It all crumbled. The man in my grip was thirty or so. He had a nice haircut, if a bit young for his age, an earring in one ear, a coat, a gray shirt, and black slacks. If he was wearing anything but that gray shirt past the coat, I couldn’t see it.

Nice clothes, but ones that lacked nuance. The kind of outfit that Dean had once described to me, where a person with a bit of money walked into a store, insecure, pointed to a mannequin, and bought the outfit the mannequin was wearing.

“Good fight,” Lord of Loss told me.

I punched him in the mouth. No Wretch. Just the mild brass-knuckle effect that came with having four metal rings, each with a spike sweeping backward over the knuckle.

“I might deserve that,” he said.

“S—” I started. I coughed. No blood, at least. “Start talking, Loss.”

My voice still sounded a hair too low. I hoped I hadn’t permanently fucked up my vocal chords.

“What if I don’t?” he asked.

I looked over at the nearest appendage of Nursery’s power. The area was diminishing by the looks of things—it seemed she’d made a break for it.

“I could throw you in,” I said.

“Would you really?” he asked. He smiled. “You’re too noble.”

I pulled off my mask and pulled down my hood. I waited, staring him down. As his eyes studied my face, his expression faltered.

Did we get through?

“I don’t normally see people’s faces while I’m changed,” he said.

“That doesn’t excuse anything.”

“Didn’t want it to,” he said. “I’m only commenting.”

“What are your employers up to?”

“I don’t know. Didn’t ask, didn’t care. You might have a better idea than I do.”

“Just following orders,” Precipice said.

“Rule, not order,” Lord of Loss said. “Rules help. Before—before I was Lord of Loss, I was just this man you see here. He was broken, before he had rules.”

“You’re still broken now,” I said. “Whatever made you make those rules in the first place, you need to go all the way back to square fucking one and revisit it. Because this? Not remotely fucking cool. Someone else might have killed you for it.”

He smiled. I resisted the urge to punch him in the face again.

Chastity, though, was on her feet, striding forward. She backhanded him across the face, and he went down hard.

“Others are awake,” Chastity said.

“Okay,” I said. “You’re going to have to drag him.”

She made a face.

“Your fault,” I said. My voice caught, a burr or frog in it that wouldn’t go away.

Fuck, my skin crawled. I couldn’t even be sure my system was clear. I wondered what I could drink that was caustic enough to discourage those things from growing.

Maybe alcohol. A lot of really strong alcohol.