“And the prison?” Caledonia asked.

“Ah.” Harwell’s eyes widened sympathetically. “About that,” he said, reaching for a sheet of paper and beginning to sketch a crude map of the city. “There are, or were, three. Here, here, and here.”

Sledge had cursed before Harwell placed the third mark. Each of the prisons was separated by a considerable distance. “We can’t do anything until we know which one they’re in,” Sledge nearly growled. “And what if they aren’t all in the same one?”

Caledonia had raised a hand to stop his panic before it infected everyone. “One step at a time.”

They decided that while Sledge should stay aboard to keep an eye on their ship and their crew, Caledonia, Pine, and Triple would venture off ship to investigate each prison. For that, Caledonia needed to do more than pass as a Bullet.

Choosing a name had been easy. There was no name in the world she’d respond to as quickly as that of her mother, Rhona. It was the next part that was proving difficult.

She resisted raising a hand to touch her red braid. “I’ll tuck it under a cap.”

“It’s too recognizable. They’re looking for you, remember?” Pine’s eyes pinned her in place with a hard challenge. She found it impossible to look away. “It would be better if you cut it off.”

She touched the curling ends of her hair, thinking of her mother standing tall and proud at the bow of her ship, red curls rolling behind her in the wind. In her mind, her mother’s hair was a sign of her strength and the last, vibrant connection they shared. She’d never realized how attached she was to her hair until this moment; the thought of cutting it off felt like cutting away a piece of Rhona Styx.

“Or we cover it with grease.” Triple was seated on the floor a few feet away. She’d rolled up the sleeves of her thin cotton shirt, baring a single ropey scar on her left bicep. Not all of them would need to show their scars, just enough to maintain the illusion. “Won’t feel great, but it’ll get the job done, and you’ll get to keep your hair.”

Pine’s mouth twisted. “We’re taking Caledonia Styx—captain of the Mors Navis, wanted by Fiveson Lir and the great sick fish himself, Aric Athair—into a Bullet stronghold where both her ship and her crew have been for several days, and you want to hide her exceedingly recognizable hair with grease?”

“It only has to work for a little while,” Triple answered, sounding less convinced than her words suggested.