She could hear shouts, more gunfire, sirens, all moving farther and farther from her. This was wrong. All wrong. The Moderators were driving the Zeds to ground and breaking her promise all in one. Declan Lynch had trusted her. She had trusted Liliana. She’d trusted herself.

The deepest wound was one she didn’t even understand. Bryde’s voice said in her head: You don’t know what you think you know.

Just words. Just words from a Zed. Then why did she want to cry?

Liliana leaned to help her up.

“It will be all right,” she said.

Two of them stood in the rose garden. Farooq-Lane leaned over and replaced Hennessy’s sword in the scabbard. The grass beneath it was a burned ruin. The entire garden was a ruin. These old roses torn up. The gravel path shredded deeply. The fountain tinted an ugly shade with just a bit of someone’s blood.

Everything was worse off than when they’d gotten there.

The Moderators had vanished, chasing after the Zeds, but Farooq-Lane knew it didn’t matter. Bryde would get away. The second her first swing had missed him, he was always going to get away. She’d known that.

“I trusted you,” she said to Liliana.

Liliana gestured for Farooq-Lane to look behind her.

One figure returned quietly to the rose garden.

There was a proud line to the shoulders, to the lifted chin. A coiled power to the walk, which was more like a stalk. The eyes were intense and bright. But the shape of the mouth was at odds with the rest of it. Something about the expression there was miserable. Vulnerable.

Jordan Hennessy.

“You have my sword,” she said, stopping among the ruined thorns of the old roses.

Warily, Farooq-Lane stepped in front of Liliana. She put her hand on the hilt warningly. Her heart was beating fast again; who knew what deadly dreams this Zed might be carrying. “I don’t want to fight. We’re not here for you.”

“I know. I’m here for you.” Hennessy made a big performance of turning her pockets inside out and showing the interior of her leather jacket. Then she held her hands out on either side of her like a reveal. “I’m giving up. This is what it looks like when I give up.”

“How do I know this isn’t a trap?” Farooq-Lane asked.

“Life’s a trap,” Hennessy said in a sort of bleak, funny way.