Conrad watched Nit soar into the dining room moments before Tabby strode through the door. He studied her over the top of his newspaper, looking over her clothes, her lean curves. She appeared recovered, as much as could be expected, despite the dark circles under her eyes. He exhaled, but his gaze remained fixed.

She glanced about the room, taking in everything, until her regard settled on the breakfast laid out. She went straight for it. He tensed, waiting for her to say something, another rebuke for last night, but she didn't. She didn't even look at him.

Instead, she invited herself to the seat beside him, to the right of the head, and poured a cup of coffee, griping it in both hands, inhaling deeply. Her eyes fluttered closed and she took a sip, then a longer drink, and sighed. He waited. It was good coffee. He half hoped she'd acknowledge that, at least, if nothing else. But no.

Ignoring him on purpose, then.

His thumb rubbed against a wood grain line on the table. He immediately caught the action and stopped, aware that her eyes had jumped straight to it. He'd gotten her attention. "Well, good morning," he prompted. He set his paper down. "I suppose you'll be angry with me for a while, then?"

"Have you heard anything from Elias?"

He hesitated. "I received a note this morning. My coachman got as far as Branmore before stopping for rest. They should be at Solaris tomorrow evening." She nodded. "Tabby—"

"What?!" Her eyes flashed dangerously.

"I'm not going to apologize for my actions. I did what I had to."

"As if an apology would matter," she muttered into her cup, disregarding him, staring straight ahead.

"Well, on second thought, if it calms your temper, it might be worth it. Your anger is—" He stopped himself.

"Is what?" Her gaze narrowed. "Childish? Careless?"

"I was going to say annoying."

"Liar," she hissed.

He didn't respond. Spects were trained to disregard trifling emotions, but it was her anger towards him, her emotion, that made her human—made her different from the regime they were trying so desperately to destroy. In that case, he welcomed it. It was yet another reason he'd singled her out after watching her all these years.

"I don't like that you're upset with me," he finally allowed himself to admit. Probably not the best idea. But there—the words were out and he couldn't take it back. Besides, it was the truth, much to his own dismay. "Are you going to eat something? You should." He glanced at the food. He'd called for a larger breakfast than usual—much larger.

"Don't change the subject," she snapped. But she glanced at the platters of sausage, bacon, eggs, and toast.

"Eat something, and we can talk about whatever you wish." His shoulders relaxed as she began piling items on her plate. When her mouth was full, he asked, "How did yesterday go? Did Waste give you anything?"

Admittedly, he had wanted an answer since last night, but he was patient. He'd partaken in his fair share of torture over the years, an unavoidable casualty. It wasn't something he reveled in...except on a few rare occasions.

"He did," she said through a mouthful. He almost laughed at her lack of manners. A welcome change compared to the ladies he was often cloistered with.

"And?"

"After a fair bit of rough handling, he gave me one name. I don't even know if it was worth it."

That she had done it twice now left him with mixed feelings, but only when he allowed himself to consider it. So he didn't. Not much, anyway. Not more than was necessary. It had to be done.

"Does the name Felix Lane mean anything to you?"

He expelled a breath. "Felix Lane?" That was unexpected. But it couldn't be the same Felix Lane he was thinking of, could it?

"Well?" She leaned forward.

"I know of a Felix Lane, if its the same one. He's the lead commissioner for Kensington Station."

"The airship depot?" She leaned back in her chair. "That's...a good sign."

"Is it?"

"I've noticed a trend. All of you full masks hold positions of power." He grunted—true. "I was concerned that the name might be meaningless, a desperate attempt from a dying man. If Felix Lane holds a position of power, it stands to reason—"

"—that he's either Rampage or Reaper."

"Or Ghost," she finished.

"Or Ghost." He hesitated. "Though if it is Ghost, I'd find myself disappointed."

"Why?" She took a few bites, swallowing. "Expected someone more powerful?"

"Honestly, I don't know what to expect with Ghost. He could be...anyone." The remainder of food on his plate went untouched. He'd lost his appetite the moment she entered. "I don't know much about Felix Lane."

"I want to go after him today."

He opened his mouth, then snapped it closed, regarding her. Finally, he said, "Is that a good idea—"

"It's a very good idea, Steiner. I'll have all day to study him. We're running out of time. You heard Ghost, he wants Prince Albert's head on a silver platter, and soon. Not to mention two of your Technologist friends whom I've been assigned to as marks."

