My breath caught in my throat. I felt as light as paper.

“Don’t worry,” he said. “I won’t tell.”

But I couldn’t speak.

“I promise,” he said.

When I remained silent, he said, “Me, I want a way up quarter, same as you. A way out. I want what they’ve got.” He nodded at the High-Kith young men, who had purchased several dream vials, pocketing all but one. That vial they uncorked, and stood sniffing at the contents. “Why don’t you ask them about your friend?” he said. “You don’t make such a bad Middling. I just have a savvy eye.”

“How,” I said, “did you know?”

“Next time, pretend like you belong. Lie to yourself until you believe it.”

Could I do that?

“It’s a midnight lie,” he said reassuringly. “High Kith are easier to fool than Middlings, since we mix around the city a lot and see all sorts of people.”

One of the men touched a finger to the contents of a vial and then to his tongue. His eyes widened. Then he schooled his expression back into boredom.

“Go on,” the boy said. “Ask them.”

“I don’t know.”

“Well, do you want to find your friend or not,” he said, and turned, ducking into the crowd of people behind him.

It was true that of anybody in this market, the two High-Kith men were the likeliest to know Sid. The deference that the warden of the jail, a Middling, had shown to her had made it clear that even if she came from a place with no kiths, here she was thought of as High—or at least she could play the part convincingly.

I thought about how I had believed Sid to be a boy simply because of her hair and clothes and that it was dark.

Well, and how she spoke about women.

How she spoke about me.

My cheeks grew hot. The burn on my cheek pulsed with pain.

Maybe, yes, I felt confident enough that the Middling boy was right, that most people don’t think beyond what they believe they know to be true. But it wasn’t confidence that pushed me toward the High-Kith men. It wasn’t daring.

It was the need to escape my own blush.

I ignored it and marched up to them. “Excuse me,” I said.

The one dressed in Elysium crimson dropped the vial he was holding. It smashed at his feet. A violet vapor rose from the shards and twined about his ankles.

“My dream of power,” he said.

“Ours,” his companion said. “You broke it.”

“It broke it.”

“I’m sorry,” I said, “but—”

“It keeps speaking.”

“I’m looking for—”

“Astonishing.”

“Did we drink the dream already? Did I dream that the vial I purchased for one hundred gold god-crowns broke at my very feet?”