‘That’s crazy.’ Nallera was the first to break the silence, voice shaking as she stood in the mouth of the alleyway and stared at Cassidy. ‘What do you mean, Jessa’s a Changeling?’

‘I mean, she transformed,’ Cassidy growled, fists clenched. ‘And killed Torrad-Var. So now they think we killed him.’

‘But…’ Nallera worked her jaw. ‘For how long? Since when? Was she always a Changeling -’

‘I don’t fucking know,’ Cassidy spat. ‘But I know we’re dead if we stay here. The Syndicate will be looking for us.’

Rosewood knew he should feel worse. But it was as if whatever sickness that had settled in him when he’d seen Aestri transform had not exactly left, but frozen solid. There was no time for emotions. That would get them killed. ‘You have to know somewhere to lie low,’ he said to Cassidy.

‘Everywhere I know on this planet is linked to Var.’

Aryn turned to the shivering, crumpled shape of Q’ira and knelt beside her. His hands hovered in the air for a moment, clearly unsure if he should reach out, if he could help. Do anything. ‘There has to be somewhere we can go,’ he said to her. ‘Where can we go?’

She looked up at him, cheeks tear-stained. ‘He can’t be gone.’

‘Fuck’s sake,’ growled Cassidy. ‘I should have left her there.’

Aryn shot to his feet, scowling. ‘What about the Dust? Get there, leave the planet -’

‘They think she sold out to us. They’ll watch her ship, Aryn; don’t be an idiot. The stupid girl isn’t going to save us.’

‘She’s not a stupid -’

‘Is now the time you want to try me, boy?’ Cassidy snarled, and it was Aryn he rounded on this time.

‘Hey!’ Rosewood’s hands snapped up. ‘You were right, Boss. We’ve got to move.’ He’d never called Cassidy that before, and hadn’t thought twice before saying it now. He had no idea what was going on or how they’d get out of it, but one thing was clear: they’d only survive as a team.

That shut them both up, and he turned to pull Q’ira to her feet, gentle but firm. Hand under her chin, he turned her head to face him, look him in the eye. ‘Redoubt’s compromised. The Dust is going to be compromised. We don’t know this place. You do. Where do you go here? When you’re not being one of Torrad-Var’s people. Where do you go when you’re you?’

Aryn had to be right about her. He’d been right so far – right that she knew more than she pretended, right that she was a creature of masks and layers, even if she didn’t know it herself. He had to pray that there were masks here, too – in the heart of the Syndicate, in her everyday life. Parts of her she hadn’t showed Torrad-Var and his crew.

Her mouth moved soundlessly, and for a moment, he thought maybe Cassidy was right – they’d gotten everything useful out of her. Then she stiffened and said, ‘I know a place.’

The bar was called the Velvet Spire. To Rosewood, it was as if someone had made Redoubt on a budget, but he suspected neither the owners nor the clientele would thank him for such a comparison. Q’ira had led them further down through the streets and towers of Kalviris than they’d known possible, reaching the roads set on the ground itself. It was like entering a cocoon of the city, and whether they could be safe here, would be reborn here, it was at least a distant warren that would make it hard for the Syndicate to track them.

Q’ira had stepped through the door with trepidation, but once they were inside, amidst the thudding music and pulsing lights, the smell of liquor and sweat hitting them in the face, it was as if the doorway had transformed her. Now she shed all hesitation to walk past tables thick with rough-looking customers and platforms on which beautiful, scantily clad people danced as if she owned the place, approaching the bar.

‘Shoulda known,’ growled Cassidy as he followed, his disinterested eye raking over the dancers before it moved to assess the clientele. ‘But there’s such a thing as too down-market for the Syndicate.’

The bar’s centrepiece was its namesake, a tower of lights that stretched up across two more floors of balconies, flickering and casting a dim violet glow that softened the edges of vice by giving the place a dreamlike, almost surreal air. Q’ira approached the woman behind the bar, an older human woman whose dark hair was streaked with silver and pulled tightly back. Sharp eyes sat in a worn face, her skin like leather after long years of hard work, but Rosewood had to blink as he took in her strong features, the aura of command that shone brightly the moment she looked at them. She was a woman maybe thirty years his senior, and she was stunning.

‘Zayna,’ said Q’ira, and now she hesitated, her voice coming out more like that of a schoolgirl who needed to beg for her tutors’ mercy. ‘I know it’s been a while…’

‘Q’ira.’ Zayna looked her up and down, and reached for a glass on the bar to polish in a transparent affectation of indifference. ‘Let me guess. The King of Redoubt got bored of you as his toy and threw you out.’

‘No, I – I’m in trouble. I need your help. Me and – and my friends.’

Zayna sniffed. ‘You know how this works, Q’ira. I got mouths to feed. Loyal mouths.’ She nodded about the bar, at the wait staff and dancers. ‘Not to mention debts to settle. I’m not feeling charitable tonight.’

‘I… you’re right.’ For a horrifying moment, Rosewood thought Q’ira was going to burst into tears again. That wouldn’t help at all. ‘It’s a lot to ask. So you have to know I wouldn’t come here if this wasn’t serious. If I had any choice.’

‘Oh, so I’m your last choice? You left holding me the bag on a good few scores, girl. Now you’re wandering back here and asking to rack up the tab even higher?’

Cassidy shoved his way forward, expression flat. ‘Whatever she owes, we can cover it. Name your price.’

‘I really,’ muttered Nallera to Rosewood, ‘hope he’s got good credit with Command, the amount we’re splashing about.’

‘Who the hell are you?’ Zayna said, looking him up and down. ‘Walking in here and making promises.’

‘Name’s Cassidy. If you’re not offering help, you don’t need to know more.’

