Aine waited until Augustine left for the office.

At 9:00 AM, she was back on the subway. Not to the decoy address in Brooklyn, but to a different one, five blocks away. A nondescript brownstone with a separate entrance.

She checked the street. Clear.

Aine went down to the basement apartment. She unlocked the door.

Inside, it wasn't a home. It was a command center.

The windows were blacked out with heavy curtains. The walls were covered in photos, maps, and financial flowcharts. Red string connected the faces of the Talley family board members.

Aine walked over to the photo of Julian. She took a red marker and circled his face.

Weakness confirmed.

She sat down at a laptop. She pulled a small device from her purse and plugged it in. Last night, while Julian was fumbling with his phone in the car-his wet fingers unable to use the biometric scanner-he'd been forced to type in his passcode. Aine had been watching. 0429. His birthday. Predictable. More importantly, when he connected his phone to the car's bluetooth, her device, disguised as a charging cable, had initiated a full data clone.

Aine initiated a brute-force attack on a specific encrypted folder using the passcode as a seed.

It took ten minutes.

Folder after folder opened. Photos of women. Nudes. Text messages bragging to his friends.

"Standard trash," Aine muttered.

She dug deeper. She found a folder labeled "Dad - Foundation."

She clicked it. It was encrypted with a stronger key.

Her phone buzzed. A text from Julian.

Hope you slept well. I'm downstairs.

Aine's heart hammered against her ribs. He was at the decoy address. She ran to a monitor displaying a live feed from a hidden camera across the street.

His car was there. Right in front of the building.

He was early. Too early. Aine was wearing jeans and a t-shirt.

She grabbed an old, oversized sweater from a pile on the floor. She messed up her hair. She sprayed cheap vanilla perfume on her neck to mask the scent of Augustine's expensive shampoo.

Aine ran out of the command center, locking it behind her, and sprinted the five blocks. She entered the decoy building from the back and raced up the stairs, making herself breathless.

She burst out the front door.

Julian was standing there, holding a bag from a high-end bakery and a pharmacy bag.

"I was worried about infection," he said, holding up the pharmacy bag. "And I brought breakfast."

Aine stopped, putting a hand to her chest. "You can't just show up here, Julian."

"I wanted to see you."

People were staring. A homeless man Aine had paid twenty bucks to act crazy started yelling at a pigeon near Julian's car.

"Please," Aine said, her face flushing. "Go. Everyone is looking."

Julian looked around. He didn't look scared. He looked like a king visiting the peasants.

"Get in," he said. "I'm taking you somewhere."

"I have rehearsal."

"I called Lazlo. You have the day off."

"You don't control my life!" Aine snapped.

He stepped closer. "I'm a VIP, Siren. I get what I want. Get in the car."

Aine hesitated, then got in.

As they drove away, she looked at the dashboard.

"So," Aine said, trying to sound casual. "What do you do all day? Besides saving damsels?"

"Board meetings," he sighed. "My dad is obsessed with the Charity Foundation right now."

"Charity?" Aine asked. "That sounds nice."

He laughed. "It's a tax shelter. Boring as hell. Just moving money around so the IRS doesn't get it."

Aine kept her face blank.

"Sounds complicated," she said.

"I'll teach you sometime," he said, reaching over to squeeze her hand. "Let's go shopping."

Aine looked out the window.

Keep talking, Julian. Just keep talking.

Aine walked into the dressing room carrying five shopping bags.

The chatter stopped instantly.

Sierrah was sitting at the center vanity. She saw Aine in the mirror. Her eyes narrowed.

She stood up and walked over. She kicked one of the bags Aine had set down.

"This is a dressing room, not a trash can," she spat.

The bag tipped over. A silk scarf spilled out onto the dirty floor.

Aine bent down to pick it up.

Sierrah stepped on the scarf. She ground her heel into the fabric.

"Heard you slept your way into Julian's car last night," she said loud enough for everyone to hear. "Nice trick with the water. Did you practice drowning, you masked freak?"

Aine stood up slowly. She looked Sierrah in the eye.

"Move your foot," Aine said quietly.

Sierrah laughed. "Or what? You'll cry to your daddy?"

She raised her hand and slapped Aine.

