“Left here,” says Hail, and they flip us around the corner. A right, another left, and we’re standing on a monorail platform. A chill wind whips at us, and headlamps dawn in the distance. “Just on time.”

The train pulls alongside, hunkers down long enough for Hail and Folau to shuttle me in through one of its doors and into a seat. Salt rocks the car under his weight, eclipsing the lights above me.

They pull a silver blanket from a shell’s emergency kit.

“Here.”

I don’t realise how cold I am until Hail and Salt pull it across my shoulders. They sit down on either side of me, adding a little warmth, and bracing me against the sudden well of acceleration. Folau drops down across from us, slumping down in the seat and grinning like an idiot.

Someone else is already sitting, two seats up. I don’t have enough in me to do much more than stare. He raises an eyebrow at me and tips his head.

“Hello, Rook.”

I stare at him, trying to figure out where I’ve heard that voice before.

“Remember me?” says Andrade.

Seventeen

SEVENTEEN

I’VE NEVER MET a Werewolf before. Not that I’d have known it.

The first time I met him, Andrade didn’t seem to be anything more than he was putting on. He had the look of every tired sergeant I’ve ever met, and the crew around him gave no sign that he was out of place. He had the body language just right, measured out exactly the right amount of sarcasm when his nuggets started acting up.

He was using decontam for cover, and I see that now. The Juno and I had come back from a sortie on alien soil, covered ourselves in the stuff, and gone toe-to-toe with abnormal opposition. By rolling in with the cleanup crew, acting as if he was just another part of the process, he got an eye on me before they washed us off, and a moment to check if I knew anything more than what we’d called in to Tower. It’s the sort of thing Werewolves are supposed to do; making sure that secrets are kept, and watching out for anything that might hurt the company’s interests. In NorCol space, that means hunting moles and plugging leaks; out here, it could mean anything.

There was a Sigurd distress beacon two blocks over, and a jockey dead with only a garbled explanation. Of course there was a Werewolf checking in.