A light fog rolled in off the Taewae, gathering around the gas lamps, scattering their glow into halos. The autumn air was chilly. Each exhale came out in a cloudy puff. Tabitha Grey left Catterford's district far behind. A coach would have been faster, but this gave her time to think as Steiner's words replayed in her mind.

Her pace didn't slow until she reached Lixton's district, nestled in an overlooked part of Chroma. In ideal location for a safe house. She kept to the foot path at the side of the street, ready to draw a dagger should she need. A reverberation of thunder growled beneath her feet, rattling her to the bone. The passing of an omnibus. It was stuffed with late-night revelers. The bustle on the street continued well past Brixby Theater.

Her busy eyes darted ahead into the shadows. She strained for the slightest out-of-place sound against the city's drone. From the sky, Nit spotted all the things she couldn't. This was Saphire Wolves territory. They lurked in twos and threes, hands posed over hidden weapons, watching, waiting, shrinking into the shadows as she passed with a warning glare.

Across the street, a gathering crowd caught her attention. The tall hats of three constables rose above the others. She focused in on their words, trying to tune out everything else. "...do you mean, you lost it?" A voice drawled. The constable's bravado was unmistakable.

"I...I had it," came the high-pitched answer. "I must've...must've left it home." Through the gathered bodies, a man cowered in the middle. At his feet, a mechanimal cat clicked its tail and yowled. It had no winding key, and when it next moved, a glint of orange showed through its metal plates. The telltale sign of its glassy heart. A prism.

"All prism tech requires proper permitting, no exceptions." The constable spoke loud enough for the crowd. "You know the consequences. Let this be a lesson. Boys?"

Tabby clenched her teeth and rushed onward, but she couldn't shield her ears.

"No! Please!"

She flinched against the sound of grating metal, briefly squeezing her eyes shut, trying not to picture the constables smashing the mechanimal to pieces. The screech of aluminum and brass set her hairs on end. When she next glanced over her shoulder, the orange prism had come loose. It rolled out on to the street and into the gutter. She didn't turn around again, thinking of Nit, glad that her creation was safe.

Things of this nature happened more and more frequently as prism tech infiltrated Chroma's city. The common people were fighting back. Hoping to flood the country with it until it was too difficult to sanction, until the crown threw up its hands and said, "Fine! It's yours!" As it should be. The technology belonged to the people. Moreover, it belonged to those who had invented it. To the Lumineers. To people like Elias Newton.

She increased her pace, putting distance between herself and the spectacle, until the crowd on the streets thinned—a single passerby here and there. A few Saphire Wolves in the darkest alleys. And then nothing for three blocks.

Another commotion gave her pause. She slowed to listen. The clattering of a breaking crate paired with a muffled cry. It came from an alley ahead. A man's voice drifted to her. "...No, please. I don't have much. Fine, take it. Take it." A gruff laugh answered. Then a frightened squeak.

Nit swooped low in front of her with a warning. "Trouble ahead." The white flash of Nit's prism was a beacon in the darkness. But they were safe. There was no sign of the city's constables. No sign of Lixton's evening watchman.

She quickened her pace and passed the entrance of the alley, glancing into the darkness. Shadows moved within. No one appeared at the mouth to warn her away. She could stop, but this was Sapphire Wolves territory. Things like this happened all the time. She didn't have the time or patience for it tonight. There was still Steiner to deal with. And truth was, she simply couldn't muster enough feeling to care.

"Tabby?!" Nit scolded. "You're just going to leave him?" The reproach left her grinding her teeth.

"Why shouldn't I?" she asked. "I'm no mutton shunter. It's not my job to keep the streets clean." But Nit's silence brought her to a slow stop. Nit never judged her when it came to Spect work. Another reason she loved the mechanimal. No one else in the world would afford her such lenience. Not even Elias, though he pretended it didn't bother him. "Damn it all to hell," she muttered at last, donning her half mask again before removing her depleted dagger.

"You may be a killer," said Nit, "but you're no villain."

Street killings were a nightly occurrence in Chroma. Muggings, even more so. Gang violence was everywhere, splattered across every street, every district. Candela's rich weren't the only ones preying on the weak.

She gripped her dagger and crept into the yawning mouth of the alley, into the shadows.

A deep laugh sounded ahead. "... thought you'd just pay us and scamper away, did ya? You'll have to pay more 'n that. What else you got in those pockets?"

"But I have children!"

"'But I have children!'" mimicked the voice. "Can it! We don care 'bout your brats, do we Horist?"

"Naw. We don't."

The rubber on her sleek boots made her silent. She slipped deeper into darkness, dodging refuse and puddles. Her dark violet gown worked in her favor.

There were two men at the far end, knives raised. A third was against the wall. The whites of his eyes shone like a reflection of his fear. He whimpered, his gaze locked on their blades.

