The irony, thought Eli, spreading his arms as the baton drifted over him. Not so much as a beep. Stell reluctantly surrendered his gun. They passed a coat check station, and Eli shrugged out of his jacket and handed it to the clerk, watching the tracking devices drift away. That still left the problem of the collar, but between stepping out of the shower and into the suit, Eli had come up with a plan.

They stepped into the courthouse’s grand atrium, a circular chamber surrounded by pillars and topped by a dome. Eli craned his head, admiring the building. It was a showpiece of classic architecture. High-ceilinged and hollow, equal parts elegant and austere.

Wrought-iron sconces bloomed like metal bouquets on each of the pillars. Broad silver dishes—an echo of the scales in Justice’s hand—sat

atop polished marble tables that seemed to rise straight out of the floor.

A viewing balcony ran along the base of the dome, looking down on the atrium below, and in the atrium’s center, on a marble stand, a bronze statue of Justice herself rose toward the ceiling, nearly two stories tall.

There was no sign of Marcella, not yet, but that didn’t surprise Eli.

She would make an entrance, that much he could predict. Jonathan, he guessed, wouldn’t be far from her side, but June would be impossible to spot, at least until she made a move.

Eli spotted the two EON soldiers, carving their slow security sweeps through the thickening crowd.

The hall echoed with laughter, the light low, the air dancing with champagne flutes and jewelry and bodies clustering close. Bystanders.

Moving pieces. Distractions.

Stell was at his shoulder.

“When the time comes,” said Eli, “will you be able to get the bystanders out?”

“I’ll do my best,” said Stell. “Getting their attention might be difficult.”

Eli scanned the space, thinking. The windows were high and narrow, useless, the crowd thick . . . but that could work in their favor. Panic was contagious. Like dominos, all you had to do was fell the first one.

“I’ll be right back.”

Stell caught his shoulder. “Where are you going?”

“To get you a gun.” Eli nodded at Marcella’s security, all dressed in trim black suits. “Haven’t you noticed? The guests may not be allowed to carry, but her men certainly are.”

Stell didn’t let go.

“At some point,” said Eli calmly, “you have to let out my leash.”

The director stared at him for a long, hard moment, and then his hand finally fell away. Eli turned and slipped through the crowd, trailing one of the security guards as they split off down a hall toward the bathroom. Eli followed him in, watched the guard vanish into a stall, waited for another man at the sink to finish washing up and leave.

Eli slid the bolt in the man’s wake, and approached the stall door.