"Your logic is flawed and you know it." He watched her through narrowed eyes. "Chester Bates? Daunte Saunders? We know more about them. They're solid marks. They might even have additional information about Lane. Better options while we do more digging..."

"Felix is a gamble. I get it. But I...I have to know." The words seemed to stick in her throat on the way out.

There was something she wasn't saying. Something that drove her towards this illogical direction. He decided to let it rest—for now. He'd made these marks her responsibility, and he'd have to trust her to do her job.

"Fine. In the mean time, I will make the necessary arrangements to keep you hidden once the Spectrum discovers you've defected." His mind was already working over various possibilities. He might have to send her to Ipsum—it wasn't out of the question. She glanced at his newspaper, a question forming on her mouth. "Nothing of note," he said. "Not today, anyway."

She nodded and slid her chair back, hesitating. "I've got work to do, Steiner. Thanks for breakfast and...the clothes."

"Don't mention it." His eyes lingered over her again, over the way her suede corset hugged her body. She'd had a whole wardrobe of the damned things. And plenty of pants. Only two gowns. "I can help you, if you'd like. With Felix." He froze the moment the words were out. He wasn't sure why he'd offered. He really didn't want to help. Not if he could avoid it.

She hesitated. "I work alone."

"I understand." He leaned back against his chair. He was ten years older than Tabby, and as such, he'd had his fair share of killing to last a lifetime. She turned to leave. "Be careful," he called after her, not sure what else to say.

"I always am." She strode from the room.

***

Theo finished the remainder of his meat pie and crumpled the brown paper in his fist, tossing it into the gutter. He kept to the shadows, monitoring Dorwald Street. Anson Macks occupied a town house on the corner and he'd been watching it ever since returning from his foray into the countryside.

He still hadn't decided what to make of Laghollow. The human experiments went beyond his wildest beliefs. He knew the crown was monopolizing on prism tech—that was fairly common knowledge if one knew how to look—even though they fought to keep it out of the people's hands. He would have expected prism tech weapons, yes, but never human weapons.

His mind went to Tabby. She knew about prism tech better than anyone else. Perhaps he could worm a few answers out of her.

He suppressed a snort. All this time his apprentice believed her secret safe from him—that her master had no idea what she'd been doing in Elias's shop. Nine years she'd spent living a double life under the tutelage of Elias Newton. Of course he dug deep into the hob Lumineer's life, if only to ensure his apprentice wasn't doing anything that might put him at risk.

All this time she believed she'd kept her big secret from him, and he let her. He'd learned long ago that if he was going to be different from his master, different from the man who'd made his life a living hell, no, worse than hell, that there were things he'd have to change. A Spect could still be great without having to suffer the way he'd suffered. And he was determined to prove it, through Tabby. So he chose his battles carefully and bent the rules when and where he could.

Maybe it was all for naught. Maybe—

He froze. As if his thoughts had conjured her specter, he blinked when he saw Tabby emerge from the alley near Conrad Steiner's townhouse at the other end of Dorwald Street.

A string of curses fell from his lips. She was dressed as she usually was in that Light forsaken corset that drove her suitors mad. He caught himself frowning and smoothed his expression. The Spectrum had given her a few additional marks, as they had done with him, to eliminate the names on the Prism Pact. But her marks didn't live anywhere near here.

He looked back at Conrad Steiner's house, eyes narrowed, then watched as she casually strolled down the sidewalk. He emerged from the shadows and crossed the street, falling into step beside her. Her only sign of surprise was a stiffening of her jaw.

The street was largely empty at this hour, though a number of delivery carriages clattered past. The wealthy had the luxury of rising late, unlike the working class.

"Tabby," he ventured by way of greeting. They walked in silence past several houses before he said, "I wonder if that dance with Lord Steiner was, in fact, just a casual dance."

"Really?" Her eyes landed on him and they glittered with anger. It's the reaction he'd been hoping for. "Of all you might say to me and you go for that?" She probably expected him to rail some more about Albert Whitlock. He wanted to, but it would only make him irritated again. His show of emotion last night had been a slip. "I'm not developing feelings for him," she added, gaining control of her voice, "if that's what you're worried about. Or...are you jealous?" A feline grin stretched across her lips.

