Citrine still sat to my left, dressed in black with a yellow gemstone at her breast. She still wore her wedding ring, which looked like damascus, with layers of something golden in there, without having any gold to it at all.

I was sure there was a story as to why.

“Can we talk?” I asked her.

“I’m here to answer questions, offer help and resources,” she said. “I’m undecided if this qualifies as the captain at the helm when her ship sinks, or if I’d have to be in the city for that.”

“My questions may not be easy ones,” I said.

“That’s good,” she said, her tone and expression dispassionate. “You should have all of the easy answers already.”

I decided to fall back on my knowledge and training in dealing with loss. Just as doctors had to sometimes deliver bad news, I’d been taught to do the same.

“What’s your understanding of Contessa right now?”

I could see her expression change. A slight narrowing of the eyes, lips pressed together a bit, like she would refuse to talk to me.

“Why?” she asked.

“Because I can’t shake the notion that this isn’t about Amy Dallon, it isn’t about Dauntless, it isn’t about the Machine Army, Pastor, Nilbog and the goblins, Sleeper, the Blasphemies, Teacher, or any of the other major threats we’ve been keeping an eye on.”

“Teacher’s been captured,” Eric volunteered. “They’re bringing him in.”

“Really good to know,” I replied. “I’m relieved.”

“Your suspicions turn to Contessa, then?” Citrine asked.

“No, not suspicion, exactly,” I hedged.

“You wouldn’t be the first. Another precog brought it up.”

“I’m curious what you know or think,” I told her.

She sat back in her seat. I wasn’t sure if it was the black outfit or weariness, but she looked older. More like a queen weary of her throne than the princess at a festivity.

“You know that she sent one of the boys to us. We were preparing. We are not—we were not frontline fighters. Kurt could manage quite well, but in a warzone? We preferred to wait, strike surgically and with great precision, to optimal effect.”

“I imagine if he had a thinker power, it would be too many inputs. Thinker headache?”

Citrine pressed her lips together again. Displeased. She almost seemed more bothered by the fact I’d mentioned any kind of weakness than the fact I’d brought up her husband’s de-facto killer.

Was he alive? A factor?

It was hard to imagine. She wore heartbreak in a way that I was familiar with. Maybe even more heavily than I was familiar with. I’d lost Dean and maybe Dean had been my soulmate, but… I could believe that the Number Man had been Citrine’s soulmate. Conveying that loss took more acting skill than I was willing to believe she had.