The House of Representatives assembled mid-morning the following day—a mix of title holders and commoners voted in by the public. Peers. Covington Hall was filled with the chatter of friends greeting friends and rivals alike. From her position on the viewing deck, Tabby gazed down at the room below where two sides of raised wooden bleachers held each party. Everyone waited for the chancellor to take his place.

She found Steiner in the front row, in a hushed discussion with Arthur Beckham, one of the Technologist names from the Prism Pact. Their faces were close together. Deliberating. Talking about Arthur's danger, no doubt. Steiner nodded, clapped the man on the back, and turned away. His cognac eyes flicked upward and slid over her, no hint of recognition. There were other key players too—other names from the Prism Pact.

Her eyes landed on a familiar head of black hair. Beast. There he was. All this time posing as a Traditionalist in parliament. All this time right under her very nose.

He would be her first target.

She studied his figure, noticing definite similarities to the masked man she'd become familiar with. He moved gracefully compared to those around him—someone sure of himself, sure of his power. A glint of light revealed a green prism in the ring at his finger. A family ring. What a perfect way to disguise it.

Green. She could handle a quadrachrom. Blue, indigo, and violet would all overpower him. But she dared not underestimate any of her targets. How many other prisms were hidden about him?

A glance around the balcony revealed other onlookers. To everyone here, she was merely a reporter for the Chroma Times. Miss Lizzie Weddell, with a notepad and pen in hand. She was one of a few with an access card, complements of Wade Holland, the newspaper tycoon who valued his secrets more than money. He sat in the second row, taking up nearly two seats, his black hair combed and gelled, conversing with Anson Lobb, who nodded at everything Holland said. Her eyes slid over them, returning to the onlookers on the balcony.

A pair of blue eyes darted away from her, returning to the scene below—the same eyes that had studied her when she entered. She lingered over the owner of those eyes, offering demure, flirtatious smiles each time he found her. He hadn't quite reached his twenties from the look of his tall, gangly figure. And aside from his his eyes, he had an unremarkable face. She didn't sense much from him, but looks could be deceiving. If he wasn't a name she knew and recognized, then he was a threat.

In total, there were eight well-dressed gentlemen on the observation balcony, and two other women besides her. Any one of them could have been Spects, but she was more suspicious of the men than the women. Especially her blue-eyed stranger.

The chancellor emerged and brought everyone to order. Seats quickly filled. Sheets of parchment shuffled hand to hand. "We will start the session with speeches outlined on today's schedule," Chancellor Wareham said. He already sounded bored.

Who could blame him? Speeches! Ugh.

"Yes, yes. We'll get to that later," he said, addressing a complaint thrown his way. "The honorable Emmet Rand. Please, start us off."

Emmit Rand stood. "Thank you, Chancellor, sir." She began sketching notes on her pad, playing her part as Rand droned on about the decline in coal revenue and how it was affecting Rand Industries' manufactories. Moaning, more like. More bitching than she cared to listen to. "...a fall of nearly twenty-seven percent. Rand Industries is forced to remove workers from its mines to accommodate, without offering furlough."

She wanted to roll her eyes at that. No offers to furrow. He had profited plenty over the past ten years—his constituents included. She glanced up between scribbling and caught Blue-eyes staring again. She gave him another smile, batting her eyelashes.

Rand spoke another five minutes until he was interrupted. And interrupted again. She stifled a groan. Couldn't they just get on with it? Every interruption slowed their progress.

Brice Senay, a Technologist across the floor, shot to his feet uninvited. "Perhaps if the honorable gentlemen would consider investing more funds in renewable technologies, like prisms, his industry might not be so heavily impacted." Senay grinned and looked at his peers, pleased with himself, as those around him shouted, "Here, here!" Rand tried to fire back, along with some of his bench-mates.

It was a familiar chaos—one she was used to with these gatherings.

"Order!! ...Order!" Chancellor Wareham called. His efforts were forceful but still bored. Everyone shut up enough to move on to the next speech.

