Michal’s mouth found her throat, and she arched into him, closing her eyes like it might shut out the cold in her chest and the itch of so much death. Her fingers clawed into his hair, and his arm tightened around her waist like he might lift her up, carry her to their mattress on the floor, and forget all about running poison for Val. Forget about everything but safety found in skin.

She wanted to let him, and that was the decision-maker, in the end. Lore had to stop using people like fences, like moats, like things to wall herself in with.

Masking it as playful, she pushed Michal away. “Go. Val won’t wait.”

Blue eyes hazy, Michal pulled back. “Will you?”

He asked every day. Neither of them knew if it was a joke. But today, there was something newly apprehensive in his face, as if for the first time he knew the answer was no.

So Lore kissed him again instead of speaking.

He lingered at her lips a moment before stepping back. “I’ll see you at the Northwest Ward, right?” He switched into reciting the plans for the drop-off instead of asking her anything further. Smart man, not to push. “Right at the bell, when the guard is changing. Leave the cart at the old storefront. And you’ll stay with it until it gets picked up from the catacombs’ entrance.”

A tiny shiver slunk over Lore’s skin at the mention of the catacombs. “Shouldn’t take long,” she said, trying to sound reassuring. It wasn’t so bad, the outer branches of the catacombs—outside of the city center, they were little more than tunnels, the dead were all kept under the Citadel—but being close to them still made her feel twitchy.

Lore knew the catacombs. Not just in the sense of someone who remembered the twists and turns of a place—Lore felt them, a part of her, like if you turned her skin inside out, a map would be printed on the wet, bloody underside. And because of that uncanny knowing, she’d be able to tell if someone was coming through them.

Another handy side effect of a dark, strange childhood.

She’d been the watchdog for the crew since she was thirteen, when Mari first found her wandering the streets with blank eyes, and brought her back to Val’s headquarters at the docks. Val, thankfully, didn’t ask why or how Lore had acquired such an odd skill. She just put it to use.

And if Lore stayed with Michal, who was increasingly vocal about his objection to her dangerous position, things could get precarious for him.

She closed her eyes.

A calloused hand on her cheek made them open again. Michal kissed her, sweetly this time, without heat. “Be careful,” he murmured. Then he slipped out.