What a coward! She suppressed a sneer. Why not fight back? The least he could do was run. There wasn't any sign of a revolver, no danger of being shot. He just stood there trembling, helpless. Useless. A damn waste of her time.

"Fear cripples the best of us, Tabby. Remember that. If you turn your back, you are no better than those who deserve justice." She rolled her eyes. Nit loved little Nit-isms like this. She'd made a word up for them, because they came frequently enough.

A few more steps and she moved into position, cloaked in a shroud of silence. Darkness was a part of her, a tableau of what she had become. She lunged, falling upon the first man in seconds. His hair was a tangled mess in her fingers as she wrenched his head back and ripped his throat open, spilling hot, sticky blood down his front. The other had no time to react. Her blade sank deep into the back of his neck, squelching as it came out the other side. In and out. Efficient. With no room for error.

Her arrival was the storm they never saw coming.

Tempest. That's what they called her. Her Spect name. Her identity. The person she had become long, long ago.

Both men crumbled to the ground at her feet. She looked down, breathing through her nose.

"Light take me!" The man sagged against the wall and slid to the ground. She ignored him as she bent to examine the bodies, keeping her masked face averted. Each body bore a familiar tattoo, inked onto the inner forearm: a wolf chomping down on a shattered prism. Sapphire Wolves.

As she searched them, she found a few pieces of jewelry, a pouch of blue prisms—which she pocketed—and five coin purses. They'd been busy tonight. This man wasn't their first, but he was their last. Their other targets probably lay dead in alleys not far from here.

"One of these is yours, I presume?" She turned to the man. He sat in a pool of his own urine, the stench of it filling the air.

His wide eyes fell on her and he gagged, clutching at his chest. "Ke—keep it, demon," he hissed, scuttling farther away. Now she had become the monster.

She sneered and tossed all five pouches into his lap, listening to the coins clink. "For your children, then." Her nose crinkled. She took an exaggerated sniff. "You stink. Perhaps use it to visit a bathhouse. Now go. Before death takes you too." At this, he stood and scrambled away.

She pocketed everything else—even the gold jewelry, since she could melt it down—leaving the bodies to fester the alley. The watchman would find them at dawn—or not. They'd be added to the tally of others around the city. Too bad for the Sapphire Wolves.

"Rotten, thankless work," she muttered, rolling up and stowing her fabric mask before emerging out onto the street.

"You did the right thing."

Had she, though? She was probably the least qualified person to judge. The man's disgusted face remained fixed in her mind. His lingering expression heated her blood. This wasn't the first time she'd protected someone like him, nor would it be the last. Not if Nit had any say. People always looked at her the same way. Chroma gang rats were terrifying until their victims laid eyes upon her. Spect. Masker. Lighter. Monster. It didn't matter what they called her. There was Light, and then there were its shadowy demons. She would always be one of them.

***

Theodore Carter trailed behind Tabitha Grey for nearly an hour after watching her emerge from Norhaven Hall. He rarely tailed her anymore, but tonight's job had been a big one. He needed to be sure. So he'd remained outside Lord Parlow's, hidden in the shadows long enough to see panic spreading through the mansion, spilling out onto the drive, before jumping to follow Tabby's disappearing figure.

She'd been successful.

He had only to follow her several blocks into Lixton before he knew where she was going. Returning to her safe house. But then there'd been a flash of light in the form of a mechanimal bird swooping in front of her. She detoured into an alley. He waited in the shadows across the street, farther down. He was too far behind to hear anything. A number of possibilities raced through his mind. He calculated the likelihood of each and knew what he'd find, especially when a man staggered out, clutching his heart like he'd seen death.

Moments later, she emerged, tucking her mask away.

He waited until she was far ahead—a learned habit. If he got too close, she'd know. Somehow, beyond his comprehension, she always knew. Her ability to lose him exceeded his wildest expectations. He clamped down on the urge to smile, keeping his face a mask. There was no room for emotion in his line of work.

Once Tabby was no longer in sight, swallowed up by the evening fog, he stole into the alley and examined her victims. Saphire Wolves. Efficient use of a blade—a dagger by the looks of it. A pool of blood had already enveloped their prone forms. From her, he expected nothing less than perfection.

Still, A scowl deepened on his features. This was unacceptable. It wasn't that she'd killed unmarked names. He cared nothing for their lives. For anyone's life. It was that she cared. Clearly. She cared enough to save a man from whatever his victims intended. He'd seen this behavior from her before.

His jaw clenched. He stood from his crouch, clenching and unclenching his fist. This was the kind of shit that would get her killed. Exhaling slowly, he catalogued the remainder of his surroundings then swept back out onto the street.

