It was harsh, and Kane knew it. But life was far harsher, and sometimes people died because of you, even if indirectly. He was responsible for enough terrible things; he didn’t need more accusations flung at him.
The barest twinge of regret lanced through him as Zaria’s lips quivered, then pressed together so tightly they turned white. When she spoke again, it was a whisper. “You’re an asshole.”
Kane didn’t have a response to that. It wasn’t as though she was wrong.
They stood there for a long moment, chest to chest, both breathing too rapidly. Tears still beaded along Zaria’s lower lashes, but the upward tilt of her chin was obstinate. She smelled like lavender and something metallic. Her hair flowed around her in golden-brown waves, and though Kane knew the style wasn’t considered respectable, he couldn’t help being enraptured by it.
He could almost forget she was holding a revolver to his chest, because he was a goddamned idiot.
Finally, Zaria unleashed a curse and let him go. Her face was a mask of grief and fury as Kane stepped away from the wall. He could have moved earlier—could have bent Zaria’s arm and shoved herback with ease—but suspected that would have done a poor job of convincing her he posed no danger.
That was the reason he gave himself, at least.
Zaria slipped her gun back into her waistband, and Kane caught a glimpse of a corner of parchment protruding from her pocket.
“What’s that?” he couldn’t help asking, and the look she directed at him made it clear he’d overstepped. She seemed a diminished, broken version of herself, as if Cecile’s death had siphoned something vital out of her.
“None of your business. I’m getting the hell out of here.” Her voice broke on the next words. “Can you—I mean—what are we going to do with her?”
Kane grimaced, knowing Zaria meant Cecile. The man he’d killed in the street could stay there—it wasn’t all that unusual to die in a midnight skirmish, and someone would collect him eventually—but Cecile’s corpse couldn’t remain inside a functioning church. It seemed he wouldn’t be getting any sleep tonight. “The body I can deal with, but you’re not going anywhere without me.”
Zaria was already tucking her hair back up into her boy’s hat. She moved gingerly, shoulders so taut it was a wonder she didn’t crumble. “I was perfectly fine on my way over here. If anything, the common factor in my near-death experiences isyou.”
Kane scowled disbelievingly at her. “I’m the common factor in you making it out of those experiences alive, you mean. And do I get a single thank-you? No. Instead, you threaten to shoot me.”
To Zaria’s credit, she looked a bit chastised, but the next moment she was glowering again. “Thank yousomuch for your concern. I’m sure it has nothing to do with the fact that I happen to be useful to you.” With that, she turned to go, the set of her shoulders stiff.
“Wait,” Kane said. “Did Cecile have the information you wanted?”
“As if you care,” Zaria shot back, already heading for the stairwell as the dark reached out to envelop her.
Kane ground his teeth. But his irritation didn’t stop him from following her all the way home, keeping a respectable distance, just to ensure she indeed made it unscathed.
Only because she happened to be useful to him, of course.
ZARIA
THE MOMENTZARIA ARRIVED HOME, SHE UNFOLDED THE PIECEof paper she’d taken from Cecile’s cold hands.
The other woman’s shoving her aside had saved her life, but it also meant Zaria was slow to retrieve her gun. The second she had it pointed at their two attackers, she’d crawled on her hands and knees toward Cecile’s prone form.
Cecile’s fingers had been scrabbling against the fabric of her dress, and for a moment, Zaria thought she was attempting to stop the flow of blood.
“It’s going to be okay,” Zaria had said, focus trained on the two men as she pressed her free hand to Cecile’s wound. She knew the words were a lie. She’d told her father the same thing on the last night of his life, only to wake at dawn and find him unresponsive in his bed, skin already purpling as lividity set in. She didn’t know whyshe’d said it again tonight. It was a foolish human trait—the desire to insist that everything was fine no matter the circumstances.
Cecile had made a weak sound that Zaria was forced to lean in to interpret. It was then that she realized the woman wasn’t trying to stop the blood flow—she was trying to get something out of her breast pocket. The same pocket she’d been reaching into right as they were interrupted.
“Get back,” Zaria had snarled at the men, who’d stepped forward upon realizing Cecile was still alive. Her finger shook on the trigger. She didn’t know how long the impasse would last.Couldlast.
“Take this,” Cecile had gasped, all the color leaching from her lips as Zaria chanced a glimpse of her face. “I don’t know what information your father had, but… I’ve managed to ascertain what a source might look like.” Her next breath was a rattling thing. “I don’t know if it’ll be of any use. Despite what happened with Itzal and I… I want to… see you continue his work.”
Zaria hadn’t known what to say. Her attention was diverted, and anguish sat like a rock in her stomach. Her mouth didn’t seem to be able to form words. If they’d had more time, if she’d only been here alone, there were so many things she would have asked Cecile. So much she wanted to know about her father, about their partnership, about alchemology in general.
Since Itzal’s death, Zaria hadn’t known another alchemologist. Hadn’t interacted with another person who understood the struggle, the elation, the fear that the craft inspired. There were rival alchemologists involved with the dark market, of course, but it wasn’t as if she knew any of them personally. You didn’t interact with your competition. Even amateur alchemologists kept to themselves for fear of being exposed.
Cecile had drawn her last breath as Kane entered, and Zaria took advantage of the chaos to stuff the piece of parchment into her own pocket.
Looking at him had been the thing that finally caused her to snap. The way he’d stood in the entryway, hands steady on his gun, perfectly at ease. He was a nightmare walking, that boy. He was sin with a smile.
