Tabby spent the remainder of her Friday afternoon mending the mechanical bee bodies from Steiner. After replacing them with poison-dipped stingers, she sent them on their way. The blood they carried would take them back to their charges, even if it meant flying across a city.

She received a hurried note and small box from Steiner just before dinner. Another bee with Clement Casey's name scrawled across the parchment. The Spectrum was acting quickly—already three attempted assassinations and three dead Spects. She crumpled the note, threw it into the forge, and fixed the bee the way she had the others, then headed upstairs for dinner.

"Something's troubling you," Elias said through a mouthful as they ate.

She snorted. "Something's always troubling me, old hob."

"Yes, well, you're pushing your food around, chewing on your cheek, and Nit keeps chirping at you."

She sighed. Maybe it was time to tell him—not everything, but a little. She stared at him for several beats. "Fine. You want to know what's on my mind? Just remember, you asked." She explained a little of what had happened between her and Steiner, focusing mostly on the prism he'd given her and what had happened when she attacked a yellow-wielding Spect.

"A genuine black prism!" Elias cried when she pulled it from beneath her corset. He gaped at it, wide-eyed. "I never thought I'd live to see one. And you're sure it absorbed yellow?"

"Positive—gobbled it up. I wasn't able to defend myself. There wasn't time—it was careless of me, really." She frowned. Things could have gone horribly wrong; she'd been lucky. Without the black prism, she'd have been knocked backwards, leaving her briefly exposed. That kind of mistake would have cost her life.

"Fascinating!" Elias's hungry hob eyes roved over it, completely ignoring the fact that she could have died. He licked his lips, black tongue darting out. "What else can it do? Pull light, I'd assume?"

"Here—" She offered him a flawless demonstration, shrouding herself in darkness. He drank in the sight, displaying his pointed teeth in a chilling smile. Releasing the light, she pulled the chain from her neck and handed it over.

He held it in his hands, rubbing his thumb over the faceted surface before handing it back. "It certainly makes me wonder..."

"About?"

He shoveled a few pieces of sliced beef in his mouth, clearing his plate before continuing. "True users, those who were Light Touched, didn't need prisms to control light—"

"We both know that's myth. You said so once yourself."

"Yes, stories are stories, but every story is woven from a thread of truth. Before the Queen of Candela regulated the practice, there were true users. Some may have gone into hiding. Perhaps their children survived, or their children's children." He fell quiet.

The Queen of Candela, also known as the Mad Queen, was King Alistar's great grandmother. The only queen Candela had ever known. She outlawed the practice, hoping to give the crown greater power. From the ashes of her purge, she formed the Spectrum. The beautiful Temple of Light, once a place of peace and acceptance, was handed over in secret to be used for a new purpose. Light had always been the religion of the people, brought over from Ipsum more than a thousand years past. Harnessing that light was a practice that went hand-in-hand with worship. But it was taken from Candela as easily as lives were taken, should those who called themselves Lighters be caught wielding prisms. Knowledge of the magic was stripped from the country, purged, and given to the newly formed Spectrum—rights of exclusivity—to protect and nurture. The Temple of Light remained a place for people to come and worship, but in name only.

After that, prisms disappeared from Candela, no longer imported from Ipsum until nearly one hundred and fifty years later, when machinists discovered ways to put them into mechanical objects. Thus, the Society of Lumineers was born. Ipsum prisms found their way into Candela once more. But this new threat didn't go unpunished. Lumineers were soon hunted and forced into hiding, just as Lighters had once been. Brilliant minds like Elias's, disciplined for forward thinking. The Spectrum considered the use of light for mechanical objects heresy. This was grounds enough to side with Traditionalists, even though it was common speculation that people like Prince Edwin had no issue with using the technology for military means.

But to be Light Touched. To control light without so much as a prism. Unchecked. The thought was too far-fetched...

"You need a prism to control light," she stated at last. "There's no possible way without one."

"Maybe they are just stories." Elias shrugged. "One can't help but wonder...And with your abilities, imagine creating shadows by snuffing out light. Imagine harnessing white for healing without the need for a prism." He glanced at the ring on her finger.

She leaned back in her chair, pushing her plate away. Elias eyed it a moment before sliding it over and polishing it off. It was pointless to consider such abilities. Yet, the allure was undeniable. A Lighter's downfall was the need to carry prisms. To pull light from anywhere without a medium—"It would upset the balance of our world," she said. "For someone to possess that kind of power, think of all the things they might do with it."

