Kit stared at him; Hoyla stared at him; every mirror, window, knob, and painting seemed to grow eyes and focus them on Berkin Star’s unmoved face. Kit knew her expression was one of furious outrage, but the words had landed against her stomach with the force of a killing blow. Could it be true? Not possible. Could it be true? Could it be true?

Jex had called her there that day after weeks of silence. He was always granted a pass that lasted roughly an hour, and he had told her when to arrive. He had started no argument that would have sent her sooner from the room; he had made no move to keep her when she prepared to leave. He knew her route, he knew her habits, he knew her exit. If he also knew the timing of the bomb …

This was ice in her veins; this was the arctic season of the heart. She could not even ponder these things and continue to exist.

“Officer,” she said, and the winter in her blood chilled her voice to zero. “I will consider that remark unsaid.”

Hoyla Davit clearly realized that they had lost any chance they might have had of wringing admissions from this miscreant. She heaved her big body upright and, with a glance at her partner, jerked him to his feet as well. “All right, hela, I can see you don’t have anything left to tell us. If you remember something, you can find us over at the Complex. Always be glad to hear from you—if your concussion clears up, you know, and something else occurs to you. Thanks for your time.”

Kit did not even rise to see them to the door. She heard the servant Catie approach them in the hallway, heard the murmur of their voices fading as they descended the stairwell. She merely sat where they had left her, a statue of ice, afraid for Jex, afraid for herself.

*   *   *

When Sereva returned that night, she found Kit packing. “Kitrini! What are you—? Sit down right this minute! What do you think you’re doing?”

“Leaving. I don’t know that it will be any better at Granmama’s. Maybe I should get an apartment in the city. If anyone will rent to me.”

Sereva pulled at her shoulder, pushed her away from the bed where her piles of clothing lay. “Sit down! Talk to me! What in the world’s wrong with you?”

Kit hobbled back to the chair she had occupied during the police interrogation. “I had a visit today from two officers of the law. Asking about the explosions. Asking about where I’d been earlier that day. Asking me if I knew anything about the bombs—if they were in fact bombs, which so far has not been established.”

Sereva sank to the couch facing her, her expression troubled. “But—what could you possibly know?”