“No,” said Miranda, knowing which version of the story Fae had heard. “It’s not that the assimilation program failed. The children did change. But the City never changes. When they grew up and their special status expired, most of them left for other places rather than remain permanently foreign in a city of Freeman privilege.”

“Some even went back to war,” said Fae with a small, twisted smile. “We used that to mock the City. Even war is preferable to City life.”

“Don’t tell me you envied me for living here,” Miranda said, eyebrows raised.

“Maybe, a bit. Not so much now I’m here. It’s like balancing on a fast-turning barrel, isn’t it? No one stops to help you if you slip; you just get run over. No, I wouldn’t want to live here for long.”

Miranda shifted uncomfortably again, but before she could respond, she saw the housekeeper approaching. “Yes, Madam Emlin?”

“Mr. Lucknor is here with a guest,” Emlin warned her in a low voice, reaching out to quickly tidy Miranda’s files and papers into neat stacks.

Miranda eyed the housekeeper’s slender, busy hands with distress, but she said nothing. At the end of the day, they were both Khabir’s employees, and Emlin was tasked with catering to her needs, not her whims. “Very well,” she said. She shifted again, smoothed her hands wearily over her face, and straightened the blanket over her legs. Most of her friends had visited by now, so perhaps this was to do with the case. She looked up as Khabir and another man entered the atrium.

She was right, in a way. It was Professor Malveaux. For a moment she could not speak. She stared. She knew his face only by distant acquaintance, one among many in the crowd of a courtroom audience. Before she had anything resembling a clear thought, the blood was draining dizzily from her head.

“Dr. Ecouvo. I’m . . . I . . . thank you for seeing me.”

She snapped out of it. “Of course. Sit down. Please, don’t distress yourself. I—I don’t remember a thing.”

“But . . . but I do. You see . . . I was traveling on that bus. Sitting near the front . . .” He trailed off into a painful silence.

My God, she thought, astonished. What can I possibly say to that? She had a sudden image of herself, sprawled in the road without dignity, lying in a pool of blood and heaven knows what else while bystanders gawked and pointed. That was the image he remembered. She could not speak.

He looked at her for a moment in dismay and concern, then fumbled his way to a chair, giving a distracted, almost apologetic nod to Fae. Khabir gave the scene a quick glance and headed straight to the drinks trolley.

Fae jumped in. “I understand you knew Grey, Professor. Did you meet at the shelter?”