KREY’S HEAD NEVER TURNS from the shattered window. His Malice rifle lies balanced in his arms; elbow jutting forward under the barrel like a brace. Textbook hunting stance. The six-foot maneater gleams a hungry gunmetal grey beneath thick wrappings of dark urban camouflage. Firelight and twisted shadows squirm across his soot-covered jacket, staining him in the colors of the burning city below. I slip off my shades as I approach. He doesn’t even acknowledge my footsteps.

“They got him,” is the only thing he mutters.

I know. I knew already, but hearing it from Krey steals all the momentum I brought with me. I see his pain in a glance. The hollow way he sits, the way his teeth clench, the thin clear trails down the grime covering his face; a reflection of myself. Two children of the undercity, best friends, pack animals, shattered the same way by the same people on the same night.

“They got him.” Krey quietly shakes his head, disbelieving his own words even as he repeats them. “They got him, Emmy.”

My voice is low, roughened by kinned grief. “How?”

“Dynasty hit us in the middle of the day. We never saw them coming.” I can almost hear the gunshots; just pops of plastic burning far away. “They killed him first. Dax, they… they just cut him down. Like butchers. No waiting, no warning. They murdered him.”

“Did any of the others…?”

His dreadhawk shifts as he shakes his head. Slowly, the Malice’s stock rises to his cheek, eye lining with the telescopic sight. “Their enforcers caught most of us. I shot my way out. Got the survivors together, sent them to get the civilians away from the fires. Then I stayed to punch back.” In the window’s shattered reflection, I watch his dark eyes harden as they narrow. The color like molten wood mixed with flecks of tar and amber. Blood soaked into his fingerless gloves, staining dark skin to the elbow pads. Eleven fresh chalk marks score the Malice’s long barrel. “It wasn’t enough.”

I don’t even know what to say. My fingers curl and uncurl around my gun as I rock back and forth on my heels, watching my oldest friend nurse his grief the only way a child of the Vents knows how: by burying it as far down as possible. You can’t let your weaknesses show. So you might as well not let it exist at all. Because if you nurse it in secret, if you keep remembering the past when no one else is looking, some day, it’ll all come out.

You have to be hard. But whenever I think of forcing Sarah out of my mind, I can’t help how wrong it feels.

“Krey, we have to get out of here,” I say, shaking my head. “The air shaft is still good to use. I cut a deal with Nero, got us a safehouse for a few nights. We can lie low there until the Eight-”

“-I stayed for a reason, Emmy.”

“You’ve done what you can,” I say. “It’s time to go.”

“I’m not leaving till I give every last one of those bastards what they deserve.”

The Malice’s barrel drifts fractionally to the left. Outside the window, six stories down, my eyes finally register a fire different from the one consuming the buildings. Pure white, a rippling aura of life energy- ki, the mystical aura of the soul- wreathes a silhouetted man as he skips over the lower rooftops, channeling the ki to fly in short spurts. He slides into cover behind a rusty climate control unit, disappearing from sight. Krey reaches up, barely twists a small knob on the side of the scope.

I look away the frame before his finger twitches. It’s over in an instant. The air itself bends from the recoil force of his shot. Deafening blast of light and sound, ears ringing, report echoing. Smoke drifting out the Malice’s meteor-hot barrel. Far below, the climate control unit wiped out of existence, a gaping hole crumbling in the rooftop behind it. Slick crimson splash zone six feet wide.

Lain swallows hard as Krey slams his rifle down stock-first like a walking stick and rolls out of the nook. Burning, furious eyes. Compressing the rage like a blast furnace. I stand my ground as he comes right up to me.

“What’s your rush, Emmy? They killed Sarah, didn’t they?” He barely notes Lain’s presence. “You should be the first one looking to fire back. When did you get scared of Dynasty?”

All the confidence I faked to get back on my feet after the botched raid stutters to a stop. Doubt settles its cold fingers on my shoulders. Am I scared? I actually stumble for a second before a familiar anger purges the hesitation as Krey continues.

“They killed her just like they killed Dax. And you’re telling me it’s time to pack up the gun and run like a dog,” he says. He jabs a finger into my sternum, leaning down so we’re on an even height, insulting only in a way he would know. “You know just as well as I do- if it was one of us who died, Sarah would put a bullet in every one of their heads, and she wouldn’t stop until they paid back every drop of blood.”

“Popping gangsters isn’t going to change anything,” I snap, drilling a nail back into his chest. “How many times do I have to tell you? Even Sarah knew it. She knew how to play the long game, Krey. And the long game? It’s not going out in a blaze of glory taking out as many thugs as you can.”

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He judges me with a disbelieving stare. “You are scared.”

“You didn’t watch her die. I’m doing what she would do.”

“No. You’re doing what you think she would do.” He shakes his head, folding the Malice into its rectangular transport mode. Slings it across his back and cinches the strap. “Dynasty doesn’t listen to reason. Talking isn’t going to put an end to them.”

Anger ignites in my voice. “You think I don’t want to hurt them too? You think I’m running because that’s what I want?” Unsure if I’m even doing the right thing, I step to bar his path towards the lift core, hand drifting near my hip. “I’m doing what Sarah and Dax wanted. Shooting syndicate enforcers isn’t that.”

