“Oran,” Tassos repeated, his voice softening, a clear prelude to an attack, like a snake coiling before a strike. “Lir. Don’t you know they’re the same?”

Oran made no move to speak or defend himself. He stood at Caledonia’s side, his eyes locked on Tassos.

“Were,” Caledonia said, stepping forward and forcing Tassos to release his painful grip on her hand. “They were the same. But he’s no longer a Fiveson.”

Tassos stepped back with a predatory smile. “There are no Fivesons any longer,” he said, directing his words to Oran. “But we both know you’ll always be the Steelhand.”

“He’s my Steelhand now.” Caledonia spoke loudly. “And you can bring your business to me.”

The smile fell from Tassos’s face. In an instant he’d gone from reckless brute to something much colder. His eyes were a dark, muddy brown and they landed on Caledonia like a punch to the chest. He regarded her, tilting his head slightly as if deciding whether or not she was worth even this much of his time. Then the corner of his lips hinted at a smile and he nodded at Cepheus.

Cepheus handed him something that looked like a glove, or, rather, that looked like two gloves missing the thumbs and joined at the fingertips. It glinted in the sunlight, articulated joints clinking softly together as Tassos draped it across his palm. He returned his gaze to Oran and this time his lips slashed across his face in a cutting half grin.

The muscles in Oran’s jaw tightened and his brows crashed together. He knew what this device was, and he wasn’t happy to see it.

“This is the price of my goodwill,” Tassos said, voice hooked and cruel.

“And how do we benefit from your goodwill?” Oran asked.

Tassos shrugged. “A conversation. Isn’t that what you’ve come for?”

“What is that?” Caledonia asked.

Cepheus laughed, the sound lonely and rancorous.

“The steel hand,” Oran said after a moment. It took Caledonia a second to understand that he wasn’t referring to himself but the device. “One of my first designs. Once you put it on, there are only two ways to remove it.”

“The right way and the wrong way,” Cepheus said with another laugh.

Oran’s only response was the flexing of muscles in his jaw.

“Oran,” Caledonia said, waiting for an explanation and doing her best not to fear it at the same time.

“You either let it cinch all the way, breaking one or more of your bones before it releases, or you pull and the blades inside strip the skin from your fingers.” Oran spoke in a dull voice.

Caledonia rounded on Tassos, anger making her brazen. “No. I won’t allow it. You talk to me or you don’t, but torturing Oran isn’t part of the deal.”