Tabby sat at Elias's kitchen table with Midnight and Steiner. Dawn had broken hours ago. Steiner had returned with Midnight and the cart, after dumping the bodies. According to Steiner, the Spectrum hadn't learned of his disloyalty like he'd first believed. He'd covered his tracks well and killed all those who'd seen him there in the corridors the night of her torture. They'd gotten out through the secret tunnels before Ghost's return. In the meantime, Steiner had received a message from Ghost himself, with instructions to lie low. It was better than they could have hoped for.

"So let me get this straight," Midnight said. "We sneak into the palace, find Hubert, confront him, and kill him."

"It would seem the best option," Steiner mused. If the plan sounded vague, that's because it was.

Midnight shook his head. "This whole idea is absurd. Even if we get to him, he won't admit to anything, certainly not to being Ghost." Midnight slouched in his chair, arms crossed, doubt written on his features. He'd been against this from the beginning. "Ghost is the High Mask. He didn't get there by being a coward."

"Tabby is right," said Steiner. "We can't just flee Chroma now that we have a name. Not yet. We must follow this lead, even if it's a dead end."

"And if it's a dead end?"

"Let's cross that bridge when we reach it."

"What about Flint and Sin?" Tabby broke her silence, looking between them. After their bout of torturing on the roof, at least they weren't as testy as they had been. A small mercy. But they still glared at each other from across the table.

"Neither will be a problem," said Steiner. "I can take care of them."

"Both?" She sat up straighter. "Chester Bates heads up the king's royal guard. He's not going to be easy." A realization crept up on her. If they needed to infiltrate the palace, Bates would be useful.

"Saunders will be a quick kill. Bates will be useful," Steiner said, as if reading her mind. "I'll want to question him. But I can't promise he'll shatter."

"They always shatter," Midnight said.

Steiner nodded. "You two spend today studying the palace. See if you can find anything useful. Anything we can use to plan."

She angled her head. "What's there to plan? We pose as guards, in and out in a couple of hours, no one will bother stopping us. Bates can help with that."

Lightborn Palace was the most well-protected building in Chroma. Its walls were twenty feet tall, with guards stationed all along the parapet. No one entered without special clearance. And especially not now in preparation for the upcoming coronation. Once inside the palace, there were guards in every hallway. None of them had spent much time scoping out the palace security—there'd never been a need to. But as guards, they'd blend in.

"There's only one problem. There aren't female guards at the palace," Midnight said.

"Well...maybe I'll disguise myself as a male."

"You should go in as a servant, a maid," Steiner said, earning a snort.

Playing dress up in a maid's outfit was the last thing she wanted, but they were probably right. She didn't have the correct build to pose as a male guard. And who would suspect an innocent maid?

They spent another hour planning, going over various scenarios, before Steiner took his leave, giving them instructions to meet him at eight that evening.

***

Tabby and Midnight set out for the center of the city, grabbing meat pies from Marleys on the way. He admitted to their superiority, much to her delight. She checked in with her little street urchins, all overly eager to discuss the news of Prince Edwin's ascension to the throne and more missing teens. The thought of what was happening just outside of Chroma turned her stomach, but that was a problem for another time.

Her army of children gazed at Midnight warily, keeping their distance from him. He stood back and watched, his curious eyes tracking her movements. She even saw a small smile tug at the corners of his lips when she handed the chidden their coins.

"They've grown fond of you," he murmured as they made their way out of Crock's row.

"Why shouldn't they?" She arched an eyebrow then looked away, keeping a wary gaze on the streets around them. Her hands were poised over hidden weapons. His were too.

Nit flew overhead, as usual, pointing out everything from watchmen to constables to gang members. She relayed most of Nit's sightings to Midnight. They walked side by side, eyes darting, scanning back and forth. "Years ago, not long after Peter, actually, it became very difficult to keep an eye on you," Midnight said, breaking the silence. "I used to think you were good at losing me all on your own. That my discovering your secret gave you new motivation to become a better Spect. I'd tail you, only to have you slip through my fingers." He paused as she pointed out a a constable two blocks ahead. "Somehow you always knew I was following you. I could never figure it out." She held back a smile, listening to his voice over the den of noise surrounding them. "It was always Nit, wasn't it? Tipping you off?"