Krey shoulders right past. “You don’t even believe what you’re saying.”

I bite back the first response that jumps to my tongue. “What you’re doing is going to draw out an even bigger response. More war. More innocent people caught in the crossfire.”

“You think I don’t know that?” he snorts. “Since when did Emilia Mori start caring about the consequences?”

“Fuck you, Krey. You want an army on your ass?”

Petty vitriol is the only thing I have left. His conviction is stronger because he’s right: I don’t even believe what I’m saying. I promised I’d kill the bastard who killed Sarah, but I’m still running from the Orange, from the clap of thunder I hear every time I try to close my eyes.

Lain’s low voice slides into the conversation. “Guys…”

Krey sneers at me like I’m a stranger. “Run if you want, Emmy. But Dynasty took Dax from me. They took Sarah from you. I’m not going to stand by and let them take more. I’m not stopping until I settle the score.”

“That won’t happen till every one of them is dead, or you are.”

“Whatever it takes. Someone has to do it.” He jerks a thumb at his chest. “If you won’t, I will.”

“Both of you listen for a second,” Lain growls. One palm pressed to her ear, eyes half-unfocused, like she’s not looking at the same place we are. The mental link, I realize. She’s talking with Matthias. And she snaps out of it a moment later, blinking back into reality. “They’re already here. Dynasty’s in the tower. Matthias is saying they’re moving up towards the eleventh floor, and he can sense more coming from the lobby. They just swept the locker room.” Her eyes go wide as they find me. “He says the Armiger is with them.”

Krey’s eyes dig into the space between my shoulder blades while I process the news. Waiting. Judging. Thinking me weak because of the excuses I gave, repeating the do as I say and not as I do’s of the woman who raised me, like I could ever fill her shoes.

My fingers curl and uncurl around the 6-Teba. When I blink away the embers, I hear the shot, again and again. See the Armiger’s helmet, again and again. He’s here. I promised her. I promised I’d put a bullet between his eyes. I didn’t hesitate to free those girls from Carto Bask’s greedy fingers. I didn’t hesitate to join Sarah on her suicide mission into the Orange. When did I start getting cold feet?

I shove the doubt from my mind, focusing on the fury. The rebel. The shoot-first, ask-questions-later-Mori. I’ve always listened to my heart. And when my heart is burning at the thought of Dynasty’s pet weaponmaster closing in, Sarah’s Sixer on his belt like some bounty hunter’s trophy, I should have known better than to argue. Krey is right.

“Change of plan, Lain.” I turn away from the burning city, gun drawn. “Tell Matthias to stay out of sight. We’re hitting back.”

“You’re seriously listening to him?” She takes a measured step away from Krey, glancing between the two of us. “Your friend is insane, and he just brought an army down on us. We need to be getting the hell out of here, not starting a gunfight.”

“They’re only expecting to find Krey,” I snap. “It’s worth a shot. Taking the Armiger out will put a massive dent in Dynasty’s firepower.”

“Or, more likely, it ends with all four of us dead and our bodies tossed in an industrial meatgrinder,” she says. “I didn’t sign on for this. Neither did Matthias.”

“Then leave,” Krey says. In a flash, he unpacks the Malice into a special compact mode. Barrel shortened, no stock, all hands. His intent dials in on Lain. “Who even are you?”

Lain’s hostile response stalls on her tongue. We glance toward the lift core in tandem as a too-familiar sound begins to echo down the narrow east-wing corridor. The repetitive thud-thud-thud of heavy boots as they ascend the rickety staircases scattered around the tower. Zeroing in on the location of Krey’s shot from every direction possible.

“Little late to start leaving.” I shrug my poncho over my shoulder. Lain stares death at me, lips tight with anger, fury and disbelief at how little choice I left her.

Her voice drops to a growl as she shoves past me. “If we make it out of this, you and I are going to have words, gunslinger.”

Tying her shimmering hair into a quick knot, she slips the razor-sharp wires of the garrote into both hands and dashes to the left down a gap between the cubicles. I touch Krey on the shoulder before following.

“Don’t get yourself killed, Krey.”

“Hasn’t happened yet.” He slots a fist-sized bullet into the Malice’s underbelly, turning to leave the opposite direction. “This Armiger guy. You’re gunning for him?”

“He’s the one who got Sarah.”

“I’ll try to set you up a shot.” He holds out a fist for me to bump. Oldest tradition in the city, the gladiator’s benediction. “I’m sorry about Sarah, Emmy. But this is for her. For Dax. For everyone they’ve taken from us. We’ll make it right.”

Swallowing hard, I knock my knuckles against his and take off running after Lain. I throw one last glance over my shoulder, watching Krey fade into the darkness, stalking the same hunters who stalk us. Lit by sporadic tigerstripes of the burning city, hunched in concentration, his rifle sweeping the west wing. In the crackling flames, I can’t help but hear the echoes of what Sarah told me, years ago, when I said the exact same thing.

This city was built on righted wrongs.