With a sigh, I press the tip of a steak knife into my finger, a drop of blood welling. A drop I wipe on the wall beside my bed, leaving a smear of crimson behind.

My new calendar. Sunlight streams through my bedroom window, highlighting the numbers.

“Do you not know how to relax?”

Archer’s voice fills my room, and I slowly pivot to face him. He’s standing in the doorway, arms crossed.

“No. Just like you don’t know how to share important details with your friends.” I’m miffed with him. He refuses to tell me anything about the Exchange.

“Fine. It will be bad. Blood for blood. A crime was committed, and a punishment must be meted out. That is law, even for Myriad, though they would deny it. Every human is precious, priceless, and I’ll pay a price that reflects that. Happy now?”

Not even close. Maybe the crash knocked some sense into me, because I no longer want him penalized. He’s suffered enough. “What about mercy?”

“Trust me. In this, I’m being shown great mercy. I should be dead, like the one I helped kill, and yet I live.”

“But—”

“This is justice, Ten. You can’t pick and choose the parts you like and ignore the rest. That opens the door for partiality.”

He makes a good point. Not that I’ll admit it. “Why are you here?”

“Two reasons. The first, to ask if you want to reactivate your cell phone. I’ll have to put you to sleep but it won’t take more than a few minutes.”

“No, thanks.” I still don’t want my parents or Prynne able to call or track me.

“Now the second. I’m going to teach you how to fight.”

What is it with these Shell boys and their lack of respect for my skills? “I know how to fight.” I hold up the butcher knife. “Want a demonstration?”

He nods. “I do. But allow me to amend my statement. I’m going to teach you how to fight...and win.”

“I know how—”

“Win every time,” he adds.

Fair enough. I could use the practice before I leave him. I sheathe the blade at my waist. “What’s this lesson going to cost me?” Let’s get the nitty-gritty out of the way.

“Only a poem. Something cheery for once.”

I arch a brow. “Does it have to rhyme?”

“Of course. Good poems always rhyme.”

He and Loony Lina would adore each other. “All right. Here goes.” I clear my throat. “You, the he-man, will teach me how to fight. Me, a little girl with little might. But what you don’t know about this lass is that she’s super determined to kick your ass.”

He barks out a laugh and waves his fingers at me. “Come on, then. The toll has been paid in full.”

I slide my feet out of my favorite house slippers, a luxury I haven’t experienced in over a year. Funny how I used to take such things for granted. I’ve known great wealth, and I’ve known great loss. I’ve had tastes of happiness and sorrow in both states.

Emotions never discriminate.

I tug on a pair of combat boots and follow him downstairs. I’ve memorized the layout of the house to ensure I’ll be able to find my way to any room blindfolded. Never know when something like that will become necessary. There are four bedrooms upstairs, each with its own bathroom. Sloan has spent the bulk of her time in bed, and Deacon has spent the bulk of his seeing to her wounds and coaxing her to eat.

“You’d choose Troika again today, even if you were given the chance to change your mind,” I say. “Wouldn’t you?”

“I would. I love my realm. I love my family. I love my job.”

Would Killian say the same?

Killian. Where are you?

We stride through the spacious living room furnished with an oversize leather sofa, two recliners and a blazing fireplace. Archer swipes a large black bag from a coffee table made from logs. He turns left, and the scent of bacon and eggs almost draws me in the opposite direction. If I were to go right, I’d enter the kitchen, a paradise of gray stone, rose-veined marble and oak cabinets, rustic yet opulent. Deacon must be cooking breakfast.

“Later,” Archer announces, sensing the direction of my thoughts.

I whimper like a spoiled baby.

He stalks outside and, a few yards from the house, drops the bag. His legs are encased in leathers that reveal every flex of his muscles as he crouches to dig out a gun, two daggers and a thing I can’t identify.

I really like this guy. He’s more emotionally secure than Killian, but then, I think he’s had a better support system. He doesn’t need me, but I’m pretty sure he could use me, and not just because of his realm. After the way he handled those boys in Prynne, the ones who called him names, I can guess how badly he wants to dish out Troikan light to those in need. And even to Myriadians. He just hasn’t found a way to do it. He needs a bridge.

He glances up, notices I’m staring and smiles slowly, his copper eyes alight with amusement. “Please don’t tell me you want a piece of me.”

“Gross! I most certainly do not.”

“Good. What about Killian? You wanting a piece of him?”

I...think I do, but I also think Archer isn’t ready to hear the answer.

He wags a finger at me. “I’m not going to warn you about him. Not again.”

Guess my expression gave me away. “Thank you. I appreciate—”

“But I am going to tell you about my feud with him. He—”

I’m about to tell him to spill now, now, now when a tornado rolls over the top of the dome. I gape. Fence posts and other debris swirl inside a vortex of wind I can’t feel.

“Only an F-2,” Archer says. “There’s a battle going on between the realms, but it hasn’t reached critical.”

“What’s the battle about this time?”

“Myriad wants you out of our safe house.”

The fact that I’m the cause is a weight around my ankles, pulling me deeper and deeper into a sea of guilt. Soon I’m going to drown. I hate the thought of innocent people being hurt because of me.

I make a decision to leave the safe house tonight.

I’ll send a flash-scribe message to Madame about my intentions, and I’ll leave a note for Archer. Can’t take a chance they’ll try to stop me.

“Well. Tell me about your feud with Killian,” I say.

He works his jaw. “There was a girl.”

Nailed it. “Dior?” I ask, remembering the name the two spat at each other.

“Yes. We were both assigned to her. I loved her. When she laughed, she had a dimple right here.” He touches his cheek. “She dreamed of being a doctor, of tending anyone of any realm who couldn’t afford medical care.”

Hesitantly I ask, “He stole her away from you?”

His nod is clipped. “Then he tricked her into signing with Myriad.”

I almost can’t breathe, my chest is so tight, but I manage to say, “He was just doing his job, what he thought was right.”

Archer’s nostrils flare. “Usually Myriad Laborers earn more for getting humans to accept the least possible amount, but he ensured she received the worst possible deal just to spite me, adding fine print she didn’t understand.”