He knew exactly where her thoughts were. His stomach dropped. He ignored the sensation. Their fucking was exactly that—fucking. Nothing more. He intended to keep it that way. "Do I look jealous?"

"No, actually. I'm not convinced you possess the propensity for any emotion whatsoever. That was deftly tortured out of you by your—" She stopped, snapping her mouth shut.

"Oh, do go on. Don't stop on my account."

A frown pulled her eyebrows together, making a little creas appear between them. He'd seen it before, whenever she regretted her words. He looked away, keeping his eyes forward. She sighed, the fight going out of her. "I'm here because I had to—" She faltered. "Wait...why are you stalking about Dorwald? Did you follow me here? Is this about last night? Were you in on it? Did you distract me so they'd have a clear path to Elias?"

"As much as you like to think I spend all my waking moments checking in on my life's investment, I—wait, what do you mean, a clear path to Elias?"

"Don't act like you don't know. You always know. Save us and just admit it."

"My reasons for accosting you were my own, if that's what you're on about. I had my own business last night so I know nothing of Elias. What happened—?"

"What buisness?"

He considered his answer. "I took a short trip to Laghollow."

"Lag—"

"They're snatching gang rats and Lumineers alike, taking them to—Light! Elias. When you say clear path, did they—" A sudden realization hit him, but Tabby didn't let him get the rest out.

"He's fine. I took care of it. But...what do you mean?"

Glancing around, he pulled her into an alley, releasing her waist only when he realized his hand had lingered there a few seconds too many. She didn't seem to notice. "They're creating...freaks. Hybrids of some sort. I saw them. Cutting off arms and legs and replacing them with...with..." He didn't often get tongue-tied.

Her eyes widened. Her jaw dropped. She shook her head. "No."

"Yes," he hissed.

"That's...impossible. What you say is..." She shook her head.

"I know what I saw." He considered telling her about Tam and the other two he'd gotten out of there. But she'd likely find out from Marcus soon enough.

Her eyes darted over his face and she exhaled. "You're being serious. Fuck." Her hand went to her braid, fussing with her hair, a nervous habit she didn't often resort to. Her lower lip pulled between her teeth. His gaze snagged on it and he looked away, eyes darting over the alley again before returning to her.

He shook his head. "Whatever they're doing there...creating there, it isn't good."

"Well, I don't see why we should care." She squared her shoulders.

"You don't honestly believe that, do you?" he asked. "You can cut the shit. I know you care as much as I do about what's been going on around here."

She hesitated. "You're sure it was prism tech, not just steam or clockwork?"

"They're using prisms. They have an entire workshop of Lumineers."

"But the public hangings—"

"Clearly just for show."

Her shoulders dropped. "Elias is safe," she said more to herself than him. "They took him last night but I..."

His heart skipped. "You what?" A thousand scenarios went through his head, none of them good. "Fuck, Tabby. What did you do?"

"I..."

"Stupid girl!" he hissed, dragging her deeper into the alley, a palm splayed over her chest, plastering her to the wall. He ignored the feel of her beneath his touch. He hadn't called her that in years. Girl. She was far more a woman than she'd ever been. He could attest to that. She didn't flinch.

"I had to get him out," she said. "I'm sure you'll hear about it soon enough," her voice took on an overly casual air. "I stormed the precinct building. There was quite a blow-up. Don't worry, I wore my mask."

He shook his head. "You realize there are only a couple of female Spects. They'll bring you in for this."

Her eyes narrowed. "You didn't answer my question, Midnight. What are you doing on Dorwald Street?"

He was inclined to ignore her. But....

Her gaze flicked toward the mouth of the alley as several people walked past. She looked back at him and said, "The list. The council gave you Anson Macks, didn't they. He lives on Dorwald Street."

"You're quite astute when you want to be. Anson Macks and Arthur Beckham, if you must know. And from what I understand, you've been given Ray Penn and Glen Costigan."

"Midnight—" Her mouth snapped shut and her face smoothed to unreadable.

Thunder split the air around them. A moment later, the sky opened up and rain began to fall. With it, his impatience grew. "Well? Spit it out then. What now?"

