The glass dragon roared, its wings flapping, waves of heat fanning against Zofia’s cheeks.

“What are you waiting for?” shouted Enrique.

Séverin swiped one of the Gaia Dots off the ground, wincing a little as he tethered the sphere to the rope. He lassoed the whole contraption around his head, flinging the bottle up where it shattered against the skylight.

The glass fractured, but it didn’t break.

“Again!” yelled Enrique, tossing him another Gaia Dot.

Séverin swung the rope. The window fractured a little more, but still it did not break.

“The cloak—” said Hypnos, pointing at the mess of Enrique’s flame-retardant cloth.

Liquid glass seeped over it, hardening over the golden cloak in the disturbing way of insects trapped in amber. The glass dragon closed in on them. In the glossy sheen of its belly, Zofia could see her reflection stretched and twisted. The heat closed around them. Sweat ran down her back, and her clothing gummed to her skin. She hated the sensation.

Think, Zosia. Think.

She touched the pendants of her necklace. One of them was an explosive, but would it be enough to break the glass? Laila choked on the air, her hand flying to her mouth, and Zofia’s decision crystallized on the spot.

She tore the pendant, flinging it toward Séverin—

“Try this!” she yelled.

He caught it one-handed. At the same time, Zofia felt a whumph! of concentrated air—

At the periphery of her vision, an enormous glass wing shot through with green and gold paint knifed toward her head. One moment, Zofia had only just registered it. The next she found herself slammed to the ground, her skull thudding on the marble. She blinked to see Enrique braced above her, the dragon’s glass wing missing his head by mere centimeters.

“I, um—” started Enrique, rolling away from her.

“Cover your heads!” called Séverin.

A huge shattering sound echoed far above them. The dragon screeched.

Zofia shielded her head as shards of glass rained down above them. The glass dragon howled. The temperature in the room dropped, the heat ebbing away—

The panic she had fought down for so long now asserted itself. Heat on her face, a hollow in her heart left behind from losing Hela’s letter, worry for Laila, Enrique, Séverin, and Hypnos.

Count, she told herself. 13, 26, 39, 52, 65, 78, 91 …

The seconds melted together. The weight squeezing her chest slowly lifted until she could concentrate once more on her surroundings. She lowered her arms, lifting her head. It was silent. The glass liquid had stopped a meter away from them and begun to harden. Zofia looked up to see the enormous glass dragon frozen right above them—its wings outstretched and gleaming, jaws flung wide and talons extended.

Séverin flopped back onto the marble, resting his head against one of the podiums. He kicked out his legs, smoothed back his hair, and flashed a smile.

“Good work, Phoenix.”

Séverin used to say that with frequency back in Paris. The words felt comforting. The longer she looked at him, the more she recognized his smile. Laila had once called it his “sated wolf” grin.

She had not seen it since Tristan died, but she remembered it. It was the smile before an acquisition fell into his hands; the smile when the plan performed to standards; and it was as familiar to Zofia as the glass alembics and measuring devices that had once lined the shelves of her L’Eden laboratory.

Lately, she had not allowed herself to think of what she had left behind in L’Eden because it seemed statistically unlikely that she would ever see it again. But if Séverin’s smile could return, perhaps other things could return as well.

“I know,” she said.

Séverin laughed.

* * *

AFTER AN HOUR and two stumbling routes through the hidden passageways of House Janus’s headquarters, they were finally outside. The cold air burned in Zofia’s lungs as she, Hypnos, Enrique, Laila, and Séverin wound their way through the low-ceilinged passageways that threaded the streets of Venice. Zofia’s ears were still ringing from the explosion, and she had begun to count the lanterns tucked into the eaves of the street. She told herself that every light she crossed was one step out of the dark.

The unknown terrified her. It settled inside her like an itch that scratched through her thoughts. It was only the reminder that Laila depended on her that forced distance between herself and her panic, but she hadn’t stopped thinking about Hela, and all the sounds and chaos from the Carnevale acquisition only served to remind her that there was far too much she did not know. She was so focused on counting the lights that she almost missed the conversation around her until Séverin said her name.

“What?” she asked loudly as they came to a stop before a curved archway.

In the distance, she could see the black, shimmering water before the Rialto Bridge. The market kiosks were closed by now, and nothing but the occasional stray cat crossed their paths.

“The explosion,” said Séverin. “I assume there were no problems attaching it to Ruslan’s gondola.”

Problems? No, thought Zofia, her mind momentarily returning to the kiss she had shared with Enrique. That aspect had been pleasant … happy, even, in a way that reminded Zofia of winter fires in her parents’ sitting rooms, the feeling of utter safety. But then she remembered Hela’s lost letter, and her face crumpled.

“There was no problem attaching the detonation device,” said Zofia. She reached into her sleeve, where the other half of the bonded bomb pair lay against her forearm. She pulled it out. In the moonlight, it looked as if it was carved of ice. “When this is triggered, the other half will explode.”

“Good,” said Séverin. He shifted a little on his feet, not looking up at them. “We need to deal with Ruslan before we go, and we cannot afford the risk that he will jump off the gondola to safety. He doesn’t trust me.”

Laila’s eyes narrowed, her shoulders lifted. Zofia recognized that posture. It was as if Laila were bracing herself for something.

“Meaning?” asked Enrique.

“Meaning … we will have some help,” said Séverin.

“From who?” said Enrique.

Séverin said quietly, “You can come out now.”

A figure stepped into their line of sight, Zofia recognized the person immediately: long, red hair, a talon ring on the pinky. Eva Yefremovna.

When Zofia had seen the blood Forging artist in the past, Eva had not been expressive. Her mouth was usually in a flat line, which suggested anger. And she had not been kind to Laila, but there was a reason for that unkindness. Zofia remembered Laila pleading with her to help them in the Sleeping Palace, promising Eva that she no longer had to follow Ruslan’s bidding, that they would be able to protect her and her father, whose life Ruslan threatened. Eva’s gaze darted to Séverin’s. Her eyes were wide, which led Zofia to conclude that she was worried.

“I … I’m here to help,” said Eva.

“I’ve seen what your help looks like,” shot back Enrique. His hand flew to his ear.

“Can we really trust her?” asked Hypnos.

Eva opened her mouth to speak, but it was Laila who answered.