The Red Watch forms a police force of sorts, upholding what Red justice they can, protecting and enforcing laws Silver Security won’t bother with. They settle Red disputes and crimes committed against our own, to prevent any more abuse by merciless, Silver-blooded hands. Their work is acknowledged, tolerated even by the officers of the city, and for this reason, I will not go to them. Noble as their cause might be, they run too close to Silvers for my taste.

But the Seaskulls, a glorified gang, make me just as wary. They are violent by all accounts, a trait I would normally admire. Their business is blood, and they have the feel of a rabid dog. Vicious, relentless, and stupid, their members are often executed and quickly replaced. They maintain control of their sector of the city through murder and blackmail, and often find themselves at odds with their rival operation, the Mariners.

Who I must assess for myself.

“You’re Lamb, I presume.”

I turn on my heel, away from the horizon stretching in all directions.

The man I assume to be Egan leans against the opposite windows, either unaware or unafraid of the fact that nothing but aged glass stands between him and a long fall. Like me, he’s putting on a charade, showing the cards he wants while hiding the rest.

I came here with only Tristan to present a certain image. Egan, flanked by Melody and a troop of Mariners, elects to show his strength. To impress me. Good.

He crosses his arms, displaying two muscled and scarred forearms marked with twin anchor tattoos. I’m reminded of the Colonel, though they look nothing alike. Egan is short, squat, barrel-chested, with sun-damaged skin and long, salt-worn hair in a tangled plait. I don’t doubt he’s spent half his life on a boat.

“Or at least, that’s whatever code name you’ve been saddled with,” Egan continues, grinning. He’s missing a good amount of teeth. “Am I right?”

I shrug, noncommittal. “Does my name matter?”

“Not at all. Only your intentions. And those are?”

Matching his grin, I cross to the center of the room, careful to avoid the sunken circle where the lighthouse lantern used to live. “I believe you know that already.” My orders stated contact was made, but not to what extent. A necessary omission, to make sure outsiders cannot use our correspondence against us.

“Yes, well, I know well enough the goals and tactics of your people, but I’m talking to you. What are you here for?”

Your people. The words twinge, tugging at my brain. I’ll decipher them later. I wish very much for a fistfight, instead of this nauseating game of back-and-forth. I’d rather a black eye than a puzzle.

“My goal is to establish open lines of communication. You’re a smuggling operation, and having friends across the border is beneficial to us both.” With another winning smile, I run my fingers through my braided hair. “I’m just a messenger, sir.”

“Oh, I don’t think I’d ever call a captain of the Scarlet Guard just a messenger.”