“I made your mother a promise.”

“My mother is a nitwit, and I am disappointed in you, Miss Carr.”

“Why?”

“Because after you’ve seen the other side, I expected you would understand. There are many worlds. Impossible variations, each more awful than the last. When we know that to be true, how can any human life matter? Kill one Galen Copeland, there is always another around the corner. Kill one Juliette, and another takes her place.”

“We are creatures of the Westside. We belong here.”

“Then die with it. I’m getting out.”

The ship caught against the dock. The force of the impact knocked the journal off the side, but Juliette caught it without letting her rifle slip.

Somewhere, in a New York that wasn’t mine, a woman named Mary Fall waited for her husband to come home. She would have finished preparing dinner. By now, she’d be stretched across the sofa in the front parlor, a drink at her elbow and a book in her lap, watching the lights come on in the park, never doubting that at any moment, Virgil Carr would step through the door.

“Let those two walk away,” I said. “They do not belong in this city. They should not die for it.”

“The other Juliette will die. That is nonnegotiable. I must take her place.”

“Then send down Virgil Carr.”

“In exchange for what?”

“For me.”

That made her smile.

“What would I want with you?”

“Please—surely I’ve been at least an irritant. Surely I have made things harder for you. Surely you would prefer to see me dead. Don’t deny me that.”

“You don’t want to live?”

“I haven’t, for a long time.”

“Well, who needs answers?” she said and tossed Copeland’s journal into the river. It floated for a moment, as the water soaked its pages, and then it was gone. “Learn a truth about a dead man, and you will find peace. Didn’t you tell me that?”

“I can’t be sure. I say all sorts of things.”

That made her chuckle. She was still smiling as she thrust Virgil forward, and I walked to meet him. Virgil’s eye was swollen shut, and his hair was matted with blood. He could hardly walk, but he did his best to stand up straight. He said nothing and did not look my way. For the first time, this man looked as broken and beaten as I remembered the Virgil Carr who was my father. He turned as we passed, angling his shoulder just far enough that I couldn’t see his face. My hand brushed against his jacket, and I found something interesting in the pocket.

“Come to me,” said Juliette. “I’m sure I can find an inventive way for you to die.”

“I’d prefer both of us walk away.”

“That’s the beautiful thing about firearms, Miss Carr. You never have to compromise.”