A bucket of frigid water doused her. Tabby woke, gasping. The world swam in and out of focus. The agony in her back was immense. Tears immediately pricked her vision.

She pieced together the events that had brought her here. Her hands were no longer chained above her head. She was seated, strapped to a chair. She knew exactly what it meant.

Her formal punishment was over. The real punishment was yet to begin. She would scream—she knew it—and she hated herself for it.

To lose control in such a way was demoralizing beyond anything a person experienced. She was powerless to stop it—but not entirely powerless. This would be her ultimate test. True power rested in her ability to hold her secrets through the pain, even when it went against what she knew about torture. Saturated, she was likely to give Reaper everything he wanted, and more.

"Wake up, Tempest. You've slept long enough." Reaper came into view. "I have questions, you have answers. Though I hope you do not give them up anytime soon."

"I would hate to deprive you." The deadly calm of her voice surprised even her.

"I would hate that too." He fiddled with his dagger, the same one with the red handle. A few Spects lingered near the doorway: two quarter masks, a half mask, and a three quarter mask. If she could break free of her bonds while Reaper's back was turned, she could take them. Not all of them, perhaps. Maybe the quarter masks and the half mask. Her prisms were sitting on the table. If she could get to them...

She tried not to look at Reaper's mask. The very sight of it churned her stomach. Who was she kidding? He'd never let his guard down.

"I cannot deny that I have longed for this moment." His gentle laugh was muffled. "It's a shame I can't have you all to myself...yet." His eyes looked her up and down. A shiver raced down her spine when his gaze landed on her crotch.

He grunted. "What? Not eager to spread your legs for me?" He shrugged. "I'd rather have you fighting than compliant. Besides, you'll be begging for it when I'm done with the rest of you."

"You're disgusting," she spat, shaking all over.

"And you're weak! But I always knew that. Midnight's apprentice and a girl? What a joke. You know...I hoped you would refuse to kill your mark the day I took your little friend's life. Almost a shame I had to kill her. I had fun with her, you know. Did she ever tell you that?"

Fury like molten metal spread through her, glowing white hot around the edges. Clora hadn't said a word. Was he lying? Or had she simply been too afraid to tell Tabby? Was that why she'd refused her mark that night? As a way out? To escape a master that would have made life a literal hell?

Her heart broke all over again. Midnight would've never treated her that way. They only reason they fucked was because she'd nearly forced him into the arrangement a few years past. It had been entirely her doing, not his.

"Ahh. So she didn't tell you? Yes, it was about all she was good for."

"I'll kill you." Fury poured into every word. "I'll kill you for what you did to her."

"Not sure you're in a position to." He tossed his dagger from hand to hand. "And anyway, I have been given another opportunity to do the same to you. Fortune has a way of—"

"How about you ask your questions, you murderous disgusting fuck. I don't have all night."

"Oh, but I do." She could almost picture his sneer behind the mask. "And I plan to take my time."

"Great. Sounds like I'll die from boredom more than anything else."

A snort came from her audience, giving her a shred of satisfaction.

"If you cannot be quiet," Reaper drawled, throwing a glance over his shoulder, "then leave."

She pushed her pain into the deepest parts of her mind. She didn't want this, to be here with him, breathing the same air, subjected to his hand. Yet, a part of her felt like she deserved it, for all she had done, for letting Clora down, for choosing this life when she could have taken a cleaner path. The path Clora had taken.

She was weak. Reaper was right. But Clora? Clora wasn't weak. There was nothing weak about sacrifice. Giving up your life for that of another. Clora was the strongest person she had ever known.

"Now, where should I cut first?" Reaper tilted his head to the side, studying her.

Hatred and not fear shot through her...and a self-preserving desire to stall. "How about this—since you don't plan to ask anytime soon—how about I field your questions for you? You want to know why I did it? Why I killed our beloved council members? My reasons were two-fold."

"I didn't ask—"

"I was tired of Ghost's bullshit." She spoke over him. "I took matters into my own hands. I want the Spectrum for myself. And I need to know Ghost's identity to do that. But it was more than that. I wanted to find you. I wanted to make you suffer. To rip your body into pieces. For every Spect I strapped down and tortured, I imagined it was you. And I enjoyed it. Unfortunately for me, here we are." She heaved a sigh, trying to weave nonchalance into her words. "My own little escapade turned out quite differently than I'd hoped. I never discovered Ghost's true identity. But maybe you can help me with that, hmm? Satisfy my curiosity, since I'm going to die anyway."

"My, my." Reaper clicked his tongue. "What a story. I wish I could believe you."