She shook her head and made to leave. Ignoring the downpour, he pushed hard against her chest, ensuring she stayed against the wall, right where he wanted her. He braced his other hand on the brick wall to block her in and leaned in closer. She stilled. "Hmm...interesting," he mused, drawing several conclusions at once. Each one backed up his suspicions, bringing a deep rooted fear roaring to the surface. "What are you hiding?"

"How long did they give you?" she asked.

He studied her face before answering. "Plenty of time. But they won't be a problem. I should have Macks later tonight. Probably manage Beckham tomorrow."

"No."

"No, what?"

Her throat bobbed. "If you go after them, you'll die."

He opened his mouth, then closed it to hide the budding anger he felt heating his skin. "Why do I get the feeling that this has something to do with the missing Council members?"

Her face hardened into resolve. She pushed his hand away and left him standing there, blinking through the rain after her. At the mouth of the alley, she turned back to him.

"I've never asked much from you, Midnight. But I'm asking this now. Leave them. If you go after Macks tonight, you'll die. Leave them both."

And then she was gone.

***

It was late morning and Kensington Station was in an uproar. Shouts of "Make way!" and "Mind the grease!" could be heard everywhere as people, hobs, and mechanicals shoved their way about. Tabby managed to wipe most of the rain from her face before entering the large depot. She kept her eyes peeled for pickpockets and thieves.

Her mind was as bad as the storm outside. She was good at compartmentalizing her emotions. But that had always been harder where Midnight was concerned. She shouldn't have warned him. Letting him die would tie up a loose end and save her the trouble. But....

She blinked, taking in the sight around her.

This was Candela's largest transportation depot, housing most of the airships that connected Chroma with the countryside and beyond. Most of the city's transportation depots were for trains, omnibuses, stagecoaches, and the like. Not this one. It was a sight to behold.

The roof was as tall as the sky, and made entirely of iron and glass. Massive airships shaped like brass and silver torpedoes were free to come and go with ease. The bridges to board these ships looked like an elaborate latticework painted across the ceiling. Vast networks of staircases and platforms scattered about to reach them, connecting everything together.

The noise was an assault to the senses. Whistles sounded everywhere. Watchmen called last-minute barding warnings to rushing passengers who dragged trollies about. Nit was firmly pinned to her shirt in the form of a bronze beetle broach. This was not a safe place for a mechanimal to fly.

She spent the better part of the morning exploring the depot and asking harmless questions until she found the commissioner's office. She located Felix Lane and posted up to study him, keeping to the shadows.

Could it be Reaper? The hope she felt was distracting enough to keep her mind off Midnight. Her chest expanded at the eager thought. That she might be this close to something she'd wanted for so long was almost impossible to believe. A part of her never expected to get revenge—never counted on it.

Felix Lane looked harmless enough. Late forties, closely trimmed beard, unremarkable brown eyes. He came and went from his office to the conference room next door, meetings mostly, but occasionally he made his rounds through the depot to check that schedules were maintained. She followed him each time, watching the way he moved, his mannerisms, his behavior. Mostly, he moved in a way that could be considered normal, but there were telltale signs that a Spect lurked beneath his surface. That was the first thing she needed to be certain of. That Felix Lane was indeed a Spect and not simply some random name spit out in the heat of pain.

But she grew more convinced by the hour. The way Felix Lane maintained awareness of his surroundings, and even the sense of authority he exhibited. The way he talked to other people.

She stepped away for a meager lunch of beef hand pies she purchased at a high price from a vendor cart. The bustle in the station died down come afternoon, but flared up again that evening. Mr. Lane clocked out around six.

She didn't follow him past the doors outside. Instead, she sent Nit on their merry little way. A Spect was sure to notice her footfalls in his wake. No one ever noticed Nit.

While Nit tracked, she returned to Elias's workshop and then her safehouse , to ensure she had proper supplies. There was no guarantee that she'd get Lane tonight. But her hope was fierce. An eagerness left her all but shaking. It clamped down on her spine and shot through the rest of her body. She could not ignore it.

"He's stopped off for a drink," Nit informed her. A pub in Silver Hill. She made her way there, simply to remain close at hand. When Nit informed her of Lane's departure, she considered accosting him an an alley on his way out, but instead, she maintained patience. A day of trailing him didn't give her absolute certainty that he was a Council of Masks member, even if it was likely that he was a Spect.