"Yes." His eyes gleamed. "To have that kind of power, one must truly be Light Touched."

"I suppose it's up to Light to divvy out that kind of power, and a person must be truly deserving." Her voice rang with sarcasm, but Elias didn't notice.

"It would stand to reason. The person would need impeccable morals, at the least, to be worthy of it."

She barked a laugh. "That counts me out. But I've never been the worshiping type anyway." The Spectrum was more of a cult than anything, and she'd never truly believed in Light as a divine power. As a god. Personified. She did, however, believe in light from a scientific perspective. Religion was merely a closed-minded way to explain it.

Elias arched an eyebrow. "Come now, Tabby. I've seen you do things with light I never believed possible. And they say I'm Candela's greatest Lumineer."

"They say..." she agreed, falling silent.

But later that evening, when she was alone in her room, she removed her prisms from her body and sat cross-legged on her bed. Closing her eyes, she concentrated on the candle burning at her nightstand. Lifting her hand, she beckoned the light. She could sense it, feel its warmth, like a pool of awareness on the fringes of her consciousness. She twitched her fingers, encouraging it to follow her commands.

Nothing happened.

She peeled open an eye and snorted. This was ridiculous. Who was she kidding? Even if such a power existed, she certainly didn't deserve it. But the idea frightened her a little. She considered what it would do to her, how much something like that might corrupt her already darkened soul. Light, if it truly existed as a divinity, would need a death wish for Candela if it decided to bestow such an ability upon her.

***

When she reached the Temple, she didn't linger at the giant prism as she often did, but swept straight through the secret door and down into the bowels of the monstrous building. She didn't encounter anyone in the halls until she reached the door to the council chamber. She waited with another Spect—someone she didn't recognize, a three quarter mask much older than herself, standing deathly still—preparing for what she might find within. Now that she was rogue, every interaction with the Spectrum was a risk.

She ran through her information of Prince Albert again and again until the door opened and the steward bid farewell to one Spect, letting the other in. Just before he sauntered into the chamber, he spared her a backward glance. Light from the torches glinted off his mask. He offered a salute and disappeared.

Reports were generally done on Friday nights. Their beloved Council led busy lives. They didn't have time to gather frequently to dole out new assignments. Spects appeared during designated time slots unless otherwise summoned. A summoning was never a good sign. But it happened.

Once their ankle cuffs were removed, each wore a beacon the size of a coin attached to a chain as a replacement. If it buzzed, they were summoned. The hour would appear on the beacon, signaled by dial hands, which were manipulated by the tiny bits of clockwork cogs inside. Each beacon was activated by its own unique vibrational frequency. She'd once seen the small room used by the summoner. Their Spect names lined the wall with tiny plaques, and each had a key hanging on a peg. That key was their unique identity. It plugged into a machine to send out the signal. A genius invention, really. Elias was quite mesmerized by it. She, on the other hand, saw it as another form of control.

She checked her pocket watch. Quarter to nine. Taking a deep breath, she waited for the Spect inside to emerge, then entered the chamber. At the base of the dais, she genuflected. Two of the seven chairs were empty. She showed her surprise with lingering eyes. Beast and Waste. The sight of their mangled bodies flashed through her mind and she pushed the images away.

A surge of pride flowed through her. She had done this. It felt like a monumental achievement. It was a reminder, an illustration of the lengths she would go to learn her father's name—his identity.

Most of her confused expression was hidden behind her half mask as she turned her attention upon Ghost. She wondered what his face would show beneath his mask. Annoyance? Frustration?

"Tempest." His voice gave nothing away. "Good evening." She glanced again at the empty chairs. "You need not worry over their absence." He paused. "You have a report for us? How fares your hunt?"

"It goes well, High Mask. Albert Whitlock is more predictable than I had imagined." She told them everything about Albert. His haunts, his inclinations for adultery, even the name of the woman he was seeing on the side. Steiner would be furious. He'd given her that in confidence. But he need not know she'd revealed it. And the Spectrum wouldn't bother with the woman. They'd leave his mistress to her.

When he heard Corinne's name, Ghost leaned back in his chair, but his eyes gave nothing away. She studied the four Council members. Sin, also known as Daunte Saunders. Perhaps he would be her next target. Or Flint—Chester Bates. Flint cocked his head to the side when he learned the name of Albert Whitlock's mistress. A mannerism she was growing accustomed to.

