Jess didn’t believe it, not instantly. He comprehended, but belief came a second later, as Tariq raised his weapon. Wolfe, without armor, without protection, wouldn’t be as lucky as Jess had been in the same situation—and this was no shock-weapons exercise. Half-strength rounds could maim and kill . . . If Tariq was armed with half-strength at all. Somehow, Jess knew in a flash that he wasn’t.

Tariq had been ordered to kill Wolfe.

Jess felt it in his gut, a conviction so strong he didn’t question where it came from. Tariq, who’d been given orders to fire on his own squad before, might not even know what he was doing was wrong. He might be completely innocent.

He would still be the instrument of a Scholar’s death.

Jess realized he didn’t have enough time to reach Tariq and warn him or spoil his shot. There were no good options.

He raised his weapon, aimed, and fired before Tariq pulled his own trigger.

His squad mate, his friend, collapsed against the wall with his mouth a dark O of surprise, and the weapon slid out of his hands to crash on the cobbles.

Then Tariq sagged down to a sitting position, hunched and breathless from the shot Jess had placed right in the center of his chest, and his face turned a terrible creamy shade just as his eyes fluttered shut. Not dead. Please, God, don’t let him be dead. If the Greek fire was real, maybe all the ammunition was real as well. But he’d put it into armor, not flesh. Jess didn’t see blood, which was one small mercy. I didn’t have a choice. It was either Tariq or Wolfe.

Jess scrambled from his position to Tariq’s side and pressed his fingers to the young man’s neck. He found a pulse, and pulled the young man to the shelter of a doorway before taking a zigzag pattern toward Glain and Wolfe.

Glain had seen the whole thing, and she swung the barrel of her gun toward him as he neared. “Stop!”

“I saved Wolfe’s life, you idiot!” he shouted back, and ignored her to hug the wall beside the Scholar. Jess faced out, blocking Wolfe from any more possible friendly fire from that angle. “This isn’t just an exercise!”

“Really?” Glain snapped. She sounded lightly annoyed, as if someone had taken the last croissant from the tray at breakfast before she could reach it. “I saw what happened. Tariq was aiming straight for Wolfe. Did you kill him?”

“No.”

“Good. Then he can answer questions and get a taste of my boot.” She sounded extraordinarily good-natured about it, which was a little chilling. She cast a lightning-quick look over her shoulder into the darkened interior of the shop and called, “Helva! Is it clear in there?” No answer. She glanced at Jess, then said, “Take him in. Carefully.”

“You’re sure?”

“Whatever’s in there, it’s safer than here. They’re moving to new positions. They’ll have us soon.”

Two of their comrades—not counting Tariq, who might not be part of their squad at all—were down, not moving, and as he scanned the rooftop opposite, Jess realized she was right: the firing from up there had stopped, though they’d thrown another container of Greek fire that was belching gouts of flames and toxic smoke toward the cloudless sky. Distraction, while the attackers gained new firing positions. Inside the shop was safer.