“Patience, Alsafi. Let her be angry.” Nashira raised a hand. “After all, she was angry on the train.”

My ears were ringing. Two faces burst out from my memory. Two bodies on the carriage floor. One dead, one insane. My victims. My kills.

That was my test. To earn my new colors, I had to kill an amaurotic.

I had to kill Seb.

Nashira must have guessed what I was. She had guessed that my spirit was capable of leaving its natural place in my body. That I was capable of swift, bloodless murder. She wanted to see it happen. She wanted me to dance. She wanted to know if this was a gift worth stealing.

“No,” I said.

Nashira was very still.

“No?” When I was silent, she continued: “Refusal is not an option. You will obey, or we will be forced to dispose of you. No doubt the Grand Inquisitor would be pleased to correct your insolence.”

“Kill me, then,” I said. “Why wait?”

The thirteen judges said nothing. Nor did Nashira. She just looked at me, into me. Trying to work out if I was bluffing.

Alsafi didn’t beat about the bush. He grabbed my wrist and dragged me toward the chair. I kicked and struggled. He wrapped a muscled arm around my neck. “Do it,” he snarled against my ear, “or I will crush your ribs and drown you in your own blood.” He shook me so hard my vision wobbled. “Kill the boy. Do it now.”

“No,” I said.

“Obey.”

“No.”

Alsafi squeezed harder. I dug my nails into his sleeve. My fingers scraped down his side—and found the knife at his belt. A paper knife, for cutting envelopes, but it would do. One stab was all it took to make him drop me. I staggered into a pew, the knife still in my hand.

“Stay away,” I warned.

Nashira laughed. The judges echoed her. To them, after all, I was just another breed of performer. Another flimsy human with a head full of confetti and fireworks.

But Warden didn’t laugh. His gaze was soldered to my face. I thrust the point of the knife at him.

Nashira walked toward me. “Impressive,” she remarked. “I like you, XX-40. You have spirit.”

My hand shook.

Alsafi glanced at the cut on his arm. Luminous fluid seeped from his skin. When I looked down at the knife, I saw the same stuff coated all over the blade.

Seb was crying. I tightened my grip on the blade, but my hands were clammy. I couldn’t use a paper knife against all these Rephaim. I could barely use irons, let alone throw a knife with precision.

Save the five angels around Nashira, there were no spirits to make a spool. I would have to get much closer to cut Seb loose. After that, I would have to work out how to get us both out of here alive.