Poppy craned her neck. “What’s actually going on in there?”

Julian’s glance was a warning. “According to Dan, the worst you can imagine. And a lot you’d rather not.”

“You didn’t go in?” I left the rest unsaid. He’d let Daniel go in alone.

He shrugged. “Had to secure the escape route.”

“All show and no go,” said Hannah.

Julian’s chin lifted. “That’s me, ma’am. Just the driver.”

“You drive pretty good, as I recall.” Someone should stand up for him. Likely Daniel had made him stay outside.

He tossed me a smirk and cut his engine. Momentum took us across the intersection as we scanned for sentries or other boats. The noise crested suddenly and a ragged ball of flame flew out of a high-up window. It rose in a bright arc, then stalled and plummeted, sending up a plume of steam as it hit the water.

Had I seen arms and legs, flailing as it fell?

A short way up the block, the row of loading doors loomed out of the gloom, a long mural of faded street tags and shredded paper. One was raised to head-height, a darker rectangle at the near end of the dock. A few battered dinghies were tied up further down. Past them, one bigger, with a small wheelhouse, maybe an old fishing boat. Hard to tell if she was still seaworthy.

No sign of sentries, but no Daniel either.

“Where the fuck is he?” Julian fumed. “He was supposed to wait . . .”

“He was supposed to do a lot of things,” Hannah retorted. “But did he ever? Pull up short so we’re . . .”

“I know. Out of line of sight.” Grumbling, Julian nudged us in sideways against the remains of a bumper strapped to the concrete edge. Truck tires, long past their sell-by date.

“Look!” I pointed to the far end of the open door.

“Quiet!” Hannah steadied the boat against the dock. “I see them. You two, out.”

Poppy and I clambered onto the ragged apron. Poppy’s blade was unsheathed and ready, reflecting the dawn as a dull silver grin.

“Put that away!” I hissed. “You’ll terrify them!”

“And lose seconds on the draw? Forget it.”

I moved toward the two gray lumps huddled against the door frame: bare, bruised feet, scrawny arms and legs wrapped in stained tatters of clothing.

Poppy grabbed my arm. “Could be bait.”

“Thought they didn’t know we were coming . . .”

But Poppy’s hold was insistent. A quiet melody of clicks and whirrs sounded behind me.

“I’ll go in.” Hannah moved past us to stand, back to the wall, by the near edge of the door. She held her spidery apparatus in both hands, at the ready. It was the slim, barbed shaft centered in its stacked arcs that told me, finally, what it was.

Arrows!

I must have tensed. Poppy doubled up her one-handed grip.

I said it aloud.