He came behind her and took a handful of her hair, ripping her head back. Her eyes watered. "You smell of lies and deceit, Tempest." He plunged his dagger to the hilt, deep into her shoulder, sharp and quick as an adder.

For a moment there was nothing. Then he pulled it free. She screamed then, a garbled version of "Fuck you." Fire raced down her arm and up her neck. Fresh tears spilled from her eyes.

Her mind briefly opened. She caught a flash of Nit. Of Nit's concern. And something else. Nit was no longer hovering above the Temple. They flew through an open window of a building, straight for a familiar face. She blocked what she saw and steeled her nerves.

"I'm not stupid, Tempest, so don't play me for a fool. You're working for someone. I want to know who."

The words struck a nerve. She laughed, hysterical. He couldn't fathom a woman resourceful enough to want power? How unsurprising.

"Who put you up to it?" he hissed. "Who are you working for? I want a name. Give me a fucking name!"

"Go to hell."

"I don't think so." He grabbed her hand, pinning it down to the chair arm. There was no time for fear, no time to mentally prepare for his next move. She screamed when his blade slid beneath her pointer fingernail.

"Who are you working for?" He pried up the nail and flung it away. Her insults turned to garbled, incoherent screams. She pulled against her bonds, straining against them like a caged animal. Like a rabid thing.

"Tell me, you little bitch!" Frenzy took him. "Prince Albert Whitlock? The Technologist regime? Who?"

Every scream that ripped from her lips kept her from speaking.

"I'll cut off your hand, so help me Light. You'll be nothing without your hands."

"Like you'd disobey Ghost," she snapped. Tears cascaded down her cheeks, but she stifled her sobs. Her body trembled uncontrollably.

"Yes, well..." He bit out the words. "Always better to ask forgiveness later." Yet, he did not make a move against her. He began circling—a caged lion ready to pounce. There was nothing human about him.

Was this her? Was this what she had become when she tortured her enemies? This disgusting creature desperate to exact revenge? Had their roles been reversed, would it have been any different? Would she have been any different?

The thought hardened something inside her. She didn't want to be this—to be him. It took a monster to destroy one. But that wasn't what she wanted to be. It had never been her choice. But...maybe it could be.

Reaper came at her again, snarling. The onslaught continued, and always the same question. Depending on her pain, she either told him to fuck off, or offered a fresh lie. It was Prince Albert. No, it was Nathaniel Wigram. Terrence Heard. Clement Casey. She gave up technologist names like lifelines.

He took two more fingernails, put slices across her arms, legs, even her cheek. Everything short of absolute mutilation. True to his word, he did not go against Ghost's wishes, though he threatened it plenty. His tactics were dirty. He paired every blow, every cut, with words to tear her down, to shatter her, to remind her of her weakness. And she let him, allowed him to chip away at the fragments of her mind.

"I tell you what," he said after what felt like hours. "Give me the truth, and I'll end it." He stepped in front of her and with deft movements, shoved the point of his dagger into the back of her hand, pinning it to the chair arm. She screamed again, moaning. Fresh agony ripped through her body as he pulled it free. "Don't you want this to end?" She did. Tears, more than she ever thought possible, continued to pour down her face. No one was going to help her. She was alone.

This realization made her sob harder, her body shaking. Her whole life she'd been alone. A father who never wanted her—a father who'd given her up to this. A master who cared more for loyalty than life. A conspirator who cared more for the preservation of his identity. Nit was all she had, and they weren't even human. What good could a silly mechanimal do against a regime like the Spectrum.

"Give me the truth," Reaper hissed.

This was it. He'd won, and she no longer cared. All he wanted was a name. Steiner had abandoned her anyway. Their plight was at an end. It was over. Giving up his identity didn't entirely condemn him. He had resources at his disposal. He could flee to safety.

"Just a name," Reaper cooed, taking her chin in his fingers, tilting her face to meet his eyes. "Yes, that's it. I can see your contemplation. Good. That's it. Just a name." She cried even harder, tears leaking down her cheeks. Weak. She was so weak. Her face twisted with dispair. He'd won and he knew it. "Good. See? Am I not merciful when times call for it? Was I not merciful to One-nine-six-seven?"

The mention of Clora's number was jarring. It stirred something in her, bringing new pain to the surface. Fresh fury. In this moment, it steeled her reserve. "I will give you nothing, you disgusting piece of shit. Nothing!" she screamed, throwing herself against her bonds anew.