"Do you think less of me for it?" She paid him a sidelong glance, eyes narrowed, expecting his rebuke. That she should need the services of a mechanimal instead of being good all on her own—

"No. Quite the contrary. I'm impressed. You've used every possible resource available, utilized your skill set, just as I taught you." He hesitated. "You might be the best Spect in Candela because of it."

She faltered a step. "You...you really mean that?" Her brow furrowed and her cheeks burned. She refused to look at him.

"I do. Why? Does my praise surprise you?"

"Yes. You never praise me."

"That's not true." They paused for a passing carriage before moving with the crowd to cross the street. "All right, maybe I've been hard on you. I didn't think you needed to hear my praise to know your worth."

"I...I don't. It's just nice to hear it. If not from Midnight the Spect, then from Theo Carter."

"How about from both?"

She turned to him then, unable to help the grin spreading across her lips. "I won't turn it down."

He grunted, brown eyes lingering over her lips before snapping back to the street. "Well, I mean every word of it. You're good, Tabby. Really good. Don't go and get yourself killed."

Fire spread through her chest, hot as a furnace for melting gold. "I'll do what I can."

After dropping by his safehouse in The Bents, they went to hers, collecting supplies, feeding her beasties, utilizing some venom ready for fresh concoctions, then changing into clothes better suited for today's activities. Midnight was dressed like a gentlemen, coat tails and all. She'd donned a gown, cut low, with a corset bodice that snapped up the front for easy assembly. Her skirts fanned out behind her.

Neither of their safehouses had been disturbed. This merely confirmed her suspicions. The Spectrum was growing weak. Her blow had been strong. At its height, they'd have been dead by now, but her efforts with the Council and her poison bees had worked. It also reinforced the idea that Hubert Maltby was Ghost. Had to be.

King Alistar's death couldn't have come at a better time. Edwin and Hubart would be too busy with funeral preparations, coronation plans, and all the other nonsense that came with running a country, to put Maltby's full efforts into eliminating her and Midnight. But one thing ate at her. Why had the Spects from last night been charged to bring them in? Capture and not kill? Killing them would have been much easier? Why would Ghost want to keep them alive? Keep her alive?

She looked over the weapons rack, chewing on the inside of her cheek, contemplating which small daggers would fit best in the hidden pockets of her gown. Short blades were the reasonable option for an ensemble like this. She held one in each hand, weighing them.

Midnight snuck up behind her. His hands snaked around her pinched up waist. Her breath caught and her chest heaved, breasts all but popping free as he pulled her flush against his front, kissing her neck before turning her and finding her mouth. The fierceness of his actions caught her by surprise. Like he wanted to make new, better memories in this place. It sent warmth shooting straight into her core. Her muscles tightened, eager.

She kissed him back, sweetly at first, keeping her daggers in hand, arms dangling loosely at her sides as he held her flush to him. His lips quickly turned demanding. In a blink, she had a blade against his throat, pushing him back. "Now, now." She clicked her tongue. "We've got a job to do. No distractions today." Sugar dripped from her words. He growled, his pupils dilated, pushing his neck against the blade. Daring her to draw blood. She always liked a good challenge. "Don't make me do it," she whispered. "I'd miss you terribly."

He moved faster than she cared to anticipate as his hands wrapped around her wrists. He twirled her around, facing away from him, pinning her arms against her body. Chest heaving, she let him capture her, noting his hardness against her backside. His breath was ragged against her skin as his lips trailed up and down her neck. She squeezed her thighs together. "I can make it fast," he whispered. "Besides it's been all love making and very little fucking for the past two days."

"And what was last night on the table?" she teased.

"A little of both." His voice was rough. "You need this—so do I." He was right; she heard the need in his words—felt it in her own chest.

