“Ettie—” I try, but she shakes my hand off and steps away from me.

“You’re a liar.” The tears run down her face. “You’re like Maman. She said she would come back, and she didn’t. She left me here, with you.” All of Ettie’s fear and anger spills from her. “And now you’re leaving me.”

“I’ll be back, I swear.” It’s a promise I can’t keep.

Ettie won’t take my hand. She won’t even look at me. She steps back among the gray shadows of the Ghosts, but I can see her expression. Right now, she hates me.

Hatred is all right. It means she’s still alive.

I walk alone down the cold street, away from the Ghosts, who watch me go; away from Ettie, who doesn’t.

I go to face what’s waiting for me.

You have to be brave, Azelma said.

I square my shoulders and pretend I’m not afraid.

Minutes later, shadows blur before me.

“What do you want?” I ask, trying to calm my voice.

Montparnasse cocks his head, and I suppress the desire to shiver.

It’s strange to think that a few days ago I’d have been afraid of him. I now feel nothing but a dull-edged anticipation. It’s easier to face what’s coming if you don’t think about it. I’ve had a lifetime of not thinking about it.

“You’ve done a service to the Dealers of Death tonight. Lady Corday is”—he fishes for the right word—“happy.”

It sounds foreign on his tongue. I have problems imagining Corday expressing any emotion, especially happiness.

“I thought you might need this.” He offers me the handle of a dagger—his dagger. The one he’s always playing with in a suggestively threatening manner. One of the ivory-handled daggers that Assassins carry with them until their deaths. I’ve never heard of an Assassin offering his dagger to another.

I’m amazed, recognizing the honor of this gift.

“I have several more, and you, it seems, have enemies.”

I take the dagger. It’s light. The blade is keen and wicked-looking. The ivory handle is wrought with skulls and filigree.

But it won’t protect me, not from this.

He looks at me; his eyes search my face for some sign. For a wild moment I consider asking him to stay with me. Does he know what’s about to happen?

He knows, or he’d not have given me the dagger.

But he can’t get involved; he’s an Assassin and I’m a Thief, and he’s not allowed to interfere. So he’s giving me a weapon to defend myself.

“Thank you,” I say.

Because I don’t know what else to do, I keep walking. Leaving him behind.

I think of the dagger inlaid in ivory. I think of Ettie.

The sun is rising ahead of me. The first light is breaking. We the Wretched are creatures of the night. And this night is ending. I raise my head and whistle the Morning Song.

Another voice joins mine.

“Making new friends?” Femi appears beside me. “As if your current ones weren’t problematic enough.”