‘And you think you can throw money at a problem and it’ll all go away? You assume her debts are just cash.’

‘Everything’s just cash, really. Even your offence will have a price.’ Cassidy shrugged, and Rosewood really hoped he was right. Pride had a price, too. ‘You can act more indignant to drive up the cost. Act more like you don’t want anything to do with her. But you knew, the moment she came in, that she wouldn’t be here if she wasn’t desperate. And you?’ He looked about the bar, eyebrows raised, and his gaze fell on every worker she’d glanced at moments ago. ‘You look after your own. Walking out don’t stop her being yours. That’s just what kids do.’

Zayna paused, rag in hand. Then she sniffed. ‘Kids are expensive. So we can arrange a price.’ She looked down at Q’ira. ‘Attic room. You know the drill. Before your trouble spots you here.’

Q’ira led them up six flights of stairs, past the floors of the Velvet Spire’s entertainment, past the corridors with rows of doors Rosewood thought were first backstage, then storage, then housing. It was generous to call anything an ‘attic’ when they were at the bottom of Kalviris – down here, there was always an upstairs – but eventually the stairs stopped going up, and he assumed they were at the limits of Zayna’s domain in this tower.

They passed through a heavy, creaking bulkhead door at the top of a narrow stairwell, and at once the sound of the heaving bars below faded from hearing. Its replacement with an eerie quiet was not comforting; not amidst the shadowed corners and the musty smell.

‘Home, sweet home,’ said Q’ira, quiet voice echoing in the emptiness as she reached for a light-switch and brought cold, harsh strips of lighting overhead to life. Walls of bare metal bore down on them, rust creeping into corners, and overhead ceiling panels had turned yellow with age or were missing chunks, exposed wires dangling. A half-dozen open doors led to dusty bunkrooms and offices before the space opened up at the front of the building, where battered old furniture sat around a porthole of a window beyond which the night lights of Kalviris shone.

To Rosewood’s surprise, Cassidy gave a satisfied nod. ‘This is exactly what we need.’

‘There’s a console that end,’ said Q’ira, gesturing to a door. ‘Links to the Spire’s systems. You should be able to call your ship. And, uh. Arrange payment for Zayna. She’s not kidding.’

‘That’s a resequencer?’ said Nallera, clearly forcing herself to brighten up as she pointed at a wall panel. ‘I’ll sort us some grub; I’m starving.’

The other three headed to the front room as Cassidy and Nallera set to work. Exhaustion was at last sinking into Rosewood’s bones, and he was eager to collapse on one of the old sofas and close his eyes.

Aryn, meanwhile, stood by the window and fidgeted. ‘You used to work here?’ he said to Q’ira.

‘Of course she did, genius,’ Rosewood couldn’t help himself from groaning, eyes shut. ‘And she was a dancer up on those platforms, before you out yourself as completely naïve and ask if she was a waitress.’

Aryn probably didn’t know where to look, he imagined, while Q’ira was likely embarrassed. That last was confirmed when she spoke a moment later and said, in trembling defensiveness, ‘It paid. You kill people for a living and you don’t even get paid. That’s just your duty.’

‘We work for the good of the Federation,’ said Rosewood, the words sounding mechanical even to him.

‘Is that why you gave Nank that much latinum? For the good of the Federation? How’d that work out?’

If he replied, he’d lose his temper, so Rosewood stayed silent. There was a weird smell in here.

‘Fuck,’ said Nallera as she padded to the seating area with a tray. ‘I think Zayna keeps the settings up here to the cheapest shit possible, so, enjoy noodles, I guess.’

‘Noodles sound great,’ said Rosewood, sitting up. There were few comforts available. Carbs could be one.

‘Fuck,’ said Cassidy a minute later as he stalked out. ‘The Changeling’s screwed us completely.’

‘We know,’ said Rosewood.

‘Did you know that Tiran never sent word to Blackbird?’ Cassidy growled. ‘Ranicus is still twiddling her thumbs on SB-38. They’re on their way now, but that’s not a quick journey here.’

‘Oh. Fuck.’

Q’ira was twisting her fingers together, lurking in the corner. ‘Maybe T’Mell will calm down once he loses our trail,’ she said quietly. ‘He has to know this doesn’t add up. One of the guards was in the room when Tiran was there and then she was nowhere – and heard us tell Torrad-Var that Aestri’s a Changeling.’

‘And then, to T’Mell’s eyes, we killed his boss.’ Cassidy shrugged. ‘So we might have been lying about everything. Or is he supposed to believe that we killed Aestri, the Changeling, and then another Changeling, who was a part of our team, showed up and killed Torrad-Var?’

‘When you put it like that,’ growled Nallera, ‘that’s really bad Changeling luck.’

‘But T’Mell was loyal to Torrad-Var,’ Q’ira protested. ‘He’ll want the truth.’

‘Torrad-Var’s dead. Loyalty to him don’t matter any more,’ said Cassidy bluntly. ‘What matters now is succession. Killing us isn’t about justice. It’s about looking like he’s strong enough for retribution. And retribution hates complicated things like Changeling conspiracies.’

‘I don’t know,’ muttered Rosewood, staring at his hands. ‘Retribution about that sounds pretty good right now.’

Cassidy’s eyes gleamed. ‘You’re goddamn right it does. Which is why we’re not sitting on our hands until the Blackbird gets here. The Changeling’s still out there. I don’t know… I don’t know any more than you what happened to Jessa. But we’re going to get answers. And, failing that – we’re gonna make it pay.’

Aryn’s swallow was audible. ‘And the Regulator’s still in Redoubt. We have to recover that, too, right?’

‘Course we do,’ said Cassidy, straightening. ‘After all. You bet that thing’s coming back for it, too.’