"Good. I'm glad." He released her chin none too gently then walked away. At the table, he took a moment to quench his thirst, putting his muscled back to her. She continued pulling at her bonds, glancing about frantically, looking for something—anything—she might use to get free. The Spect onlookers lounged against the wall, still watching like this was a show. And it was.

In her desperation, she glanced at the prisms sitting on the table. Light! If she could pull their light, she'd snap her bonds and be free. She'd unleash color on all of them, bring them to their knees. Make them pay. But the prisms were too far.

The wall sconces flickered, enticing, their flames beckoning. Somewhere in the back of her mind, from another life, she remembered a conversation with Elias Newton. A conversation about pulling light. Desperate longing pooled in her chest. She closed her eyes, feeling out with her awareness, feeling the flames like warmth in her mind. She flicked her fingers, the movement subtle, begging the light to comply. The power was there, waiting, encouraging. She tried. She really did. The only response was a feeble flicker. So she prayed to Light, because now was as good a time as any to be pious, begging with her mind. Begging for help, for just a wisp, just enough to break free of her bonds. She'd do anything—be anything that Light wanted. Give Light whatever it required. Whatever sacrifice Candela's religious people did these days. Was she not Light Touched?

Nothing happened, just as nothing had happened when she'd tried before. And why would it? Why would Light find her worthy? Alone. She was so very alone. This was her fate. She'd put herself here all on her own. And she deserved it. So she pulled again and again, as if her own diminished strength would be enough to break the bonds holding her.

"Now, now." Reaper returned. "That's not going to work. There's no freedom for you, Tempest. A storm you might have been, but that's the thing with storms. They all fizzle out in the end. Besides, we're having too much fun."

"Fuck you."

He grunted. "That's what I'll be doing to you soon enough." His eyes glinted. "The Spectrum made a mistake allowing women into its ranks. You're pathetic. Weak. How did you even make it this far?" She didn't bother to answer. His baiting would only bring encouragement. "I can't help but think that you're only alive because Midnight wasn't strong enough to do what was needed." He hesitated. "Then again, Midnight was never capable of much, really. Is it him?" He shoved his face in front of hers, snarling. "Did he put you up to this? To seize power for himself?"

"Midnight's worth a hundred of you, you piece of shit." She spat at him, spit mixed with blood.

He hissed and plunged his dagger in her thigh, all the way to the hilt. She screamed again, throwing herself at him like a wild animal, anything to distract her from the pain. Another Spect crept into the room, lingering by the door. His appearance went unnoticed by the others. Despite her tears, her pain, her frenzy, she would have recognized him anywhere. A cry of absolute disbelief fell from her lips, mixed in with her other cries.

A familiar buzz followed, nearly drowned out by the blood rushing past her ears. She slumped in her chair. "Hold on, Tabby!" Nit's voice was faint. She didn't expect freedom, but at least Nit was here with her at the end of things.

Another Spect lurked in the hallway just outside, his golden filigree mask shaped like a shield. Vague realization pressed through the fog of her mind. He reached for the door and closed it, winking out of sight. The moment it latched, everything erupted into chaos. But her mind was so clouded, she hardly made sense of whatever happened next.

Midnight jumped into action. He took on all four Spects at once, dealing killing blows in rapid succession. Reaper had no time for snide comments. He turned from her and lunged, meeting Midnight head on.

Her body trembled, growing weaker by the moment as pure relief flooded her, mixing with what was left of adrenaline. Blood dripped down her leg and shoulder, soaking her clothes. She shook so hard her teeth clattered. Her missing fingernails set the nerves in her fingers ablaze, racing up her arm like jolts of electric charges. Her fingers felt like they'd been shoved in a furnace. That would have been preferable, even.

Yet, the undercurrent of something else rippled through her. In just a few hours, Reaper had done what years of pain and harsh training could not. She wasn't the same—not anymore. She was something different, something other, standing in the ashes of the person she used to be. He hadn't shattered her. No. Not even close.

He'd put her back together.

"Hold still!" Nit took on the form of a monkey, biting and scratching at her bonds. She looked down at them, emotion blooming through her chest. Nit had found a way to save her, to rescue her, when she never thought it possible. She wanted to weep with gladness for this little creature. This creation that was supposed to be heartless. Nit whirled and clicked, transforming. Now they were a bird, snipping at the bonds with their metallic beak, and then a cat with claws, and then a mouse. Each tug and pull against her bonds felt like fresh torture. She clenched her jaw to keep from crying out, fading in and out of consciousness.