He could no longer afford to linger in her wake. He had his own work tonight. Taking off at a brisk pace, he allowed the fog to swallow him whole.

***

Tabby made it to her safehouse unhindered—a four story townhouse sandwiched between two other multi-flat buildings. It was too much space for her alone, but given her line of work, could not be shared.

She sank her fingers into the soft soil of a flowerpot and removed the key she'd hidden. Before stepping over the threshold, she went through the tedious task of disarming her traps, dismantling the poison darts waiting to render inert anyone stupid enough to trespass. Nit followed her inside. She checked the windows, looking out over St. Calbeck, studying the shadows before convincing herself that all was well.

"Quite a night," said Nit. "Three killings!"

"We're not done yet," she said, heading upstairs.

"You plan to go for Steiner?"

"There's still time yet."

Safehouse Two was nothing spectacular. The bottom floor held a staged living area with a kitchen, sparsely furnished sitting room, and a bedroom she rarely slept in. If she had to sleep, she slept on the second floor where it was safer. The upper floors held everything useful: her poisons, disguises, weapons. The top two were open and used for training. She'd had the walls ripped out when she took ownership of the building. These floors were the places she and Midnight worked together. He came three times a week to keep her fit and relevant. Though, it was more than that. He was still her master until she turned twenty-five, until she traded her half mask in for a three quarter mask. He did it to keep an eye on her.

She traipsed around, lighting wall sconces and candles, chasing away the shadows. Maybe Steiner was right, no amount of light could ever save her. Yet, soon the place glowed and she felt better. She set out her prism dagger. Candlelight was rich in long wavelengths. The dagger would absorb all the reds it could, but she'd get a faster charge once the sun was up, saturating it with greater flux.

She poured herself a glass of gin and downed it before pouring another, willing her mind to relax. Glass in hand, she surveyed her belongings, slipping the book she'd nicked into her satchel for later. "All this for a stupid list," she muttered. She held the Prism Pact into the light, roaming over the names again—committing them to memory. She knew each one, targets she'd spied on or followed in the past.

Nathaniel Wigram. He was an earl who often came to Chroma on crown buisness. No surprise there. Anson Macks, Ray Penn, Terrence Heard—all Technologists. Lord Caleb Long. He'd played a hand in the Redell Uprisings too, if she wasn't mistaken.

She went through each name, recalling what she knew of them, stopping at Steiner's before frowning. The Spectrum would mark them. Each name would go into the book. It was the fastest way for Prince Edwin to gain the throne. Without any party opposition, his path was clear.

She took off her necklace and set it aside. The violet prisms were all but drained. They'd need time in the sunlight. She peeled herself out of her gown, holding it at arm's length. "Ugh! Ruined." Dark splotches of blood covered the front.

"Do you think Kennith can launder it and remove the stains?" she asked Nit.

"He might ask where they came from."

"Pooh! He never asks questions. How many things has he done for me?"

Still, it was a shame. She'd only worn it once. Tossing it over a chair, she changed into something more her style. A dark tunic, a suede corset full of hidden pockets and deep cowl that buttoned on, a pair of pants with some give to them, her favorite gadget belt, boots, and a new set of soft leather gloves. Everything she wore was specially made. There wasn't much else to spend her earnings on.

She refilled her drink before moving around to feed the spiders, snakes, and other poisonous denizens she kept for her work. Safehouse Two wasn't home. None of her safehouses were. One and Three were currently unoccupied, but she moved around every six months to better keep her secrets.

Home was the room she occupied in Elias Newton's loft above his machinist workshop. That's where she kept the things she particularly loved, things she needed to hide from the Spectrum and rest of the world. That's where her heart belonged.

As a final task, she checked the prisms hidden in her belt beneath their leather flaps. She had four blues, two greens, and a violet. The one on her ring was white, disguised to look like a diamond. Small, but oh-so-powerful. She only had to charge it once a week. It had been a chore, tracking it down in the mines of Ipsum.

Lighter abilities differentiated Spects from a simple assassins. Aside from the expected, namely killing, Spects were trained one color at a time, starting with the longest wavelength and working up to shorter ones. Most didn't make it past green. The lucky ones reached blue, occasionally indigo. The unlucky ones, who couldn't so much as master red, were discarded. Only two Spects in her lifetime had surpassed Indigo. Heptachroms—for the mastery of all seven colors.

Seven colors and she hadn't earned her three-quarter mask yet! A feat to be proud of. One she dangled in front of Midnight whenever she could.

When she had asked about white, the Spect who'd trained her in colors only laughed. As far as they were concerned, white was uncontrollable—unheard of. The Spectrum would never suspect the ring on her finger. She'd worn it for years without a second glance.

Nit was an eagle perched on her cabinet, watching her with big, glassy eyes. "You're sure this is a good idea?"

