Osan recovered first. He dragged me toward the stairs, past the stunned Acolytes, and down to the street. I did not resist. My mind was paralysed; I stumbled after him as the clamour grew ever louder.

Finn was still alive. And that could only mean one thing.

CHAPTER

TWENTY-EIGHT

The loft was clean and dim. A small window set into the roof admitted a shaft of pale afternoon sunshine; outside, the sky was uniformly white. Storm weather, humid and close. A thin layer of cloud stretched from horizon to horizon, softening the contrast between brightness and shadows.

On one side of the loft was a narrow staircase, leading to a concealed entrance on the first floor of the Major East house. On the other side was an old mattress, a bookcase, and a small couch where Osan and I sat. He watched birds through the window. I threaded a needle with gut twine.

“Did you sleep with him?” he asked.

A bowl of water stood on the floorboards next to me, murky with blood. Beside it was a cheap bottle of brandy.

“No,” I said. “Of course not.”

Osan glanced at me over his shoulder. “Everyone will believe that you did.”

“I can’t blame them. I would have assumed the same thing in their position.”

Some of Osan’s stitches had torn and the skin surrounding the wound looked bruised and ugly, but it could have been worse. Much worse. This was only a setback in his recovery; before our mad rush to reach the execution grounds, the wound had been almost healed. I peered closer, straining to see in the low light.

“Could there have been another Sister he was interested in?”

“You mean, could Finn have had sex with another Sister?”

“I was trying to be sensitive.”

I pressed the needle through Osan’s skin. He held still, although I noticed his fist clench. I swallowed. I wasn’t squeamish; I just knew that I was hurting him.

“Finn might have slept around,” I said. “It’s possible. I just struggle to imagine him being that stupid.”

Unless he didn’t realise she was a Sister. Or if he wasn’t given a choice. I pulled the twine through and stuck the needle into Osan’s skin again. My fingers were slippery with blood.

“So you didn’t know of anyone else?” asked Osan through gritted teeth.

“No. I assume he contracted it from the air, from being close to me. We grew up together; he was always at a much greater risk. And if I’m a Renewer, well, that probably pushed up the odds. More lace. More of a chance of making him sick.”

“You know, I always thought ‘airborne infection’ was a Sisterhood euphemism.”

“It still happens, very rarely.” But maybe that was just what I wanted to believe.

He hissed as I drew the twine tight again.

“Sorry,” I murmured. “Almost done.”

“At least you’re more sympathetic than the Commander,” he said, strained. “For the record, I don’t recommend being shot.”