neatly down the middle. Half the name landed facing up. The card’s reverse side was eggshell white, marked only by the embossed logo of Kelethras, Albrecht, and Ao.

*   *   *

They stood on the skin of a goddess. They floated in her blood. They lived in the warp and weft of her.

I know Her, Cat said.

“Of course you do,” Margot replied. “She grew here in silence, for decades, a mind emerging from countless transactions and transfers, as unaware of the human world as you are of the cells in your blood. And then, a few years back, she found within herself a piece of your goddess—a memory of light, of human space, of how it felt to bond with the world and be worshipped. She has her own memories now.” He took from his pocket a piece of paper, which he unfolded into a moon. “I think this belongs to you. Or you belong to it.”

Both.

“Here,” he said. “Tell our foster-mother farewell. We don’t need her anymore. We’re ready to stand on our own. To fly.”

He handed the moon to Cat, who received it with both hands.

“What we need,” he said, turning back to Izza, “is you.”

*   *   *

At first, nothing seemed to happen, and for that brief moment Kai feared she’d miscalculated, that the Craftswoman couldn’t hear or didn’t care.

Jace shook his head. “I’m sorry, Kai.”

But then his smile faltered.

*   *   *

Izza stared up, around, at the immensity of Her. She’d known her small gods, each in their own way, but how could those compare to this undeniable fact, this curvature of space? “What can I do?”

“Teach her,” Margot said. “How to speak. How to be. She can’t make sense of herself—built from too many myths. She tries on masks, and none fit. She needs a storyteller. She needs a prophet. She needs someone to break open the walls of the world. She needs someone to interpret her to herself. She needs a partner.”

“First though,” Izza said, “she needs a thief.”

*   *   *

Stars flickered overhead, and an orange shadow fell across the moon.

Ms. Kevarian stood between Jace and Kai, her expression grim and her suit so black it seemed cut from the inside of an unlit cave. She set her briefcase down. “Good evening.”

“You have no power here,” Jace said. His voice quivered less than Kai expected.