Her stomach grumbled. She placed her hand over it. "I should have eaten breakfast," she said more to herself than Nit.

The rooftops of Chroma flashed into her mind. Nit was happily sunning far above her. She was left to the torture within as the next speech started.

"Think they'll make it through everyone today?" Blue-eyes sidled up to her, keeping his voice to a whisper.

She caught him peeking at her notepad, at the meticulous detailed notes scrolling across the page. For show, she flipped back and forth, looking over her notes with boredom. "I'm thinking not." She offered him a grin, flashing her dimples.

"Elliott Cochran," he whispered, holding out his hand.

She took it, smothering her surprise. "Elliott Cochran? As in Cochran's son? Or a coincidence in names?"

She dared a glance down at Ernist Cochran sitting with the other Traditionalists. Definitely not a coincidence. Her insides purred.

"Well...he doesn't like to brag about me."

"I see. That explains why I've never heard of you."

"You work for...?"

"Oh." She smiled again. "Chroma Times. Lizzie Weddell. But you won't find my column in the papers."

"Holland doesn't permit female writers." Elliot glanced down at Holland. "Surprised he lets you contribute."

She offered a dark chuckle. "My notes are scrupulous, Mr. Cochran." Her pen tapped her notepad. Elliot nodded.

There was a good deal of shuffling and grumbling below, shuts of order from the chancellor, and Steiner took the floor. She made a show of jotting down a few more notes while Elliot watched on. Steiner had no sooner opened his mouth when Elliot sidled closer.

"What do you know about him? Lord Steiner?" He gestured with his head.

The purring of her insides reached a crescendo. Mistake. He'd made a big mistake. A feline grin stretched across her lips. "About Steiner? Plenty. Word gets around in my circle." Elliot lifted his brows. "He's quite the gal sneaker, if you know what I mean. He invites a different woman to his dinner table each night. And then to his bed. Surrounds himself with plenty of money. Intent on the Technologist movement. Big prism tech supporter. Travels a lot too, between here and Solaris. I hear he's got a big trip coming up—leaving two days from now."

"A big trip, hmm?" Elliot looked thoughtful. "I see. You wouldn't happen to know where?"

"I believe Ipsum, but I'm not certain."

Elliot nodded. "That would make sense." His eyes darted down to Steiner again.

"Why the interest?" She looked him over. No sign of prisms, but Spects found great ways to keep them hidden when needs must.

"Oh, you know. He's one of my father's opponents and all that."

"Of course." She nodded. Lizzie was plenty fine with that answer. Happy to return to taking notes. Tabby, however, was intensely satisfied.

Elliot stayed beside her through the morning and afternoon sessions, but he spoke little. As they came to an end, he dismissed himself and disappeared. She watched him go, committing his appearance to memory, sending mental pictures of him across the line. "Nit?"

"I'm on it."

"Don't report back until you've got him."

"Understood."

***

"Great speech, my lord." Tabby found Steiner as he descended the stairs of Covington Hall. "Very captivating." The late afternoon sun was overhead, glaring compared to the cool darkness of indoors.

Steiner paused, putting on his gloves. "Thank you, Miss...?" They were surrounded by people.

"Oh. Miss Lizzy Weddell." She held out a hand. "I was hoping to interview you for the Chroma Times. If you've got a few minutes, that is."

He shook her hand. "Nice to meet you, Miss Weddell. You're in luck. My coach is just here." She caught a few glances as he led her over, handing her inside. Steiner tapped the roof and they set into motion. At best, she was just another pretty lady for him to take home.

Once the coach got moving, she dropped the act and grinned at him. "I can't be certain, but I think I found your Spect stalker."

"Oh? Do tell." He wasn't as surprised as she'd hoped.

"I don't have his real name yet, or even his Spect name. He introduced himself as Elliot Cochran, which can't possibly be the case."

"Cochran?" Steiner barked a laugh. "As in Cochran's son?"

She smirked. "Cochran doesn't have a son."

