“I still don’t smell blood,” said Malena. She was starting to sound unsure.

I paused. “Wait. If all three of us are here—I thought you were keeping an eye on Leanne.”

Malena’s eyes widened. “She wasn’t in the dressing room. I thought you were keeping an eye on her.”

“Shit,” I hissed, and swung around to dangling from the beam I’d been sitting on. From there, it was easy work to grab one of the guide ropes and lower myself, one hand over the other, to the floor. It wasn’t the fastest means of descent, but it prevented rope burns, and that was important to me. I was going to need my hands.

My feet had barely hit the floor when someone sighed behind me. “Val, Val, Val, do we have to have a talk about the insurance rates and keeping out of the rafters again? I thought we went over this.”

“Um.” I turned, forcing a sickly smile as Clint walked toward me. He was shaking his head in disapproval. Every encounter I’d ever had with the show’s judges told me to bow my head and look regretful. Every lesson I’d ever had about getting caught climbing somewhere I wasn’t supposed to be told me to turn and run.

I settled for a compromise, leaning back on my heels and smiling sheepishly. Clint was still dressed for the judging table, and tonight’s bow tie was covered in purple grapes hanging heavy on bright green vines. He looked concerned.

“I’m serious, Val. You’re a great dancer—usually. What happened tonight? I expected better from you. There was no fire in your performance, and that song demanded fire.” Clint tilted his head. “Is everything okay back at the housing? Are you getting along with the other dancers? You know you’ve always been one of my favorites. I want things to be as comfortable for you as possible.”

“Everyone’s been great, honest,” I said. “I just climb when I’m stressed, that’s all. I know I didn’t do so good tonight. I didn’t even need you to tell me.”

Clint nodded. “I could see the knowledge in your eyes when you came over to talk to us. See, that’s part of why you’re one of my favorites. You have a degree of self-awareness that’s unusual in a dancer of your age. You didn’t answer my first question.”

I paused, reviewing the conversation in my head before deciding to go with the excuse that would best match the rumors he might have already heard. “My sister’s in town, and we don’t talk much.” Referring to my grandmother as my sister was never not going to be weird. “I just let her throw me off my game, that’s all. I’ll work harder next week.”

“You’d better, or next week could be your last,” said Clint gravely.

His back was to the basement door. He didn’t see it open, or see Pax’s startled expression when he was confronted with Clint’s unmistakable silhouette.

Be smart, I thought, while nodding and trying to keep a downtrodden expression firmly in place. “I know. I just have to hope America will show me mercy. If we get something in the ballroom category for next week’s show, I think I can carry Anders through it, and remind people why they let me make it to the finale last time.”

“Remind them of more than that.” I wasn’t expecting Clint to move when he did. He stepped forward, grabbing my hands before I could shift out of the way, and said seriously, “Remind them how they blew up the message boards when Lyra edged you out for the title. Remind them that they love you, and that they want you to be America’s Dancer of Choice.”

Years of living with Aeslin mice had given me the odd ability to hear it when someone stressed a word hard enough to capitalize it. I smiled and tugged my hands away from him. “I’m flattered, Clint, but I don’t think we should be having this conversation. If the other dancers start thinking you’re favoring me, it’s going to make rehearsals awfully uncomfortable.”

“Adrian has his favorites every season. You know he does. Bits of fluff who know how to waggle their asses for his approval. He’s never slept with any of them—Lindy would have his balls if he tried—but that doesn’t change the way he looks at them. He’s undressed them with his eyes a thousand times.” Clint’s expression hardened, mouth thinning into a disapproving line. “He cuts deserving dancers because he wants to keep his favorites as long as he can. Why shouldn’t I come down on the side of the dancers who actually deserve to be here? You’re good, Valerie. I expected you to turn us down because you were setting the competition stage on fire, or starring in some new Broadway extravaganza. What happened after you left us?”