“Not here,” he replied.

“Will he be, later?”

Lucian shrugged.

“What does that mean?”

He shrugged again. “I don’t keep track of him.”

“I just want to know if he’s scheduled to perform tonight.”

“No.”

“Thank you.” I gestured appreciation with a slack, careless twist of my wrist. “I’ll look elsewhere, then.”

“What’s your interest in him anyway, Sister?”

After everything that had happened, I felt worn thin as paper. I did not have the strength for an argument, I did not even want to talk to Lucian—especially since he was likely the person who had punched Finn. Judging by his lip, at least Finn seemed to have returned the favour.

“If he turns up, tell him I was here,” I said.

Lucian smirked. “Anything else?”

“No.” I turned from him.

A street away, I stopped and rested against the wall. Stupid, for me to let someone like Lucian get under my skin so easily; that wasn’t like me at all. I should go home before I did anything I’d regret in the morning. No doubt Finn was fine, and what did it matter if he was angry with me? I had told him to leave me alone. Maybe now he would.

I sighed. On the other hand, it wasn’t that far to Answorth Road. Maybe he was at home. I had never been inside his tenement flat—that would have been crossing a dangerous boundary—but I knew where it was. I could just knock, see if he was all right, and then leave.

The walk took a little longer than I expected, and when I arrived, it was properly dark. The air smelled of cooking oil and smoke. People walked with their heads down.

I looked up at the tenement, a three-storey building with dirty windows and laundry hanging from the rails of the balconies. A few people lounged around outside, playing dice and laughing. I folded my arms across my chest. What was I going to say to him anyway? This was foolish.

I climbed the stairs. Two kids almost knocked me over as they raced past. A woman brandishing a ladle pursued them. Finn lived at 12B on the second floor; these were the stairs he used every day. Did he like it here? He complained about the place all the time, but that was probably just a front—when anything was genuinely wrong, Finn clammed up and said nothing. Neighbours chatted in the corridors. Did he enjoy the sense of community, or did he find it claustrophobic? It was not so different from the dormitories, really, only warmer and less clean.

I stopped outside 12B. I hesitated, then shook my head and knocked. When no one answered, I knocked again, louder.

“He’s not back yet.” A man wearing a felt cap poked his head out of the door of the neighbouring flat.

“Sorry to disturb you.”

“No worries. You are?”

“Elfreda. Finn’s a friend of mine.” I turned my wrist to conceal my Sisterhood tattoo. “Do you have any idea where he might be?”