She chewed on the inside of her cheek. Either way, she would find out soon enough. The best way to get answers was to ask.

Lane didn't leave Silver Hill when he finished his drink. She and Nit tracked him down the street where she found him traipsing up the walk to Willow Lodge. A weight settled over her chest. It was one of Chroma's most prestigious pleasure houses, after all. Of course that's where he'd spend his money.

She waited before sneaking around back. She knew Willow Lodge well enough that when she donned her mask and pulled herself into the shadows, sucking the light from around her. She emerged on the second floor and kept herself cloaked in shadow.

A cacophony of sounds assaulted her senses. Laughter, rough growls, moans. Pleasure was everywhere, enticing, oozing from closed doors. Her entire body remained as tense as overwound clockwork.

To avoid disturbing the occupants, she sent Nit to scuttle beneath the cracks of each door. Several patrons came and went while she lurked. She kept to the shadows, massaging her temples against light sickness, trying to keep her mind in tact. As her headache intensified, her pulling wavered. The back of her throat ached and a metallic taste coated her tongue. What would Nit find?

"He's here," Nit said at last, returning from a room at the end of the hall. "But...Tabby."

Nit's hesitance told her everything she needed to know. Clarabel was a favorite at the Willow. Why wouldn't Felix Lane be with her? It wasn't just her head aching now, but her jaw, from clenching it too tightly. She released a breath.

"We can always wait until they're done."

"No. Absolutely not."

Dread settled in the pit of her stomach. She had a choice to make: leave Clara to her work and find Felix later, somewhere else, or involve Clara in the one thing she'd tried to avoid involving her in for years. Unfortunately, she knew what her answer was. That didn't mean she had to like it.

A dark laugh bubbled up from her chest. Midnight would be so proud. Unfortunately she took no solace in that.

Even though she feared what she would see, she sent Nit back under the door to scuttle along the wall. This time, she watched through Nit's greyscale vision. Were it anyone else, she'd probably have gone straight in. But this was Clara. She pushed her emotions down deep, fortifying her nerves.

Clara sat on Lane's lap, her arms wrapped around his neck. The many times Clara had sat like that on her own lap flashed through her mind. She clenched her fist, ignoring the painful tightness that made it hard to swallow.

Lane's hands slid over Clara's body, lingering, caressing. He was gentle. They murmured to each other. "How would you like it tonight, my beauty." His voice sounded mechanical through Nit's ears.

"Oh stop," Clara swatted his arm playfully. "You know I'd rather please you."

"Against the wall then?" His eyes glittered with a predator's gleam.

"If that's what you want." Clara stood up and began pulling at the ties on her gown.

"No—" Lane moved forward. "Let me—"

Tabby blinked, coming back to herself. She readied two darts, one for each of them. Was she signing Clara's death sentence, barging in like this? If the Spectrum knew that Clara was the last one seen with Felix—if Felix was indeed a full mask as she suspected—they would come for Clara out of spite. But Tabby could not—would not—let anything happen to her.

She moved from the shadows to the door, summoning light to pick the lock. A flash from Nit told her Felix was still busy with Clara's bodice ties, his back to the door. How very careless of him.

She quietly opened it, darts at the ready.

Clara's eyes widened at the sudden intrusion. "Hey! You can't be—"

Everything happened quickly after that.

Felix spun around, dagger at the ready, and pushed Clara behind him. Tabby let the dart fly, but not before Felix Lane sent his dagger at her. There were two choices, blanket the room with light to mute them, or protect herself from the dagger. With so many occupants in the lodge, she went for the first.

She dodged, and Felix Lane's dagger grazed her ear. Pain split open the side of her head. Instinctively, she pulled white to heal it, quickly mending the tissue. Felix Lane dropped to the ground, unconscious. Clara chose that moment to scream bloody murder, but the noise went unnoticed within the safety of their cocoon.

She lifted the blowpipe, but Clara crumbled to the floor, to Felix Lane's side, looking up at Tabby with tear-filled eyes. "Please, no! Please don't kill me."

Tabby faltered, then sighed. The damage was done. Clara had seen enough. Darting her wouldn't erase that.

A sudden idea blossomed in her mind. She smiled. She knew exactly what to do with Clara.