Eliana wondered what sort of woman lay behind Lady Luna’s facade, if she was as spirited as Eliana’s mother had been. Eliana thought she could like Lady Luna, if that was the case.

“I’m going to get another drink,” Eliana said, and Lady Luna smiled in acknowledgment. Eliana left her alone and walked over to the bar. The andie was watching the party much as Lady Luna was: unmoving, contemplative.

“Hey,” Eliana said. Then, out of habit, “Nice to see you again.”

“I’m glad to hear that.” He smiled, and Eliana was still stunned by the way a smile could look so genuine and so artificial at the same time. “Would you like something to drink, Miss Gomez?”

“You know my name?”

“I remember you, yes. Would you like another glass of wine?”

Eliana nodded and watched as he pulled out a clean glass and opened up a new bottle. The wine sloshed, red and thick. He handed it to her.

“I missed you when I came out here to deliver Lady Luna’s documents.” Even as she spoke, Eliana wondered what she was doing. Playing the damn detective at a party, and for what? There was no case. No one was paying her to investigate Lady Luna or her old-fashioned and highly regulated electronic butler.

“Did you?” His voice was inflected with a cool politeness.

“Yeah.” Eliana arranged herself on a stool. Funny what alcohol did to you. She’d rather talk to the robot than to any of the guests at the party. “Lady Luna give you days off?”

“Why would I need a day off?” All of his words sounded rehearsed, but this question sounded more rehearsed than anything else. “I’m sure I was busy elsewhere on the estate. What day was it?”

“Last Tuesday.”

“Ah yes, well, I was tending to the wheat. I’m sure that’s why I missed you.” He turned away from her, putting the wine back into place along the mirror. Eliana sipped from her glass. Mr. Vasquez had taught her how to read people, as much as you could teach that, but this was an andie. Hard to tell what she was seeing.

“I was just curious,” she said when he turned back to face her.

“A useful trait in your profession, I’m sure.” He gave her a sly smile, which put her at ease.

“Do you like working for Lady Luna?” she asked.

“I like it very much.” In this moment, he looked more human than robot, as if the wine were softening his edges. “Do you like working as a private investigator?”

“Beats working in the steno pool down at the city offices.” Eliana took a long drink, and the alcohol’s warmth spread through her limbs.

“I can imagine.”

Eliana laughed. “Maybe. Most men can’t.”

He blinked at her, and Eliana had the sudden dawning ache that she’d misspoken somehow.

“Luciano! Get us a drink, will you? Whiskey, neat.” A man with steely hair sidled up to the bar, a woman about Eliana’s age dangling off his arm.

The robot—Luciano, his name was Luciano—moved to fix the couple’s drinks. When he turned away from her, Eliana slid off the bar stool and moved through the liquid lights of the party.

She just needed some fresh air.

*  *  *  *

Eliana woke up the next day to the sound of banging on her front door.

She moaned into her pillow, blinking against the glare of the dome lights pouring in through her window. They hadn’t been this bright in days.

The banging stopped, and Eliana breathed a sigh of relief. Her head pounded in time with her heart.

The banging started again.

“Eliana! You in there?”

Diego. She hadn’t seen him for a few days, not since she’d stolen the documents off Sala down at the Florencia. She’d figured he’d retreated into the underworld for a while, the way he did.

“I’m coming!” she shouted, although she doubted he could hear her. She rolled out of bed and ran her fingers through her hair before padding over to the door. She pulled it open when Diego was midknock, his fist lifted in the air.

“Somebody had a fun night,” he said.

Eliana rolled her eyes and pushed the door open farther. Diego stepped inside, swooping his gaze around the room, the way he always did. The door clicked shut behind him, and he reached back and locked it.

“At least, I hope it was a fun night.” Diego collapsed on the sofa, kicking his feet up onto the coffee table.

“Yeah? You aren’t jealous?” Eliana grinned at him, but Diego didn’t return it. “You want some coffee?”

“You still have coffee this far into winter?”

Eliana shrugged.

“No, I’m fine. It’s the middle of the afternoon anyway. You really do look like shit, Eliana. You should drink some orange juice.”

“No one in the smokestack district has seen orange juice for four months.” Eliana stumbled into the kitchen, where she poured herself a glass of water. She leaned up against the refrigerator, sipping at it, and Diego came in to join her.

“Seriously, though,” he said, “was it a good night?”

Eliana peered up at him. His expression was serious, almost stern.

“I was at a party,” she said.

Diego took a deep breath.

“What?” Eliana finished off her water and poured another glass. “I can’t go to parties?”

“You can do whatever you want,” Diego said. “But you probably shouldn’t steal papers off some engineer waiting to meet with Mr. Cabrera in Mr. Cabrera’s own goddamned bar.”

Eliana froze. She and Diego stared at each other, and Eliana felt the way she had the time her mother had caught her sneaking out of their apartment one night when she was fifteen: a weird combination of guilt and irritation at being found out.

“You heard about that?” she finally squeaked. She took a long drink of water.

“Yeah, I heard about it.” Diego sighed again. “You better be grateful Mr. Cabrera has no idea who you are. The only one who got a good look at you was Sala, and he’s—not an issue.”

Eliana felt herself harden. “Why not?”

“Because he’s not. He’s dead.”

“What?”

“Mr. Cabrera had him killed. For lying.” Diego’s eyes glittered. “That’s why I said you should be grateful Mr. Cabrera has no idea who you are. I only figured it out when I put two and two together. Not a lot of lady investigators in the city.”

He was upset. He’d called her an investigator instead of a cop.

“It was a lot of money.” Eliana drained her glass and left it sitting on the counter. Her stomach lurched, and she didn’t think she needed to fill it with any more water. “And I haven’t had any problems since.” She felt cold. Sala was dead. “Should I be worried?”

Diego ran his hand over his hair. “Not because of this, no. Mr. Cabrera’s dropped it, and you didn’t technically steal from him. But you need to stay out of his business. He’s got too much power in this city. He says the word, and someone dies, and the cops don’t give a shit.”

“You’re the one who works for him.” Eliana left the kitchen. She wondered if Diego had killed Sala—but only for a moment. He was an errand-runner, nothing else. He just wanted to warn her.

The living room was too bright, all that dome light pouring through the windows. She’d forgotten how bright it could be. She drew the blinds and stretched out on the sofa, hands resting on her stomach. Diego sat down on the floor beside her.

“Working for him is different from chasing him down,” he said quietly.

“I’m not chasing him down! I just needed to get those documents back for my client. It’s over.” She didn’t mention the party because she didn’t want to listen to Diego complain about her palling around with Marianella Luna. Not that she’d call that party palling, necessarily.

Eliana closed her eyes, and her headache subsided.

“Look, I’m just worried about you, is all.” Diego’s large rough hands tugged on her hair. She opened one eye. He was staring at her with an oddly concerned expression, like she’d fallen and hurt herself. And that softened her. All she wanted right now was to be taken care of.