"Probably not." A thrill sent a lick of heat racing across her skin. She checked her satchel, tucked a few items into her belt, gave her surroundings one final pass, then made her way downstairs. She wouldn't be returning here until Sunday. Nit followed her, transforming into a cat to navigate the house and its stairs. She took one look at the mechanimal and thought of the cat from earlier, smashed to bits beneath the constable's boot. She shuddered. Perhaps her love of clockwork made her weak.

"I can be something else," Nit suggested, sensing her disquiet.

"Yes, please."

Nit changed again, this time into the monkey form, hopping down the remaining stairs. She listened to their gears as they whirled and clicked. "You need a thorough oiling," she observed, trying to lighten the mood. "It's all this damned fog. Rusting you from the inside out."

"I am not rusted, thank you very much! I'll have you know, I keep my cogs in tip-top shape."

"No, I keep your cogs in tip-top shape. You're getting an oiling."

Nit both hated and loved having their bits and pieces greased, but they knew better than to protest. She sent them out onto the porch and reset her traps, then she stepped out into the night.

Her pocket watch wasn't ordinary. The blue prism within the cogs winked back at her in the darkness. Normal pocket watches ran just fine with a simple winding. This one didn't need it. And like everything else, she did not possess any permitting for it.

Nearly two in the morning. This was shaping up to be a long night. Nit transformed into a sparrow and took flight, navigating the least populated path to their destination. She followed, keeping good pace.

It took forty-five minutes to reach Steiner's townhouse on Dorwald Street. He lived near Covington Hall where the House of Representatives commonly met. Like all prominent lords, he also had a house in the country, a four day's ride from Chroma, right on the border between Candela and Ipsum. Solaris, it was called. All great manors were named.

As she walked, she considered her plan, feeling fairly confident by the time she arrived.

A quick assessment from the shadows showed a dark house. Not even in the servants' quarters were lit. She wasn't sure where Steiner's bedroom was located, but it wouldn't be street-side. An alley ran along the back. She scaled the brick wall and dropped into his private garden. There were balconies on the second and third levels.

"Be a good birdy, Nit, and see which window it is."

"In here," Nit said, from the third floor. She removed her pocket watch and turned it over, pressing the hidden brass button on the back. A grapple and cable shot out and anchored to the bars of Steiner's balcony, the noise muffled. The cable held fast after a few jerks. "What would I do without prism tech, eh, Nit?"

"You wouldn't have me." Nit landed on the railing, gripping it with their little birdy feet.

"No, indeed! And that would be a damn shame."

Nit had saved her from plenty of sticky situations. Together, they made a great team. She wouldn't have survived long in the Spectrum without them.

Only one in three acolytes earned half masks—an apprenticeship. Even fewer earned three quarter masks. That's why respect was given where earned. Seven in total were permitted a full mask. These were the Council of Masks. Her overseers. The ones who kept her caged. Reaper, Clora's killer, had earned his full mask two years ago. Even Midnight hadn't been so fortunate. If one could call it fortune.

She held firm to her device and tugged once more before retracting it. The blue prism flared into life, pulling her to the third floor. She was up in a flourish, grinning.

A peek into Steiner's bedroom told her all she needed to know. Dying embers in the fireplace glowed red-orange, illuminating a four poster bed, a sitting area, a wardrobe, and a small table. The bed curtains were drawn. If she was lucky, perhaps she'd find Lady Commins with him. The thought of slitting her pretty throat brought a smile to her lips. Maybe Lady Commins would scream. She'd like that very much.

She unrolled her mask and affixed it, tying it tightly. This one was slightly different from the one she'd worn earlier. More alluring. With black lace that swirled across her face and nose, creeping up her forehead and down her cheekbones where the fabric came to a point on each side. Like butterfly wings.

Coaxing green from the prisms in her belt, she sent the tendrils into the door's keyhole. The click of the lock was faint, but she flinched anyway. Nit had turned into a dragonfly, muted buzzing following her in.

Dagger in hand, she stole across the room and parted the bed curtains. Steiner's sleeping body lay prone before her. Her eyes narrowed. No bedmate?! What a disappointment.

His face was rendered in shadow. He slept with one arm thrown carelessly over his forehead. The other rested on his stomach. The covers bunched at his waist.

She watched his bare chest rise and fall, surprised to see so many scars across his skin. That was...unusual for a pampered lord in his position. What secrets did his past hold? The memory of their conversation left her frowning. Her eyes lingered over the curves of his face, his sharp jawbone, the point of his nose.

"Stop it," said Nit. "Stay focused."

She almost laughed. Nit was right. With one swift movement, she bounded onto the bed, straddled Steiner's chest, and placed her blade against his neck. It was time to make her kill.