“What?” Sofia dug her fingernails into her palm. The song fizzled into silence, and another took its place.

“I couldn’t quite get all the things you asked for. This time.” Cabrera held up one hand and pressed the other to his chest. “I’ve got my men seeking out the rest, but we may need to go north, up into Brazil. Some of the items are quite obsolete, and we’ll need to find Autômatos Teixeira’s old supplier in order to acquire them.” He grinned. “But I swear you’ll get them as soon as possible.”

Sofia stared at him.

“Oh, really, Sofia, just sit. Is the music bothering you so much? I’ll turn it off.” He lifted the record needle. The silence was beautiful.

“Thank you.” Sofia glided across the office, cautious. She sat down in front of his desk and crossed her feet at her ankles. “I’m sorry to hear you couldn’t acquire everything.” She regulated her tone as best she could; Araceli had told her this was likely, that some of the equipment, as old and outdated as it was, might be hard to find. She still thought he might be lying.

“You’ve done excellent work with my icebreakers, and I want to ensure you receive the payment you deserve.”

Sofia nodded. She found it difficult to look at him. Instead, her gaze was drawn to the silent, unmoving record player. Maybe she should have brought Luciano after all. Of course, he couldn’t have done anything about this situation either.

“Such excellent work,” Cabrera repeated, and Sofia was aware of Diego lurking behind her, leaning up against the wall. “Did you know I used to have a former park engineer do the reprogramming for me? He died. Heart attack.”

Sofia didn’t say anything. She remembered crawling into the engineer’s bedroom in the middle of the night. She remembered the sight of him lying stretched out on his bed, the way he’d let out a sigh when she’d slid the needle full of poison into the vein of his neck. It had been the first stage of her plan. No one but she and Luciano and Inéz knew about that moment.

“A shame, of course, but being a city man, he was costly. I have to say, I like working with robots. Even having to send a man into Brazil, you’re still cheaper than he was. Helps my bottom line.” He smiled and folded his hands over his desk like a businessman.

“I’m glad to hear that,” Sofia said.

Silence settled around them, burning at Sofia’s ears. The office was lit with green-globed lamps that cast strange, liquid shadows across the floor. Cabrera leaned back over his record player, and Sofia tightened her grip on her handbag.

No.

He rifled through a stack of albums and pulled out one with a sleek silver cover. She didn’t recognize it, but that didn’t mean anything. She’d never seen the album covers when she’d worked the dance houses.

“My niece likes this one,” Cabrera said.

“No music, please.”

“Sofia, Sofia, I’m just trying to get you accustomed to our ways.” He glanced over his shoulder at her. “This isn’t like anything you’ve ever heard, I promise.”

It better not be, she thought.

He put on the record. As the needle crackled, tension racked down Sofia’s spine. The music started, soft and faint, an opera singer’s shimmering wail.

She didn’t recognize it. And opera was never used for programming anyway.

“Told you,” Cabrera said. “Like nothing you ever heard before.”

“Why are you doing this?”

“Doing what? Playing a bit of music while we wait for Sebastian to bring your payment? I do this with all of my contract workers. I like to make you feel welcome.”

Sofia glared at him. Her insides twisted and churned. Rage coiled around her like a wire. She hadn’t been built for strength. None of them had. Strength was not required to be the amusement at an amusement park. But she wished she could leap across the desk, wrap her fingers around Cabrera’s throat, strangle him until he slumped down dead.

She didn’t move.

Cabrera smiled. “Sebastian is certainly taking his time, isn’t he?”

“Perhaps you should hire someone more efficient.” Her words were ice. The music played on in the background, a mournful Italian soprano. Sofia could speak Italian, but she couldn’t hear the lyrics, not with the music digging into her programming, trying to find a connection.

“One or two of the items were rather large. It’ll take some time for Sebastian to prepare your car.”

Sofia clenched her fingers around the armrest.

“Could you at least turn off the music?” she said. “Please.”

Cabrera tapped his fingers against the desk. “I’m trying to help you.” He wasn’t. She could see it in his cold shark’s smile.

“Please.”

Cabrera closed his eyes in defeat. “Fine. No appreciation for culture.” He lifted the needle. In the sudden buzzing silence Sofia’s thoughts stopped trying to find instructions.

But Cabrera didn’t turn away from the record player. Instead, he extracted another album. This cover he kept hidden.

Sofia went cold.

“Just one more.” He peered up at her, eyes glinting.

“No.”

“Sofia.” He said her name as if it were a sound to comfort a baby. “You know I couldn’t stand to hurt you. You’re too important to me.”

He switched out the albums. Sofia was rigid. She knew what he was going to do. He was a dangerous man. Araceli had said that. A dangerous man, and Sofia had corrected her—a dangerous human. But now Cabrera was going to poison her thoughts, and she didn’t know how to stop him.

The needle dropped.

The speakers went hiss, hiss.

And Alberto Echagüe began to sing. “Paciencia.”

But the singer and the song didn’t register in Sofia’s thoughts. This wasn’t one of the new songs, the safe songs. Those, she heard the way a human would. This song, she could only hear through her programming.

The music was a code, and she was programmed to recognize it. The notes and beats and melodies told her what to do.

Dance, the music whispered. I want you to dance.

Sofia stood up, pushed the chair away. Cabrera leaned back and watched her, not with lust or wonder or even admiration but with a cold calculating menace, as if he wanted to see what she was capable of.

She lifted her hands above her head, twisted her spine contrapposto. And then she danced.

It was a tango. A nighttime dance. She didn’t have a partner, but she still swept across the room, twisting her hips and stomping her feet. The music pounded in her brain, and it stripped away everything: Cabrera and Diego, the dimly lit office, her supplies. As far as Sofia was aware, she was performing in the ballroom of the Ice Palace, cast in blue lights, her bustier dripping with sparkles.

This was what she was programmed to do.

The music stopped. The flood of information ceased, and Sofia collapsed. She didn’t hit the floor. Diego caught her and helped her to her feet without speaking, without looking at her, and moved the chair back into place. Sofia slumped into it.

Cabrera’s face was a mask.

“Don’t ever do that to me again,” Sofia said.

“It doesn’t seem to me that you have much choice in the matter.”

I will kill you, Sofia thought.

“It wasn’t difficult,” he went on, “finding the old songs. The city offices keep all the old park records.” Nothing changed in his voice, in his expression. “I was surprised to learn all you’re capable of.”

Sofia trembled. Her thoughts bled together, indistinct, fragmentary.

“I respect you, Sofia. I’ve always loved Echagüe. You dance beautifully, by the way. I would never have asked you to do any more than that.”

“Go fuck yourself.”

Cabrera pulled his head back, a false recoil. Then he laughed. “Sofia! Did you say that to your clients?”

“I didn’t have clients,” she said. “I had masters. But I don’t anymore.” She stood up and turned to Diego. “Where’s Sebastian?” she demanded. “He’s waiting for some sign, right? You tell him Mr. Cabrera’s done with his little game.”