What of the other Council members? Was one of them Felix Lane? Deadlock, perhaps? His gaze had been pinned to her this entire time, with keen eyes that were too shadowed to discern their color. He hadn't fidgeted this time. No finger rubbing to polish the stone arm of his chair. She frowned, letting her assessment linger over him as the gears in her mind began to whirl. A deeply concerning theory wormed its way in; she pushed it away.

"Your report pleases me, Tempest," said Ghost. "But time is against you. Giving you four weeks may have been too much. If you bring us his death sooner, we are inclined to increase your payment."

She nodded, expecting this.

"In the mean time, your services are also needed elsewhere." She stiffened. "Two additional marks—easy targets for someone like you. Their first assassins failed. I know you will not." He hesitated. "Will you hear them?"

Two more names on top of everything else? She didn't let Ghost see her grinding teeth. Refusal was not an option for something so simple. It would arouse suspicion. She already knew these targets. Hearing their names would drastically reduce her window of safety within the Spectrum from three weeks to something shorter. "I will hear them."

"Good."

Her gaze flicked back to Deadlock and her frown deepened. He sat up straighter, eyeing her like a bird of prey. Then again, they all did.

"Both names will be familiar, surely. Glen Costigan and Ray Penn. You know them—yes?"

"Technologists from the list?" She didn't bother feigning surprise. They'd see through it anyway.

"Is that problematic?"

"No, High Mask. Of course not. Is there something I should know? Why did their assassins fail?"

"That information isn't crucial to this assignment." Ghost shifted in his chair. "You have until Wednesday."

Her heart raced. "And the payment?" It was all she could say to collect herself, seeing as she'd never get the money.

"Six hundred pounds. Each." A healthy sum.

She nodded. "I accept. Will that be all?"

Ghost nodded. "You are dismissed."

She exhaled, offering him a salute, muttering her respects. She didn't spare a look at the Council as she strode from the chamber. Her heart raced. She picked up her pace, carrying herself through the oppressive building. She refused to entertain the insane theory taking form in her mind. Impossible—absolutely impossible.

***

She stowed her mask and welcomed the open air outside the Temple, stepping out into Chroma's streets. She inhaled deeply. The stink. Always the stink. Coal, wet rot, horse shit. The smell of life. She wanted to stop and catch her breath but instead, she hurried on. Wednesday. Five days. After that, they would know she had defected. Rogues never lasted long. They would come for her.

She passed through one gang territory after another, heading straight for Elias's shop and the safety of Crock's Row, keeping her hands ready to draw a weapon. Nit flew overhead, keeping watch. No one bothered her. It wasn't quite ten o'clock, and the streets were crawling.

Five minutes from Crock's Row, Nit signaled her. "You're being followed."

"A Spect?" She resisted the urge to glance over her shoulder.

Nit hesitated. "No. Yes. It's Midnight." She slowed her pace. "I think he's been following you since you left the Temple. I didn't notice until three blocks ago."

Her mood darkened. Midnight was the last person she wanted to see. What could he possibly want? He reported earlier than she did on Fridays, which meant he'd been waiting for her exit.

"He wants to know who your target is." Nit's assessment was merely a thought dragged from her own mind.

She clenched and unclenched her fists, keeping a hand close to the dagger at her belt. What was his plan? Confront her? Watch her all night in hopes of learning her target? He'd done it often in her teens, ready to clean up her botched assignments. But the behavior stopped a few years ago when she'd proven herself. She liked to think he trusted her, but as of late, she wasn't so sure.

She ducked into an alley and found herself face to face with three of the Forsaken. She recognized their faces and slammed Tam against the wall, pressing her dagger against his neck. His eyes went wide and his hands froze inches from the knives stowed in his belt. "Scamper off, Tam," she hissed. "Or I'll kill you." They knew her well enough, so there was no need for more threats. And she wouldn't kill him. She released Tam and he scurried away, Roger and Cal hot on his heels.

In the darkness, she waited for Midnight.

"He's coming."

She exhaled, bracing herself for the confrontation, gripping her dagger harder than necessary at her side. She would only use it if she had to. Midnight's figure slipped around the corner, keeping to the shadows like specter. A heartbeat later, he pinned her against the wall. She let him, keeping her muscles relaxed. His shadowed expression was hard, eyes glinting with suppressed emotion. When he spoke, his voice was flinty. "Albert Whitlock, Tabby? Really? Albert fucking Whitlock?! And you thought you could do this alone?!"

