She glanced at the man with the shackles as she worked her fingers inside her gloves. Zeke had assured her his defense against holy water would work, but now, standing here with no way out, she was terrified. Even though she had committed no crime, she understood her very existence was crime enough to the Elect. The Fallen were the embodiment of disobedience to God’s will, to a well-ordered and God-fearing society. They were a reminder of everything that could not be controlled, and the fact that they had talents and abilities the Elect did not, not just in spotting the mining lode but in beauty and art and myriad other ways, only drove the hate deeper. She did not doubt this Virtue would delight in being her judge, jury, and executioner.

But Celeste had come this far, so with a steady tug, her eyes not leaving the Virtue’s, she pulled the glove from her left hand.

She dipped her fingers into the water.

The Virtue’s eyes watched, almost hungry. When nothing happened, he grunted in what sounded like disappointment.

She did her best to keep her face straight but could not help the small sigh of relief that tripped from her lips. She withdrew her hand, carefully shook the water from her fingers, and slipped her hand back into her glove, hoping the Virtue did not see how badly it shook.

The second Virtue stepped forward. He uncurled his fingers. On his palm sat a small mechanical cicada. It was beautiful, its wings like delicate lace, its eyes chips of gold divinity.

“Place it on your tongue,” the first Virtue commanded.

“That won’t be necessary,” a masculine voice called from farther down the hall. “Let her pass.”

The man holding the cicada paused, clearly contemplating whether he must obey the order. She could not see his face, but she knew something dark stirred in his heart. His eyes behind the mask lingered on her lips, and she slapped a hand over her mouth, taking a step back.

The voice came again, this time more urgent. “I said, let her pass!”

Resentment rippled between the Virtues, but all three stepped aside. Before her, down a short hallway, was yet another door. It stood ajar, and the voice that had saved her from the mechanical insect had come from within.

“Come, Miss. Please. They won’t harm you.”

“They wish to!” she shouted.

The first Virtue, the one who had threatened her with “rehabilitation,” shifted on his feet, and she knew it to be true.

“But they won’t,” the voice said. “I have commanded it, and to disobey me is to disobey the law of heaven.”

Now they retreated in truth, unwilling to cross the man behind that door.

She made herself move.

Something brushed against her scalp, and she glanced back to see one of the Virtues from the Order of Michael pulling his hand back. Had he touched her hair?