"Hmm..." She pretended to contemplate.

"Hmm?" He spun her around again, his gaze like fire. His hands squeezed her wrists until pain shot up her arms and both daggers clattered to the floor. She wanted him to disarm her, and more. So much more.

His mouth was on hers again, crushing. As soon as he released her wrists, her fingers found their way into his hair, tangling into his silky tufts. He grasped her thighs and hauled her up against the wall, skirts hiked. She tightened her legs around him. He pushed against her, reaching down to undo the buttons of his pants, freeing himself. His hand strayed to the apex of her thighs and he hissed with approval, noting the wetness he found there. "You should wear dresses more often."

"Easier access," she gasped, barely able to breathe against her corset, ignoring the stars that burst into her vision as she tried to take deeper breaths. The more she struggled, the harder it would be to breathe. No wonder the women who whore these gowns sat around sipping tea and reading novels.

She felt him at her entrance as he pushed inside her. A groan escaped her chest. Her head fell to the side, eyes fluttering. His lips took advantage of her exposed neck and heaving chest, growling as he retreated, then pushed deeper. Every thrust left her weak and gasping, unable to breathe, starved for air.

Her usual suede corsets didn't have boning. With a figure like hers, it was unnecessary. Not to mention impossible for her work. This one left her caged, entirely at Midnight's mercy. She could only claw at him, light headed, barely able to hold herself up. But it didn't matter. He held her there, supported her, ravaged her. She'd already willingly relinquished control to him. The mere thought had her tightening around him all over again. He was the only person in the world she trusted. The only person she could entirely give herself over to. She did exactly that.

***

An hour later, Tabby and Midnight were stationed at a rooftop cafe just outside the palace gates, ordering coffees and pastries as they watched. The palace was unusually busy today, with a stream of carriages coming and going. Those who entered were dressed in the colors of mourning, hues of dark gray and black. Women wore veils to hide their tears, men wore top hats, which they tipped in respect to passersby. Most guests, though, were hidden within their carriages. "Who knew King Alistar was so popular," she mused. "How many days will the viewing last? Maybe we can get forged paperwork and enter that way."

"Hmm...probably too obvious. Besides, guests are not allowed after six and we don't want to be there when the palace is bustling in case things go wrong. Too many witnesses." He kept his face forward as he spoke, voice low, so as not to be overheard.

Her cheeks still burned from their romp. Every time she looked at him, she saw his face in the throes of pleasure and was forced to look away, fearing he'd read her mind. It was a wonder he couldn't hear her beating heart from across the table.

As the day wore on, they ordered more coffees and pastries, and continued watching. She continued to steal glances at him. Light. What was wrong with her control? But she couldn't help it. The plains of his face were far from symmetric. A heavy brow, wide jaw, and crooked nose broken countless times. These were features she'd come to love. He wasn't hanssome the way Steiner was. Steiner had a pretty-boy face—and a nose so straight it was a miracle—which she appreciated for so many reasons. But Midnight's beauty was rugged. Raw. Enticing.

"You're staring," he said, before she realized where her attention had strayed. He kept his face forward, but she didn't miss the pleased twitch of his lips.

"Just thinking..."

"About...?"

She cleared her throat but didn't answer, pushing away all the naughty thoughts assaulting her mind. His head snapped towards hers, as if he'd heard each and every one. His eyes roved over her face then. She looked away and silence fell between them.

"Tell me about your father," he said, changing the subject when it was obvious she wasn't going to speak. "You've never spoken of him."

"What's there to tell?"

"Do you remember anything about him?"

