That voice. It was like the first burst of dawnlight against the horizon. Warm and bright and commanding.

Not a Bullet. A girl. She was young, he knew that without looking. And if there was a young girl here on this island with him, then there was a ship nearby. Not just any ship, a rogue ship filled with people who had betrayed the Father simply by refusing to serve him.

Ballistic Ennick’s words snapped through his mind: “Don’t come back without something good.” He didn’t want to return with something good. He wanted to return with something unparalleled. Something Tassos could never deny. Something that would bring the Father perfect glory: a ship full of traitors.

“Maybe so.” Lir let his voice bend low. Let it become a soft net awaiting its prey. “At least, if you’re going to kill me, let me see your face?”

When she hesitated again, Lir took the opening. He spun on his knees, careful to keep his hands up. Nonthreatening. Compliant.

“Move again and I’ll shoot!” The girl raised her aim from his chest to his head, but Lir wasn’t looking at the gun.

He was looking at her. Vibrant red curls tumbled around her face like falling petals. Their color rejected the darkness around them as if they burned with their own secret fire. Her eyes were dark, perhaps brown or green, and so deeply rooted he thought he could follow them to the center of the earth. Her skin was unevenly tanned, light beige along the top of her nose, fading to the palest sand in the slope of her cheeks.

“At least if I’m to die, it’ll be at the hands of someone lovely.” The words were out of his mouth before he’d considered them. Impulse instead of strategy, but he marked how her cheeks flushed and her lips fumbled to form her next question.

The more she spoke, the less he feared her. She demanded information about his clip, but her finger hesitated on the trigger. She was the perfect blend of cautious and sympathetic, of fear and hope.

“What’s your name?” she asked, and that was the moment Lir knew he had her.

“What does it matter if you’re going to kill me?”

“It doesn’t,” she responded quickly. Her finger curled around the trigger, but she did not shoot.

Lir offered a resigned smile. “Lir. I’m called Lir. And I expect you’ll be the last to know it.”

“I’m . . . I’m sorry,” she said, again clearly trying to convince herself to shoot.

“Please.” The spike of panic in Lir’s voice was real even if the words were not. “Please, show me the mercy the Father never does. Take me with you. Whatever life you have, it’s got to be better than the one he forces on us. Please, help me.”