Somewhere off to the side, a floorboard creaked.

Eliana’s whole body went cold. But the conversation hadn’t ended.

“I did all the work! I want the credit!”

Decision made. Eliana stepped off the last stair and walked quickly to the door, pulled it open, eased it shut.

The neighborhood was as empty as before.

The only difference was a car parked in the drive, small and cheap, the paint rubbed off in spots. Looked like a bureaucrat’s car.

Eliana walked down the pathway, her heart pounding in her ears. She went four houses down and then broke into a run, racing to the place where she’d left Essie’s car. She’d never moved so fast, jamming the key into the lock and then into the ignition. The engine roared. She gunned forward, pulling around to Sala’s house.

The car was still there.

She let out a long, adrenaline-fueled sigh of relief and slumped against her seat. She parked the car two houses down, next to a scrubby little oak tree. Switched off the engine. She had a clear enough view of Sala’s front door.

This, Mr. Vasquez had taught her to do.

Eliana regained her breath, and then she regained her thoughts. No documents in the house, but that conversation sounded like Sala had something. She supposed it could have been some city matter, but then why was he taking the phone call from home?

Sala’s front door banged open.

Eliana was seized with a brief, residual panic. For a moment she forgot what she was supposed to do and she just watched as a fussy, faded man locked the house door, pocketed his keys, and wound down the pathway. But he didn’t get into his car. He just stood by the gate, squinting down the street. Not in her direction.

Eliana took a deep breath and turned on the car engine. The faded man glanced at her, glanced away, uninterested.

Tucked under his arm was a slim brown envelope.

Documents, Eliana thought.

The distant whine of a car engine drifted around the corner. Eliana tried to melt into her seat. The faded man perked up, straightened his coat. Eliana was almost afraid to breathe.

At the end of the street, a car appeared. Long and sleek and low to the ground. A black paint job, dark tinted windows.

Eliana’s stomach clenched.

Cabrera. He controlled those cars, a whole fleet of them, Diego had told her, as ubiquitous as his reprogrammed robots. You saw one of those cars, you knew Cabrera’s men were up to something.

The car pulled up to the curb. The faded man stepped in. As soon as the door shut, the car flew past Eliana, exhaling white clouds of exhaust. She watched it go, her breath coming short and fast.

She didn’t think they’d noticed her.

She shifted her car into gear and turned around in the house’s driveway and followed them.

Eliana had never actually tailed anyone before. Mr. Vasquez had advised her against it, saying the city didn’t have enough vehicles on its roads to disguise you. And he was right. Eliana puttered along in Essie’s shambling little car, pressing on the brakes every time the black car loomed in her vision. At one point, the engine died, and the black car slid out of view.

“Fuck!” Eliana jostled the keys, pushed on the clutch. She’d never really gotten the hang of driving. Essie would kill her if she’d broken her car.

Better Essie than Cabrera, Eliana thought, although the words were in Diego’s voice.

The engine rattled to life. Eliana took a deep breath and moved forward along the empty street, then turned where the black car had turned. But it was gone.

The Florencia.

Of course. Where else would Cabrera do business?

Eliana pulled up to a stop sign. She rested her hands on top of the steering wheel, her palms slick with sweat. Her heart beat so fast, she thought she was going to be sick. But if Sala was headed to the Florencia, with that brown envelope in one hand—

Eliana thought about the money Lady Luna had laid out on her office desk. Enough to set aside twice what she usually did toward her savings to leave Hope City, even after she’d paid Maria and Essie. And that was just from her retainer.

The crossroad cleared. Eliana took a deep breath and shot forward into the intersection. She’d never driven to the Florencia before, but she knew its general location. And some city man had helpfully hung signs pointing her that way.

Ten minutes later, she was there.

Eliana parked in one of the paid lots, climbed out, locked the car. The wind whipped across her face, cold and damp. Real wind, blowing in through the entrances at the docks.

She stood for a moment, considering. Then she unlocked the car, pulled open the glove compartment. Her gun was tucked inside there, waiting. Bullets in it and everything. She pulled it out and stuck it into her purse.

The Florencia was located on a narrow side street lined with empty storefronts. Eliana knew the way from here, since Maria liked to dance at the Florencia now and then. Eliana was used to looking for it at night, though, when the name was lit up in garish neon and people spilled out onto the street, drunk and laughing. But during the day, you’d think the Florencia was as abandoned as its neighboring establishments, because of the barred-over windows and the cheap, peeling paint on the facade.

Friday and Saturday night might have been enough to turn this place respectable. Tuesday morning wasn’t.

The wind gusted as Eliana made her way down the street, moving closer toward the entrance, and she tucked her face into her scarf and listened to her breath and to her footsteps as she walked. Both echoed in the stillness.

A black car was parked in front of the bar. Eliana stopped and stared at it. She was aware of the weight of the gun in her purse. Not that she’d ever shot the thing at anything other than the targets at her licensing class.

She could still turn back. Call up Lady Luna, tell her Cabrera had her documents after all, Lady Luna would have to find someone else. But that would mean losing a hell of a lot of mainland money, and Sala was in the Florencia. Right now. Sala, and those damned documents.

Eliana reached into her purse and jerked back the safety on her gun. Then she pulled out her red lipstick and put it on. She needed to disguise herself as one of Cabrera’s girls.

No one guarded the Florencia door. Eliana pulled on the handle, expecting (hoping) it to be locked, surprising herself when it swung open with a long, low creak. Music tumbled out, a sad, dark drone. She stepped in. Most of the lights were off, the tables lit with little red candles. A girl danced up onstage, half her clothes spilled around her feet. She had more of an audience than Eliana would have expected.

“Can I help you?”

Eliana startled at the voice. She looked over and found a well-styled little man standing beside a stack of menus.

“Um, I’m meeting somebody.” Eliana scanned the dining room. It was too dark to see, and she hadn’t gotten that good a look at Sala’s face. “I see him. There.” She pointed in a noncommittal direction.

The man blinked at him. “Would you like a menu?”

“Sure.”

The man handed her one from the stack, and Eliana took it. She strode away, still scanning for Sala. She could feel the man near the door staring at her, but she shook it off, sliding between the tables. Lights bounced off the stage. The music bore into her. She passed a pair of old men with cups of coffee; she passed a young man in a business suit scratching something on a pad of paper.

And then she found Sala.

He didn’t see her. He was sitting at a table at the edge of the room, staring up at the dancing girl and smoking. He had a bottle of wine with him, and he topped off his glass, not taking his eyes off the stage. The envelope lay on the table, his hand pressed on it like an act of protection.