“Why?” Becca said eventually. A couple of other Leatherbacks were looking in their direction. Some of them had the same belligerent expression Becca did, but others looked more guilty than angry.

Winter raised her hands. “I want to talk to her, that’s all.”

There was another long, dangerous moment. Finally, Becca shrugged and gestured toward the stairs with her knife. “Up there.”

“Thank you,” Winter said. She slipped across the room, through the slowly rousing Leatherbacks, and made her way to the second floor.

Most of the private rooms there had their doors closed, and Winter dreaded the prospect of having to knock on each to find Jane. The rooms she could see were occupied by more Leatherbacks, in various stages of inebriation or consciousness. She found Winn, a tall, skinny woman who was another of Jane’s lieutenants, naked and sleeping on a tabletop, curled around a similarly unclothed Deslandai boy with dark hair and a peach-fuzz beard. Another young man, wearing only a shirt, snored in the corner. Winter pulled the door closed, gently, and shook her head.

“Aha!” A door at the end of the hall opened, and there was Jane, leaning against the doorframe. An unmarked bottle of something green dangled from her fingers. The sight of her familiar, cocky smile made Winter’s heart jump. “I thought I heard someone. Finally decided to pay us a visit?”

“I need to talk to you.” Winter looked around at the other rooms, where Jane’s voice had started a few Leatherbacks stirring. “Alone.”

“Well, then. Come into my parlor.” Jane stepped back and swept her arm out. Her room had a circular table and two semicircular benches, with a window that overlooked the alley outside. “I’m sure I can find a bottle for you.”

“I don’t need a bottle,” Winter muttered, pushing past Jane. “And neither do you.”

Jane nudged the door shut with her hip. “No?” She looked down at the green stuff and frowned. “I suppose not. I’m not even sure what the fuck this is, to be honest.”

There were several other bottles on the table, and more on the floor, most of them empty. Winter carefully stepped through them to the window and glanced outside, then turned around and took a deep breath. “Jane—”

The kiss caught her by surprise. Jane was on top of her, arms thrown around her shoulders, lips rough against her. Winter retreated a step, and Jane leaned forward, pressing her against the wall beside the window. Her mouth tasted of alcohol, and faintly of vomit, and her lips were cracked and dry. Winter hesitated, long enough for Jane to press her body close, her breasts tight against Winter’s uniform and one knee tangling between Winter’s legs.

“Stop.” Winter grabbed her by the shoulders and shoved her away. “Jane, stop!”