"Obviously."

"He asked me about you, though. I didn't reveal much, except that you're going away in two days." Steiner opened his mouth, then frowned. "Don't worry," she added. "It was a lie to reel him in. He knows he has to act fast or wait until your return, or follow you all the way into Ipsum to make a kill. I doubt he'd want that. Spects don't like operating in foreign territory. I might even nab him before he gets the chance."

"So you've brought my impending death that much closer?"

"You're welcome." She grinned, relishing in his discomfort before turning serious. "Did you inform the others? Will they come tonight?"

"Ah. Yes. They will come."

"Don't expect me to reveal my identity—my face."

"Understood." His eyes glinted like metal. "Good thing you own plenty of masks."

"Indeed."

They spoke little after that. She agreed to meet him after nightfall, once his pact signers had assembled. His coach dropped her at the edge of Crock's Row, where she made her way to Elias's workshop and snuck in through the back.

Nit was still following her target. It always felt lonelier without her mechanimal. A few brief flashes showed Blue-eyes wandering around East End, dodging in and out of manufactories.

Their unique paring bond allowed their connection to extend great distances. She'd never tested the full extent, but they had successfully separated over the expanse of the city without problems. Though, she feared the emptiness his permanent disappearance might bring, should they ever be truly parted. She feared it would wreck her more than Clora's death had.

***

When it was time, she donned a black silk brocade fit for Steiner's refined company. Most of her masks were in Safehouse Two, but she still had the lacy one. Perhaps it would bring back memories for him. She smiled.

Her bees buzzed about when she took the jar from her window ledge. The soft yellow hue of their prisms sparkled, though it barely fit into into her satchel. She gathered a few other items, including needles, then set out into the crisp evening air, noting the fog that had already rolled in.

"I'll need you at Steiner's for this," she told Nit. "To speak with the bees. Are you finished?"

He responded with a mental image—a flat, not so different than her own. Blue-eyes had a safehouse. "Just outside East End," Nit said. Pleasure rolled through her. Easy. It had been too easy.

"Well done, little sparrow." She summoned her mechanimal back.

Not long after, she heard the rustle of their metallic wings. They caught up, flying overhead, keeping an eye out as Chroma plunged into the darkness of night. A lamplighter had already gone ahead, lighting the gas lamps. Chroma employed over a hundred to keep its many streets lit.

More mist rolled in off the Taewae, churning about the hem of her gown.

She kept to the shadows as she neared Dorwald Street. Stepping beneath the eves of a nearby house, she watched Steiner's home. Not a single carriage stopped before it. Those invited came on foot, dropped off several blocks away.

When she counted a total of eight arrivals, she cloaked herself in darkness, pulling light into her black prism, and donned her mask. By the time she reached the servant's entrance, a familiar headache was already pounding against her temples. She clenched her teeth against the light sickness and stole in through the door. It wasn't until she reached the main floor that she dispensed with it.

Hushed voices came from the drawing room. A servant exited, carrying an emptied tray. She waited until he passed before coming out of the shadows. The door was open a crack.

Donning a sinister smile, she knocked. A voice called from within. She waltzed in. A moment later, glass shattered, followed by several curses, even a screech. These were grown men! Some of the most prominent names in the city of Chroma—in Candela. One of them stepped backwards and tripped over a chair. Another bolted to the other side of the room. It was exactly the reaction she'd hoped for. A sense of power and control flared through her veins.

Steiner's voice rose above the rest. "Calm down! Calm down!" He lifted his arms to placate his guests. "Light," he rounded on her, eyes blazing like a furnace. "Was that really necessary? You couldn't give us a warning."

She shrugged. "I was going for dramatic."

"What is the meaning of this!?" Arthur Beckham stepped forward, sputtering.

"Is this some kind of sick joke, Steiner?" Ray Penn glanced between her and the door, edging towards it.

Several others shrank towards the door in the back.