Midnight and Reaper circled, dealing calculated blows. Spurts of color flashed between them. They moved forward and backward, like the ebb and flow of rough waves, crashing against each other, carrying the weight and emotions years in the making. She was only somewhat aware of their voices. "I always knew this day would come," Reaper hissed. "And it was better than I imagined. Now I have both of you here. Ghost will be so pleased."

From behind his three quarter mask, Midnight spared a glance in her direction, his lips pressed in a firm line. "I'll kill you for laying your filthy hands on her." He threw himself at Reaper. They crashed to the floor in a ball of fists and daggers.

Nit freed one arm. Her shoulder screamed in relief. Then Nit freed the other before dropping to the floor to work on her feet. She urged Nit to hurry, glancing about in a daze. Her sluggish mind struggled to calculate a plan. She couldn't think clearly and even her instincts were awry.

Midnight cried out. She hissed, looking over as he staggered away from Reaper. Blood soaked his tunic but it didn't stop him. He lunged again, dealing several blows in rapid succession.

"Hurry, Nit," she whispered. It was a struggle to talk, to breath.

"You're in no condition to fight him. Let Midnight handle it."

She ignored the mechanimal. Her bonds fell from her feet and she shot up, only to fall to the floor where she caught herself with her hands, crying out in agony. On hands and knees, she dragged herself past the fighting bodies to the table. She couldn't lift herself enough so her hand felt around for an object. She snatched a dagger.

Midnight and Reaper both suffered heavy injuries. Their fighting had become sloppy, both staggering. The use of color diminished, prisms drained. Reaper hissed as Midnight swiped low, ripping his calf wide open. He stumbled.

She saw the opportunity and launched herself like a feral cat at Reaper. But her movements were too clumsy. She judged the distance wrong and flailed to the floor, quickly righting herself.

Midnight glanced at her. Even beneath his three quarter mask, she registered the fire in his eyes. Reaper acted. He grabbed Midnight by the shoulder and plunged his dagger into his torso, then twisted. Midnight screamed with rage, not pain, as Reaper threw him up against the wall. The crack of Midnight's skull against stone turned her stomach sour. He crumbled to the floor, unmoving.

"No," she whispered, watching the scene play out in slow motion. Midnight had come for her when she never expected him to. And now he'd died for her. Something inside her shattered like glass cooled too quickly. She screamed, lunging for Reaper. "This is for Clora, you piece of shit!" She stabbed him in the back before he could turn, ripping the blade free and repeating the motion twice more. He lumbered around like a clumsy bear, completely spent. Nit, in the form of a cat, slammed into Reaper's legs and sent him stumbling. He landed hard on the floor.

She was on him in seconds, straddling him, blade biting into the skin at his neck. He stilled. "I'm going to kill you," she hissed, shaking with rage. "I'm going to kill you, you fucking piece of shit." She ripped his mask away to stare at his face. The face she'd never seen until he'd surprised her on the street. The face of the man who'd brought her undue pain.

Reaper laughed, the motion contorting his features. "If you're going to kill me, then by all means, get on with it. Your master clearly couldn't do it."

A guttural roar broke from her chest. It took everything to control the blade against his neck. "Tell me about Ghost," she demanded. "Who is he? Tell me!" The sharp edge cut into his skin. Blood oozed.

"You think I would tell you?" He snorted.

"I'll make you suffer." The lie echoed in her voice. She couldn't. She wouldn't stoop to his level, not now. Never again, as desperately as she wanted to do exactly to him what he had done to her. There was no time.

"Perhaps I misjudged you, Tempest." His eyes flicked. His chest deflated.

"That was your biggest mistake. Never underestimate the power of a woman, you prick." She pressed the blade harder. "You've polluted this world long enough."

"Kill me and the truth dies. I'm the only one who knows Ghost's secret."

"You're bluffing."

"Am I?"

"Nit!" She didn't take her eyes from Reaper. Nit shifted into the hulking metallic form of a tiger. She'd built him like that, once, thinking of how nice it would be to have a brute of a cat for a protector. Like all the other big animals, it was impractical. She knew the moment she'd finished that he'd attract too much attention in the street. Light, that felt like a lifetime ago. Another life. Another person. Certainly not the woman she was today. Or right now.

Nit lumbered over, one massive paw in front of the next, the gears in their clockwork clicking loudly. She relinquished her position and let Nit pin Reaper to the floor, settling their metallic form atop his body. Reaper struggled against the hulk of metal holding him in place. "What is this thing?" he hissed.

