It came in the morning, carried by Shan from the charity bank, who stood on the front porch and would not even step into the hallway when Catie dubiously invited her in. Kit limped down the stairs, clinging to the bannister, because this was not an event she had expected any more than Catie had: a guldwoman calling at an indigo door.

“Yes, Shan, what is it?” Kit said, hopping out onto the porch. “What’s happened?”

Shan glanced at her and looked back down at her feet as if even Kit’s common face was too glorious to look at in this setting. She was dressed in the usual gray drab of the ghetto women, but her long curly hair was held back with a red ribbon that gave her a somewhat festive air. “While the indigo lady is not with us, news comes sometimes, and letters,” Shan replied in a low, almost inaudible murmur.

“You have news? What’s happened?”

“And perhaps it is not the place of the gulden to track through the property of the indigo. But perhaps the letters are urgent.”

“Wait—you’ve gotten letters for me? At the charity bank?”

Shan nodded. “Three of them. It is hard to know what might be important.”

“Did you bring the letters with you? May I have them?”

Shan handed them over, three slim folded sheafs of paper. Kit felt her heart swell up to fill her entire rib cage. Messages from Jex. “When did these arrive?” she whispered.

“The days are hard to tell apart,” Shan replied. “But this morning I saw one of the letters in Del’s hand.”

The Centrifuge had been damaged six days ago; two of these could have lain unopened at the charity bank all this time. If Jex had written to inquire about her safety, he must be mad with worry by now.

“Thank you for bringing them to me,” Kit said, keeping her voice gentle. She knew Del well enough to guess that the older woman would have let the letters lie there till the city burned around her. Shan must have lobbied heavily for the right to do this task. “How can I show my appreciation? Will you allow me to send you back in a limousine?”

“Feet serve me well,” Shan said, turning to go without any more conversation. “No thanks required.”

“Shan—” Kit called after her, but the guldwoman was already on her way, walking through the strange, fabulous neighborhood with her head down to avoid catching a glimpse of seductive marvels. Kit watched her a moment in silence, then slumped down to the porch and ripped open the envelopes, one by one.

By chance, she read the most recent one first. “I have an hour’s visitation today at three. Come if you are well enough. If not, write. I must know you are well.” Which sounded anxious but hardly frantic.