Perhaps there is no mang at all. Maybe the Rat Burglar just happens to want the MacGuffins that I happen to be pulsing. It’s possible—isn’t it?—that the reason I scored second on the comps is just because I performed poorly.

But if there is no mang, how does the Rat Burglar always know what tox to use?

And what the hell was the K’plua doing in Schermer’s apartment?

It doesn’t scan. None of it does.

I upend the container over my mouth and suck down the rest of the death caps. Sure enough, it doesn’t hurt enough to make much of a difference. The inextinguishable force of habit makes me reach down to pet Pinkerton, and when my hand comes up empty my heart nosedives so hard I almost hit the floor.

Of course. Pink isn’t here anymore. Neither is Charlie. It’s just me, the Nakamura sword, the gun, and the specter of death.

With the button in one hand and the gun clasped firmly in the other, I train my sights on the room in front of me and fight myself calm. I make myself mindful of respiration, heart rate, even the salinity of my eyes, pushing my awareness down into that deep, doughy, ultrafocused ataraxia of mine. This is a one-week hold, and I need to be prepared for the long haul. It could be hours or days before he appears. It could be the last minute of the last day. It could be never.

But it isn’t.

The Rat Burglar doesn’t drill up through the floor. The power doesn’t suddenly cut off. A rope doesn’t descend mysteriously from the ceiling. No mechanized puck slides into the room and releases toxins into the air. He doesn’t appear from within the panels of the podium supporting the Nakamura sword. It isn’t the air shaft again. It’s much worse.

He just opens the door and walks right in.

The entrance is just his style—audacious, unexpected—but this time something is different. His posture isn’t arrogant. His movements are halting and tentative, his steps ponderous and reverie-slow. He doesn’t scan the room and, consequently, does not detect the gun trained on him. He cannot take his eyes off of the mannequin—I’ve seen the same spellbound stasis in people viewing holy artifacts at the Museo Sacro—and when he reaches for the dart gun in its holster, he misses it twice before finding the grip.

I click the button. Now I have ninety seconds to shoot him.