"Your reckoning." She leaned over his face. "One last chance," she whispered, her voice unusually calm. "Tell me who Ghost is." Reaper said nothing. She shoved her thumbs into his eye sockets, pushing through soft tissue, ignoring the revulsion welling up in her stomach. She listened to him scream, no longer relishing in the sound like she thought she would. His hands clawed at Nit's metallic tiger paws. His nails scraping against Nit's metal made her shudder. She dug deeper, pushing her thumbs as far as they would go.

He twitched. "Hubert," he gasped at last. "Hubert Maltby."

"That's ridiculous. You lie!" She pushed deeper. He gave a final twitch and then went still. "No! Tell me who?!" But it was too late. No further demands would change that. He was dead and she would never know Ghost's identity.

When she pulled her thumbs away, the sight made her vomit. She wiped them clean against Reaper's clothing. She ignored her pain, crawling over to Midnight, throwing herself against his limp form.

He twitched. "Tabby..." The surprised croak of his voice was barely audible. She cried out. An arm came around her waist, weakly pinning her against him.

"You should be dead," she managed. Hope blossomed in her chest. Her breathing came faster, more ragged. Any minute, she would be dead too. She glanced around. The table felt so far away. Could she crawl there?

"I should be—will be. I was waiting for you. You...did what I couldn't."

"I'm going to save you," she whispered. She tried to crawl away, to get to her prisms.

He grabbed her arm. "No, don't...leave me." His grip was weak, but there was a steady strength there that only he possessed.

"Nit!" Desperation rang in her voice. "My ring, Nit! Get my ring!"

Nit fluttered over to the table, pushing their beak through the items. "It's not here. It's...it's gone."

"That's impossible. Keep looking," she cried. It had to be there. She was wearing it when Reaper had captured her.

But it wasn't. Nit couldn't find it. Fresh tears poured down her cheeks. "Just hold on a little longer," she begged. She assessed the damage to Midnight's body. Broken ribs, fractured skull, stab wounds, blood loss. His organs were irreparable without the help of white light, and even now, the contents in his intestines was poisoning him. He was barely breathing. Without her ring, she could not save him.

"You have to let me go," he whispered. "It's better this way." A bout of coughing sent blood spraying from his lips.

"No," she said, refusing. "I'm going to heal you. I just need..." What did she need? Could she get him out of the Temple? To Steiner's? Steiner had a white prism.

"Let me go." He had her hand against his chest. Something about his touch was intimate, different than it had ever been. Glancing at his lips, she didn't wait for him to say more. She leaned over and kissed him. If he weren't dying right now, he'd have killed her for it. His lips tasted of salt and blood, but she didn't care. To her surprise, his other hand came up and tangled in her hair at the nape of her neck, pulling her against him. Fire, so different than the pain assaulting her, erupted in her chest. And anger, that he'd worked so hard to keep things between them free of emotion.

He sighed then, leaning his head back and closing his eyes. "I'm sorry," he said at last.

"No. Don't you dare! If you die on me, Midnight, I'll kill you." He huffed but said nothing.

"Tabby, use me." Nit fluttered over. "Use me." She pulled away and glanced at Nit's sparrow form. "I have enough to give for this. I have enough."

"You...? Your...your prism...?" The realization dawned on her. She hadn't considered it. Nit was so real to her. The thought had been inconceivable.

A solution. A way out. A victorious cry dropped from her lips, unbidden.

"He's dying, Tabby! Don't think about it! Just do it."

Midnight's grip loosened and his hands fell to the floor. She gulped in air, snatching Nit into her hands, delicately cradling their body to her chest. She pulled every vestige of white light from Nit's prism, sending it into Midnight's worst wounds, healing his skull. She flicked her fingers and twisted her wrist, guiding it into the gashes, using it to fix his intestines and cleanse him, to stitch his organs back together, and then the skin. Just enough to stop the bleeding and keep him alive. She saved a small wisp for her leg and shoulder. She'd never get him out otherwise. The rest of her she left, using her agony to sharpen her senses. Any pain, even pain as immense as hers, was worth Midnight's life.

He gasped, eyes going wide, back arching, then collapsed against the floor. But his breathing came steadier. And he no longer coughed.

A sudden emptiness took her. Nit. She groaned, looking down at the lifeless mechanimal body in her hands. Fresh tears stung her eyes. More tears than she thought possible. Nit had gone silent. Motionless. Inanimate. Their presence in her mind was completely gone. She thought she knew what it was to be alone. Now she knew what it really felt like. It was all darkness and loss, as painful as the wounds covering her body. The mechanimal had given its prism, even if temporarily, and she wouldn't squander that kindness.