"No, Ray, it's not a joke. Calm down, all of you. This was not how I had hoped to introduce you." He shot her another glare. "This young woman is the one I was telling you about."

"You never said she was a masker!" Arthur Beckham spat. His face was red and splotchy.

"Yes, well, you wouldn't have believed me if I had."

Arguments broke out all over the room.

It took Steiner ten minutes to calm everyone. In this time, she casually poured herself a glass of gin and took a seat in his vacated armchair. It was amusing to watch him flounder. Amusing and satisfying.

First, they wanted to know if she was a true masker or a party trick. Then they wanted to know how Steiner could possibly trust her. Finally, they wanted to know how a woman going to protect them from the most powerful killers in Chroma. She tried not to bristle at that, and instead, let Steiner do all the talking.

"Shall I come in and knock them around a bit? Knock some sense into them? Theirs has fled. Let me at them." Eagerness buzzed down the line connecting her to Nit.

She tried not to laugh. "Stay put. You'll be needed soon enough."

Once Steiner managed to sit everyone down, to regain control, he turned and nodded.

"There now," she purred. "That's better." She stood, abandoning her glass, and turned to face them. "Now that you're done whining like a bunch of children, let's get started." She ignored their scowls and removed the jar of bees from her satchel. Before their speculation got out of hand, she explained what they were and how she intended to use them. "Don't expect a miracle," she added in warning. "While these bees are smart, they've only got one good sting in them. They will stay close and strike when they sense danger."

"Seems like a lot to ask from a bee, even a prism powered one." Clement Casey crossed his arms, glaring at the jar.

She opened the parlor window, pulling the drapes back. Nit flew into the room in their sparrow form, spurring more speculative whispers.

"You sure you're a real Spect?" Arthur Beckham asked, eyeing her. "Far as I know, the Spectrum doesn't condone the use of prism tech."

She didn't award him an answer. Instead, she produced her needles and turned to the room. "Who's first?"

Anson Macks stood. "I'll start." He stepped forward and she pricked his neck, procuring a drop of blood. From the jar, she removed a bee. It crawled, docile-like, over her fingers. Anson was curious. He gazed over her shoulder as she deposited the blood around the socket and turned to Nit.

Nit transformed right before their eyes into the form of a bee, earning several shocked gasps. They'd never seen prism tech like this before. Nit spoke to her yellow protector in bee language. Their bodies hummed and buzzed and danced.

"Very well," Nit said at last. "I have explained what is needed."

The bee took off to hover around Macks.

This wasn't the kind of pairing that took place between her and Nit. After all, she wasn't implanting a shard of the bee's prism beneath Macks's skin. But it was a similar kind. The bee would follow Macks and know how to find him—how to sniff him out.

When he returned to his seat, the bee buzzed about him eagerly before landing on his shoulder.

"He knows the basic commands," she explained. "You can tell him to hide when necessary. He won't leave your side unless you tell him to, so when you're in public, he'll have to stay out of sight."

Macks gazed down at his shoulder, wide-eyed, impressed.

"Remember," she added, "the stinger is coated in poison. It is retracted right now, but when it strikes, it will kill its victim within less than a minute."

Macks nodded. He stroked the creature with a delicate finger before turning to the rest of the group, offering them raised eyebrows. A challenge.

Ray Penn went next. Then Terrence Heard, Lord Caleb Long, Clement Casey, Glen Costigan, Nathaniel Wigram, Arthur Beckham, and finally, Steiner. They were quiet as she worked. Her mind drifted to Lord Lincoln Parlow. Did they know she had killed him? That she was the reason he wasn't here in this room with them? That she was the reason they were in danger? What would they think if she told them he'd never signed their pact? That he'd been too much a coward to legally affix himself to them?

The room was full of buzzing by the time she finished. Steiner renewed his invitation to join them for dinner, but she declined. There was training with Midnight tomorrow, and plenty of work to do besides. She bid him farewell in the shadows of the hall outside the parlor, then she snuck out the same way she'd come, cloaked in shadows and darkness.