It was hard. Aine's head snapped to the side. She tasted copper. Her lip split.

The room gasped.

Aine didn't hit back. She just stood there, letting the blood pool on her lip.

The door opened.

Augustine stood there. Lazlo was behind him.

Augustine saw the blood. The temperature in the room dropped ten degrees.

He walked in. The other dancers parted like the Red Sea.

"Mr. Haynes," Sierrah stammered, backing up. "She started it! She was-"

Augustine ignored her. He stopped in front of Aine. He reached out and tilted her chin up. His thumb brushed the corner of her mouth. He looked at the blood, then at her eyes.

"I'm fine," Aine said, pulling away.

He turned to Sierrah.

"Get out."

"But I'm the headliner!" Sierrah shrieked.

"Lazlo," Augustine said, his voice bored. "Fire her. If she's in the building in five minutes, have security throw her out."

"You can't do this!" Sierrah screamed as security grabbed her arms. "She's a witch! She set me up!"

They dragged her out.

Augustine waved his hand, dismissing the rest of the girls. They scrambled out.

It was just Aine and Augustine.

He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and dabbed Aine's lip.

"You let her hit you," he said. It wasn't a question.

"You walked in," Aine said.

"Don't use me as a weapon, Aine," he warned. His eyes were dark. "I don't like being manipulated."

"If you miss her, go hire her back," Aine said.

He grabbed Aine's chin again, harder this time. "You have a smart mouth. Someone should shut it."

His gaze dropped to her lips. For a second, Aine thought he was going to kiss her. The air was electric.

Then he let go.

"Sing well tonight," he said, turning away. "Don't waste my time."

Aine watched him leave. She turned to the mirror. Her lip was swelling.

She applied concealer.

One down.

The back alley behind The Onyx Room was dark, smelling of stale beer and rain.

Aine slipped out the rear exit, pulling her coat tight.

Julian was leaning against his car. Behind him, lining the brick wall, were twenty massive floral arrangements. It looked like a funeral parlor.

People were stopping to take pictures.

"Do you like it?" Julian asked, beaming. "Celebrating the new headliner."

Aine grimaced. "Sierrah just got fired. This feels... cruel."

"Out with the old," he shrugged.

He really didn't care.

A black town car idled across the street. Augustine.

Julian opened his arms for a hug. "Come here."

"I'm tired, Julian. I just want to go home."

"I'll drive you."

"I called a cab."

Suddenly, three figures burst out from behind a dumpster. They were screaming.

"Homewrecker!"

"Snake!"

Eggs flew through the air.

Julian ducked. He covered his head.

One egg hit Aine's shoulder. Another hit her skirt. The smell of sulfur exploded.

"You ruined Sierrah!" one of them yelled. It was a teenage girl, rabid with fandom.

Julian just stood there, looking at his car, making sure it didn't get hit.

Aine didn't cower. She reached into her purse.

She pulled out a canister of military-grade pepper spray.

She didn't hesitate. She sprayed a wide arc.

The attackers screamed, clutching their eyes. They fell to their knees, coughing.

Security finally ran out the door.

Julian looked up, blinking. "Whoa."

Aine stood there, egg dripping down her coat, holding the canister like a gun.

Across the street, inside the town car, Augustine watched. He tapped the steering wheel.

"She doesn't need a knight," he whispered.

The guards dragged the crying fans away.

Julian walked over to Aine. "Are you okay? My God, my suit almost got ruined."

Aine looked at him. She looked at the egg on her coat.

"Go home, Julian," she said.

"I'll see you tomorrow?"

"Sure."

He got in his car and drove off.

Aine walked over to Augustine's car. She tapped on the glass.

The window rolled down.

"Nice show," he said.

"Got a light?"

He handed her a silver Zippo.

Aine took off her coat. She threw it into the metal trash can next to them. She flicked the lighter and dropped it in.

The coat caught fire instantly. The flames illuminated her face.

"I don't like owing people," Aine said. "Even for a coat."

Augustine watched the fire reflect in Aine's eyes. He looked at her-really looked at her-for the first time. Not as an asset. Not as a problem. But as a woman.

"Keep the lighter," he said.

Aine turned and walked toward the subway.