“Do you know what you’re like?”

His voice is rich and warm.

“You’re like me.”

He leans back and sees the disbelief on my face. He smiles.

“Who else but you and I would have spent every day of the last two years thinking about Ettie? Who else has spent every waking hour planning how to get her back? We’re the same.

“I’m going to break her,” he continues. “Not because I want to, not anymore. She’s a pretty thing, like other pretty things. But I will break her for you, because I want to see you become a terrible, lawless, honorless thing. I want to see you shatter and twist. I want to see you become like me.”

He lifts my chin so that I’m staring into his eyes.

“Today you will be reborn. Born in blood, in pain, in rage.” His breath is warm on my cheek as he murmurs, “After all, you killed your own Guild Father. You’re halfway there. You’re just a little monster who hasn’t grown into her claws yet.”

There’s the slightest hint of movement behind the Tiger. He’s forgotten about Ettie because she is just a weak, pretty thing to him.

Foolish.

I taught her to escape bonds years ago, and now she’s on her feet behind him and Thénardier, walking with a sure, silent step. In her hand is the dagger I gave to her. She has kept it sharp all this time.

The Tiger’s face is alight with smiles as he continues. “I told you, little kitten, we’re the same. You’re just like me.”

“She is nothing like you.” Ettie’s voice is heavy with hatred.

The Tiger turns, but it’s too late; with every ounce of her strength, Ettie drives the wicked blade right through his smiling cheek.

His screams are horrifying. He falls backward, flailing, blood spattering everywhere. Ettie tries to get to me, but Thénardier, eyes wide with shock, has his gun trained on her now. I jump at Thénardier’s back, but my leg is damaged, and he’s a man of great instincts. He throws me across the room, and I land facedown.

Deafened by the Tiger’s screams, I try to raise myself up on my good arm, but I’m slow and dizzy from the pain.

It’s amazing, the strange details you notice when danger is upon you. My eyes take in the wood grain of the floor that shows between the Ottoman rugs. I see the bootlaces of the Sister hiding in the shadows in front of me, the worn blue silk of her dress, how it’s faded in patches and stitched unevenly along the hem. I frown, focusing on the lines of that thread.

I know those stitches, I think with a shock.

I look at her face and my heart seizes.

Azelma.

My sister.

Of course she’s here. Of course the Tiger brought her to mock me.

Her hair is plastered to her face, and she clutches a syringe in her hands. But her eyes … She’s looking at me. Focusing on my face.