He lowered his gun, returning his attention to Val. “Declan Myers. I’ve come for those two.” He pointed to her and Lennon.

“So you said. What do you want with them?”

“They’re my people. Doesn’t matter what I want with them.”

“They’re your people?”

“Yes, they’re my people,” Declan said impatiently.

“Are you the new leader of the south?”

Declan hesitated, his eyes on Maisie again. He was clearly trying to work out what she had told them. “Yes.”

“Self-appointed, I take it.”

“I’ve been second-in-command to Lopez for years. I’m just trying to keep things together in his…absence.”

“Mm, sure, very big of you. But, you know, it’s weird—last I heard, the daughter of Isaac Rojas was being groomed to be the next leader of the south. Which is”—Val pointed over her shoulder without turning around—“that young woman right there.”

Lennon looked down at Maisie, but she avoided his gaze.

“First I’ve heard of it,” Declan said.

The lying bastard. Everyone knew she was expected to take over for her father. Declan had just decided to ignore that the past few years and hope it went away. If he acted like the heir, he’d magically become it.

It had worked, Maisie realized with a start. She’d even sort of believed it.

She caught Anna’s eye, gesturing to the backpack at her feet.

Please, she mouthed.

Anna kicked the backpack over to her.

“Well. I guess that conversation I had with Dr. Lopez last week was…wrong?” Val shrugged. Declan’s face turned red. “Anyway, you’re in my territory now, so it doesn’t really matter.”

Declan stared at her. His gun twitched up, just a tiny bit.

Maisie grabbed the guns from the backpack, as discreetly as she could. She slipped one into Lennon’s hand.

“Safety is on,” she whispered. He nodded.

“Don’t test me,” Declan said, his voice low.

A chill ran up Maisie’s spine. She knew that tone. Declan had never used it with her, but she’d heard it directed at other people.

Usually just before he killed them.

Val put a hand behind her back and pointed one finger straight up.

Pop-pop-pop.

Smoke suddenly filled the room, choking her and stinging her eyes. Maisie lowered her gun and stumbled back. Everyone started yelling at once.

Someone crashed into her left arm and she let out a yelp as pain shot through her hand. She squinted at the woman as she rushed past, wearing goggles.

An arm circled her waist. Lennon. She reached into her shirt, pulling out her mask and tying it around her nose and mouth. It wouldn’t do much, but it was better than nothing.

She reached into Lennon’s shirt and pulled his out as well.

“Oh, right.” He coughed, dropping his arm from her waist as he put the mask on.

She turned, squinting in the thinning white smoke. No one was firing—too risky when they couldn’t see—but she heard grunts.

A hand grabbed hers. The bad hand, and she let out a loud curse. They held tighter.