Fear exploded through me; I leapt up and ran.

“This way!” Beckett shouted, leading us downhill.

The slope was steep, but I didn’t dare slow down. Branches tore at my petticoats and slashed at my arms. My ankles twisted and jammed on the loose, pitted earth.

“Halt!” The shout was louder—so close.

A pistol fired, the sound thunderous. I stumbled, hit the ground, and went rolling, the world spinning, my cloak and purse flying from my hands. My hip slammed against a rock, stopping me.

Malcolm pounded up. He swept me to my feet. “Are you hurt?”

“No.” Pain roared in my hip. He jogged over to my purse and cloak. I glanced downhill. I didn’t see Beckett anymore. “Malcolm, leave them. We have to keep moving.”

A figure shot from the darkness and rammed into Malcolm. He flew back and crashed into the dirt.

“Who are you?” demanded the man, pinning him. “Are you a spy?”

“No!”

A blade flashed and came to Malcolm’s throat. “Care to change your answer?”

Instinct drove me. I pulled my pocket watch over my head and threw myself on the man’s back. I slammed the hard silver into his ear as I came down. He yelled and rolled away, the knife falling from his hand.

I dove, scrabbling for it in the dirt, and shot to my feet. “Malcolm?”

“Here.” Malcolm came to his feet. In the darkness, all I could see was the muted red of his hair, the whites of his eyes.

“Bitch!” shouted our attacker, a beetle-backed man with a face cratered by scars who stood much closer. He touched his ear and his hand came away dark with blood. “Look what you did!”

I strode up to him. He reeled back, and then froze when I brought the knife to his nose. The rage that flooded through my veins came from somewhere else. It came from years ago. Never. I’d never again stand by as someone I cared about was hurt. “Don’t follow us,” I said. I leaned closer and lowered my voice to a breath. “If we’re caught, I will tell all your men that a girl made you cry out and bleed.” I flicked the tip of the blade, slicing his nostril.

He screamed and grabbed his face, doubling over.

I spun and ran, Malcolm right beside me.

When we were safely back on the river, with Austin and Beckett rowing us home, I finally relaxed my fingers. The knife peeled away from my sweaty fist and dropped into black water, vanishing. Only then did my hands begin to tremble.

I folded them in my lap, like a young lady, and watched the sun lift over the horizon.

Beckett calmly plied the oars. “Once again we have failed to die,” he mused.

“Aye,” Austin replied. “Once again.”