I WENT TO bed, but didn’t sleep. The tequila and the chaos highs had worn off and now, alone with nothing to occupy my brain, my thoughts slid back to the heist. Unlike my adventures on behalf of the council, there was no second wave of chaos bliss to be found in the replay. I thought of how many people we’d scared—blameless people, terrified by us, just for kicks.

I reminded myself it was a job, like my council work. No matter what I thought of the Cabals and their methods, a crisis with the gangs would ripple throughout the supernatural community. Brokering a peaceful deal—or, at the very least, one with minimal bloodshed—was a just cause.

But the guilt came not from participating in the heist, but from enjoying it. No, reveling in it. I thought of that sixteen-year-old girl, what we’d done to the biggest night of her life, and I recalled what I’d thought—that we were, in fact, doing her a favor. I remembered that, and I was disgusted.

In the morning, the guilt wouldn’t be as sharp, the edge dulled by acknowledging that, yes, I’d made a mistake; yes, I wasn’t proud of myself; and yes, I wouldn’t let it happen again. But now, in the dark of night, lying alone in bed, there was nothing to do but think about it.

If I had the apartment to myself, I’d have gotten up—read a book, watched TV, done whatever would distract me until morning. But with Karl in the next room, I wouldn’t even turn on my bedside light to read, desperately wanting him to think I was sleeping soundly, my conscience as free as his would be after a heist. So I lay there, staring at the wall, watching the clock tick through the hours.

I waited until six-thirty, the earliest I reasoned I could pretend to wake up. I showered and dressed, dragging it out past seven before I finally emerged.

Karl was already at the table, reading the Wall Street Journal and drinking coffee from one of the china mugs supplied with the apartment. On the opposite side of the table was a take-out cup of coffee, a bakery box, a newspaper and a pharmacy bag.

He didn’t say a word as I walked in, just slid over a mug and plate from the center of the table, and resumed his reading.

I opened the bag. Inside was a tiny bottle of eyedrops. I looked from it to the extra-large coffee and knew, as silent as I’d been, that I hadn’t tricked him and I’d been a fool to think I could.