She shrugged, unwilling to meet his gaze. "I remember the amber color of his eyes, but not much else. He used to read to me a lot, on his lap when I was a child. Fairytales, mostly. Yet, I can't even remember the sound of his voice. Most of it's bits and pieces, really. Sometimes I remember the feel of his hand in mine, like when he led me to the Temple that day." Absentmindedly, she rubbed one hand with the other. "Or his prickly beard." She sighed, remembering the feel of it against her cheek when he would hug her. "But not much else, really. Not even his name. He never said it around me, I guess. No one did. I can't help but think I was always meant to be a secret, even when I lived with him. But there were never any signs that he didn't want me. Not that I can recall. Our relationship wasn't dysfunctional. He was...doting...caring...affectionate." Truth was, there were no bad memories that she could glean. Nothing that might make her suspect he didn't want her. "It kills me that I can't remember more. I suppose it's better that way."

"Did you live here in the city?"

She shook her head, even though she was certain he knew the answer to that already. He'd known of her unsuccessful searching. But perhaps he was just trying to make conversation, so she answered anyway. "We lived just outside. He had a country estate with a huge garden." She snorted. "But they all have gardens, don't they? I looked, thinking that if I found the estate I'd discover its owner. After you've seen a few of them, they all look the same." He grunted in agreement. "Before he brought me here, I'd never seen the city. I remember being shocked by the proximity and height of the buildings. And the stench. Light! The stench." She inhaled, hardly noticing it now. "I covered my nose with a handkerchief the whole carriage ride to the Temple." Her father's hankie. Like everything else, it had been confiscated when the Temple put her in that box.

"Your father was well off, from the sound of it."

"I believe so. I wouldn't have known it at the time, but my memories are those of plush furniture, marble floors, and my bedroom—" She closed her eyes. Somewhere in the far reaches of her mind, behind doors she kept firmly closed, there was a memory of a four poster bed, with curtains of rich blue and pink silk. Cute little dresses with lace. "It wasn't until I was much older that I made the connection. He was certainly wealthy. That was where I started—the estates outside of Chroma, hunting down the names of wealthy merchants, nobles, lords. Every lead took me to a dead end." And bitter disappointment. She turned to Midnight then. "What of your family? You've never mentioned them."

He stilled. "There's not much to know." His voice came out flat, neutral. Emotionless. "My mother was a whore here in Chroma. I don't remember a shred of the whorehouse she belonged to. I probably only saw a few days of them as a babe. She dropped me off at an orphanage. Probably got pregnant on the job. Indentured whores can't keep their children."

She frowned, thinking of Clarabel. Clara told her once that she drank tea, the same tea merchant that Tabby got her own tea from, to avoid pregnancy.

"I don't even know what she looked like," she found Midnight saying. She tried to picture him as a frightened child, handed over to an orphanage, and failed. She'd never seen much fear from him—never wanted to—except the night she'd been tortured by Reaper. "How'd you end up at the Spectrum?"

He hesitated. "Orphanage lost its funding—like so many. I was five, too young to sell to a labor house. I'd have been better off on the streets with the begging children. But that wasn't what they did with us. Probably wanted the money the Temple was willing to pay for buying us. All I've ever known since then was the Spectrum."

"I'm sorry," she whispered. She wasn't sure why she said it. It felt like the normal thing to do. He shrugged. They fell quiet again, neither wanting to bring up the past. So they turned their attention to the palace again.

Soon after, they paid their tab at the cafe and went for a walk. She hooked her arm through his, allowing him to play the gentlemen as he led her around the palace wall and its surrounding outer park. They gazed at each of the entrances. Midnight even stopped to speak with the guards, offering complements, acting like a tourist from Enconce, a small city to the west. He asked questions any tourist might, like, how old was the palace? How thick were the walls? How many guards worked at each station? Most of the guards were flattered to receive any interest at all. They answered his questions willingly, especially when his sister smiled and batted her eyelashes at each of them, introducing herself as Lady Clarabel, a name that fell easily from her lips given how much she'd thought of her friend lately.

Midnight played the perfect gentlemen, so much so that it was easy to pretend this was their life, so different from what it really was. It was dangerous to wish. But what harm was there in acting?

By the late afternoon, they had a good idea of every guard shift, every patrol, and the comings and goings of palace patrons. So they retreated back to Newton's Mechanicals where they had dinner and waited to hear from Steiner, as planned.