"Figured it out, have you." Her voice was sharp.

The fight went out of him and his shoulders dropped. He released her and took a step back. "I know you. You aren't this stupid. I didn't train you to be this stupid. " He hesitated, voice dropping low. "You've always valued my advice. Always. This job is bigger than anything you've faced—bigger than anything I've faced. Whitlock is well protected, never alone, surrounded at all times. He fears an assassination more than Prince Edwin ever would."

Midnight was right. She did value his advice. She'd gone so far as to admit it more than once.

"Why?" He cocked his head to study her. "I heard what you said about wanting to prove yourself. I respected that. But not with this—not with something this big." His eyes darted between hers, trying to unearth an explanation. Then a strangled laugh fell from his lips. She caught a flash of realization in his expression, there and gone. Her body went numb. "Fuck me. You cannot be serious," he spat. His lips curled showing far more emotion than he usually did. She said absolutely nothing, holding in a breath, waiting for him to lunge. To make the realization and attack. Instead, he stepped back two more paces to better look at her. "Tell me it isn't true."

She hardened her expression, clenching her jaw. "Albert Whitlock is mine, Midnight. Mine. Don't get in my way." She took a challenging step forward. There was something more in her words. Not just a warning, but a threat. Not just with Whitlock, but with everything else, whether he realized it or not.

He stared at her, his expression shifting between disbelief and suspicion.

She tightened her grip, squeezing the life out of her dagger. "Are we done here?"

He glanced at the opening of the alley before turning back to her. "We're done. I'll see you Sunday."

She schooled her features, refraining from surprise. "Right. See you Sunday."

He backed away, melting into the shadows.

She waited for him to disappear before stepping out onto the street. Her heart raced like a frightened rabbit's. Everything was coming apart like cogs popping free of their springs. She considered going straight for Steiner, then thought better of it. What she needed was time to digest. A few moments to decompress. The warmth of her workbench, of Elias's familiar presence.

She covered the remaining distance to the workshop, sticking to Crock's Row's main drag. When his workshop came into view, she faltered. A small crowd was gathered in front of it, whispering, pointing, talking in hushed voices. She shouldered her way through and found Marley. Marley never abandoned her booth.

Her blood turned to ice. Something she hadn't felt since Clora's existence needled its way into her gut. Marley saw her and her eyes widened. "Tabby! There you are! Thank Light they didn't get you too."

"They? What's going on?" Her voice cracked pathetically. An unfamiliar weakness seeped into her bones. She already knew what Marley would say. Every fear realized. Light from Elias's shop windows flooded the street.

Marley shook her head. "They've taken him. The damn mutton shunters. They came and dragged him out. Charged him as an underground Lumineer. They got him for illicit prism activities."

"No—" She took a step towards the shop, forgetting everything about her training in a brief moment of panic. Marley caught her arm. "Careful, girl. They're still in there." She could see that, but in this moment, she wanted to storm in and knife every last one of them. They were ransacking the place, destroying everything. She could hear the crash and clank of their activities. Her stomach dropped low into her abdomen. Would they find Elias's secret stash. Years and years of collecting?

Just hours ago, she and Elias had been eating dinner together. Had she any idea, she would have stayed behind. Stayed to protect him. Even if it meant missing her report with the Spectrum. Even if it meant jeopardizing her position. He'd become too important to her.

The people who'd gathered on the street continued to speculate, watching the show like they were at the theater. She glanced around before turning back to Marley. "How long ago?" she asked. "When did they take him?"

"Not but two minutes," said Marley. "The constable's jail cart just rolled away, along with a wagon of his things."

Two minutes? Anger boiled beneath her skin, heating her blood. Midnight. He'd done this on purpose, hadn't he? He'd cornered her to distract her. The Spectrum must know—they must have used Midnight as a diversion to take Elias. Used her report slot, her absence, to steal him away from her. They would use him against her. Use him to pry free every secret she harbored. Use him to shatter her.

Her stomach churned. She held a hand to her abdomen. She'd been so stupid. She'd let them target her only living weakness. Remembering Midnight's lessons, she slowed her breathing, calculating her next steps, calming herself.

"We don't know that Midnight was a diversion," said Nit. "It could be a coincidence."

She wanted to believe Nit, but Midnight's timing was impeccable. If he hadn't stopped her, she would have been here when the police arrived.

