I smoothed down my dress. I’d been given a special reprieve from yellow in order to attend the ceremony. Nashira had said it was a mark of goodwill. I knew better. I was going prepared. Tucked under the neckline was the pendant Warden had given me. It had lain untouched for weeks, but it might come in useful tonight. There was a small knife concealed in one of my white ankle boots. I could hardly walk in the things, but the Rephaim wanted us to look strong—not beaten and weak. We were expected to stand tall tonight.

The chamber was silent, lit by a candle. Warden had gone with the other Rephaim to welcome the emissaries. He’d left me a note, propped on the gramophone. I sat at his desk and ran my fingers over the ink.

The time is set. Find me in the Guildhall.

I threw it into the embers of the fire. In the gloom, I wound the gramophone and moved the needle over the record. This would be the last time I ever heard it play. No matter what happened tonight, I would never return to the Founder’s Tower.

Soft, echoing voices filled the chamber. I checked the name of the record. “I’ll Be Home.” Yes, I would. If everything went to plan, I would be home by morning. I’d had enough of seeing the harlies in poverty, and of having to call them “harlies.” I’d had enough of watching Liss eat grease and stale bread because she had nothing else to live on. I’d had enough of the red-jackets and the Emim. I’d had enough of being called 40. I’d had enough of the whole damn place, and everybody in it. I couldn’t last another night.

Paper hissed on the rug. I knelt by the door and picked up the note that had been pushed under it.

Warden’s notes had given me an idea. I’d encouraged Julian to organize a group of couriers, like the one Jax had in the citadel, and keep people in the residences in the loop by sending notes with the amaurotics.

Orpheus did it. All ready.

Lucky

I allowed myself a smile. Felix. I’d made him use a false name for his deliveries. Orpheus was Michael.

It hadn’t been difficult to persuade Duckett to lend us his particular expertise. Having threatened to expose his little drug den to Nashira (“Oh no, please, have a heart for a poor old man!”), Julian and I had forced him to make up a surprise for the red-jackets. Something that would make them slow to react when we acted against the Rephaim. With some foot-dragging, he’d made it (“You’ll never get away with this, you’ll be chopped up like the first lot!”). Powdered purple aster cut with sleeping pills. Perfect.