The girl puffed out her chest and declared that she had virtually killed over eight hundred opponents in something called a battlefield mimicry class. Run by rich people and their magicians, naturally.

Another girl came in like she was running headlong from her fifth-year graduation and into the wide world of bounty hunting. She was fleshy and bright-eyed and still had the use of all her limbs.

So when yet another little runt appeared at the door lugging a pack and ragged burnous that could have been nabbed off a corpse, Nyx didn’t have high hopes. She was so small that Nyx immediately guessed she was Drucian before she pulled off her hood. Drucians weren’t worth her time. They were notoriously frail little fuckers. She didn’t need a frail fucker on this job.

She let Eshe screen her, and went back to her office. A few minutes later, Eshe ducked in and said, “You should probably talk to this one.” He lowered his voice. “Especially if she can shoot with her tail!”

“Drucians don’t have tails,” Nyx said.

“Everybody knows they cut them off to fit in,” Eshe said.

Nyx followed him.

The girl had pulled back her hood to reveal a sharp little Drucian face—tangle of black hair, gray eyes rimmed in yellow, petite features, sandy skin. On the whole, Drucians suffered a lot of asthma and sinus issues, in part, folks said, because of their tiny noses and crowded features. Whatever environment they had evolved to fit, it wasn’t this one.

The top of the Drucian’s head just reached Nyx’s chest. From what Nyx could see of her limbs beneath the too-long trousers and tunic, she was stick-thin. Nyx sometimes suspected that Drucian limbs were shaped a bit like mantids beneath all the clothes, which would explain their funny walk. They were more modest than any Chenjan, though, and she had never seen one naked.

“We’re not recruiting garbage collectors here,” Nyx said to her. Better to let them down quickly.

The girl did not meet Nyx’s eyes. She simply pulled the pack from her shoulder and began unloading it.

“I build my own guns,” the Drucian said, to the floor. Her accent was terrible, but Nyx had spent a lot of time trying to make sense of the way Drucians mangled Nasheenian, so at least she could keep up.

She set a fine piece on the table. “This is a Z1070 scattergun. Originally fired only dead ammo. I adjusted that. It does blister bursts now. Lengthened the barrel. Better range. Adjusted the spin.”

Nyx’s specialty was munitions and mines, but living with gun-loving Anneke had given her a greater appreciation for guns, so she picked it up and examined it.

“You did all this welding work yourself?”