"And done what? Incriminated yourself? Gotten yourself locked up too?"

She took a deep breath and exhaled. Nit was right. If the police knew she was posing as Elias's apprentice, that she lived with him, they'd have taken her too. They might even be already looking for her.

"Sorry, Tabby," said Marley, patting her arm, sparing her a genuine look of concern. "Can I get you something to eat? Some coffee?"

She was hungry, but how could she eat? She glanced over and noticed that Marley had swapped out her tattered apron for the one she'd gifted her a few days back. She shook her head and watched Marley go, turning her attention back to Elias's shop. She would have to wait until they left, then go in and assess the damage.

She went around back and climbed to the roof, then sat at the edge for at least an hour before four constables saw themselves out. She watched as they boarded up the front windows and door. Closing up shop. If this wasn't the Spectrum's doing, then best case scenario, Elias would be executed as a traitor. Underground Lumineers, especially hobs, were given no leniency. Hanged, drawn, and quartered. The thought left her queasy. She could torture a person easily enough, but the thought of hurting Elias made her dizzy with dread. She thought of his frail body, hunched over in a jail cell, shivering with cold. Or worse, in the hands of the Spectrum. She began trembling.

"What about Steiner?" Nit barged into her thoughts, speaking with reason, as usual. "He's a powerful lord. Perhaps he can get Elias out of jail? They're friends, aren't they?" Nit was right, but she didn't dare hope for it. If Elias got out, it would be because she rescued him. And then what? He'd have to flee. His career in Candela was done. It was over. Everything they'd worked for. Gone.

Her shoulders slumped. "I'll go find Steiner," she agreed. But first, she let herself in through the roof's trap door and went downstairs to assess the damage. Aisle shelves lay upended. Heaps of sheet and scrap metal were scattered everywhere. It was almost impossible to move about the floor. Everything had been touched. Even the large workbench Elias took pride in.

Her gaze darted to the panel at the wall leading down into the basement. Her stomach dropped. It had been pulled off its hinges. She didn't want to go down there, to see that their valuable collection was gone. Mechanically, her feet took her down anyway, into the darkness. She pulled violet from the choker at her neck to illuminate the storage space. The shelves were empty. Completely empty. They'd taken everything.

A cry escaped her chest at the unbelievable sight. Rage boiled up into her throat, choking her. She opened her mouth and screamed, splitting her lungs apart, letting her frustration and anger steal its way through her lips. The past couple of days came crashing down on her until she crumbled to the floor, sobbing. How had it all gone so wrong?! For years, she'd kept her life under perfect control. And now this. She wanted to kill them, the entire lot of them, for making her feel so powerless.

When she finally had the strength for it, she forced her feet to take her upstairs. Her room had been likewise ransacked. She began righting furniture. A sigh of relief spilled from her lips. The wall panel was untouched. They hadn't found her own private stash, none of her prism tech or Spect objects. A small consolation, but it hardly felt like a victory.

She opened the panel and lovingly caressed some of her things. Her pocket watch that doubled as a grapple, the prism compass that would show her the way out of sticky situations, jewelry set with prisms, daggers, all of it. Even her pet project, her prism ray gun. It was still there.

She sank down onto her cot, the same cot she'd only vacated hours before, and buried her head in her hands. She thought of Elias, her poor genius hob, caged. Placed at the mercy of people like her—questioned for information. Questioned to the shattering point. There was nothing to stop them from prying every secret out of his aging body.

Something inside her snapped and she shot to her feet. She couldn't let it happen—wouldn't let it happen. She'd storm the constable's headquarters. She'd kill whomever she needed to get him out. She didn't care how many. She'd take them all down, even if Elias abhorred her violence. She'd paint their damn walls red if it came to it.

"I will help you." Nit's words were soft. Exactly what she needed. Nit loved Elias as much as she did. "Whatever is needed. I will be there beside you."

"Thank you," she squeaked aloud, hating the weakness that poured from her eyes. She wiped angry tears from her cheeks and gathered her things, stuffing some of them into her satchel as she exchanged certain items for others. She checked her belt, looking under the flaps to ensure her prisms were full. Then she gave her cabinet a final glance before closing the panel. It was nearly midnight when she set out for Steiner's. Perhaps he'd have answers, or even a solution that might help.

But one thing was certain. She'd formulate a plan to free Elias, and she'd get him out tonight. With or without Steiner's help. She would do whatever it took.