“Finn, I know.” But a small, anxious part of me was reassured to have him say it aloud. I think he heard the relief in my voice; his mouth turned bitter, and he ran his hand over his scalp.

“I screwed up,” he muttered. “Should have told the Commander everything, but if she found out about the Resistance, I thought…” He made a frustrated sound. “I thought I could handle it all myself, as soon as I was released from custody. I was so stupid—I should have at least told Millie about Lariel, but I knew she would react badly. And when the Commander asked me if I knew who was responsible—”

“Finn.” I quickly put up my hand to stall him. “It’s fine. I’ve explained everything to Asan. She’s offered the Resistance protection if they help her track down Lariel.”

“What?” He looked baffled. “That’s why you were gone so long? That’s what you were doing?”

I nodded. “The Commander isn’t so bad. And she’s far more preoccupied with taking down the rogue Councilwomen than chasing after the Resistance.”

Finn shook his head in disbelief.

“You’re a miracle,” he said.

The way he said it, the way he was looking at me—my face warmed. I lowered my gaze.

“I’m not,” I said. “It’s only a chance, nothing is set in stone.”

“But it’s something. The Commander—”

Finn stopped abruptly. His expression clouded.

“What is it?” I asked. “Is something wrong?”

“No. Millie’s back, that’s all.”

I had not heard anything, but a few seconds later, the front door creaked. Finn straightened.

“Don’t make her ask,” I said under my breath.

He grimaced. “Yeah. I’ll talk to her.”

I heard Millie’s feet on the stairs as she took them two at a time. I stood up when she reached the basement. A broad grin was spread over her face.

“Smugglers’ tunnels,” she said triumphantly. “Under the western wall. I know where to go.”

CHAPTER

THIRTY-THREE

Finn led the way through the dark streets. It must have been past midnight, but the city felt alive and tense. Lights burned inside the houses we passed, and the sound of raised voices travelled down the busier thoroughfares. Every now and again, he paused and then quickly changed direction, cutting through narrow alleys and forcing us to double back on ourselves. I wasn’t sure, but I think he might have been able to hear—or perhaps smell—people nearby. The thought unnerved me. There was also something uncanny about the way he moved, a new kind of fluidity or cunning, something fox-like and predatory. He made very little noise.

The Sorsin District lay beyond Major West’s industrial sector. It was filled with squat, crumbling buildings, all packed claustrophobically close and permeated with the smells of old cooking oil and refuse. Unlike the rest of the city, Sorsin came alive at night—we could not pass through it without being seen. Older men lounged around, leaning against low, broken walls; talking, watching. None of them seemed to be doing anything in particular. I grew acutely aware of the fact that, apart from Millie and myself, there were no women on the street.