“To all Grisha,” Zoya murmured as she drifted past. If Jesper wanted to hide his gift, that was his business, but the dragon had smelled his power the minute they’d entered the house. Zoya couldn’t blame him for wanting to keep his abilities secret, to live his life full of love and misadventure without forever looking over his shoulder. Maybe someday being Grisha wouldn’t mean being a target.

* * *

Kaz, Zoya, and Nikolai traveled to the bay by oxcart. Jesper had told them there were new motorized trucks that had appeared among some of the wealthier merchant families, but they were useless in the narrow streets of the city. Besides, they wanted to be as quiet and inconspicuous as possible.

As soon as they arrived at the cliffs Kaz had proposed for their meetup with the Cormorant, Zoya felt something was off. In the distance, she could see the lights of the naval base twinkling through the fog. But here on the cliff tops, there was an eerie quality to the mist rolling in, and her dragon’s mind stirred as if recognizing danger. She could only hope that ancient intelligence would stay quiet. She couldn’t afford the emotional cost of the dragon’s eye opening, not when they had a mission to complete.

Far below, the beach was little more than a sliver of sand, bright and slender as a crescent moon. Waves broke against thickets of white rocks, jagged, hulking phantoms gathered at the shore as if to stand vigil. They’re guarding this place, Zoya thought. No boat was meant to find safe harbor here. And we’re not meant to be here either. If the beach outside the naval base was anything like this, Zoya could see why no one attempted to approach from the water. The wind howled over the cliffs, a mournful chorus.

“Going to be tough to bring the airship over the base and have it hover,” said Kaz. “There’s no way we’ll be able to get cargo up and down the lines.”

Zoya lifted a hand, settling warmth and calm around them as the wind stilled. “That won’t be a problem once I’m aboard.”

“Be as subtle as you can,” instructed Nikolai. “We don’t want the guards realizing they’re in the eye of a storm.”

“Somehow I’ll manage it.”

Hoofbeats signaled the arrival of two riders.

“We have a problem,” said Jesper, sliding from his horse with ease. Wylan dismounted slowly, clearly less accustomed to the task. “They’ve locked down the goods.”

“How?” asked Kaz.

“There’s some kind of new metal shell they’ve installed, protects cargo from the elements.”

Zoya frowned. “Titanium doesn’t rust.”

“But there’s other cargo in the yard on base,” said Kaz. “Iron. Potentially lumber that will rot if it gets wet. They used to just secure everything with tarps, but I guess the military is getting more particular.”

“This wasn’t part of the intelligence you gathered?” Zoya asked, her temper rising.

“It must have been installed in the last three weeks. And when you rush a job, you don’t get to complain when the job goes wrong.”

“You take your time or you take your chances,” said Jesper.

“And I don’t take chances,” added Kaz.

Zoya flicked her braid over her shoulder. “You’re telling me you can’t get past a metal roof?”

“Of course I can. But with a bigger crew. This isn’t a bank vault, it’s a military base. If Jesper and Wylan are handling the watch- towers, I’ll need to get inside, locate whatever mechanism opens the shell, and get it to work without anyone in the base noticing. We don’t know where the guards are posted inside or what kind of alarms are rigged up. Assuming we could even get inside, we’d need time to suss it out and at least two lookouts.”

“Surely the greatest thief in Ketterdam can outthink such a problem,” said Nikolai.

“I’m not susceptible to flattery, only stacks of cash. This can’t be done, not if you want it quiet and bloodless. If you’re willing to take out a few guards or let Wylan blow a hole in this thing—”

“No,” said Nikolai firmly. “Ravka’s relationship with Kerch is strained enough. I don’t want to give them an excuse to ditch their neutrality and use the izmars’ya to help Fjerda break my blockade.”

“If Inej were here—” said Jesper.

Kaz’s gaze was hard as flint. “You can keep saying that, but she isn’t. The best we can do is wait. I can get two more Dregs here by tomorrow. Anika. Rotty, maybe.”

A high wail sounded from somewhere in the distance, a shrill cry that might be human or animal or something else entirely. Zoya felt a chill pass through her that had nothing to do with the cold. This place isn’t meant for us. She felt it in her bones.

“Saints,” said Jesper, “what was that?”

Another wail followed, long and piercing. The fog seemed to seethe around them, forming shapes that melted into nothing before Zoya could truly make them out.

Jesper set his hands on his revolvers. “These cliffs are supposed to be haunted.”

“You don’t actually believe that,” said Wylan.

“I believe in all kinds of things. Ghosts. Gnomes. True love.”

Now another sound—a low hiss—seemed to crawl up from the sea, rising and falling in undulating waves. Zoya felt it like fingers brushing up her spine, making the hair on her arms rise.

“Enough,” she snapped. She’d had all she could stand of this Saintsforsaken country. She lifted her hands and the fog rolled back in a gust—revealing a circle of people around them, some of them in jackal masks, others with dark scarves pulled up to hide their faces. Moonlight glinted off the barrels of their guns.

“Suli,” whispered Jesper.

“You’re not welcome in this place,” said a gruff voice. It was impossible to tell which side of the circle it had come from. That same low, crawling hiss followed.

“We don’t mean any harm,” Jesper began.

“That’s why you snuck up on our camp in the dead of night?”

“We should let the sea have them,” said another voice. “Send them screaming over the cliff tops.”

“My apologies,” Nikolai said, stepping forward. “We had no intention of—”

Click click click. Like fingers snapping. The sound of triggers being cocked.