Gideon had been reluctant to leave her with that boy—whosehungry look betrayed him, even if Rune was determined not to see it. But he needed to know if Abbie was Harrow’s spy. Even if she wasn’t, she might know who was. The only way to find out was to engage her.
He needed to be careful, though. If Abbie was a New Republic spy, and there were witch sympathizers among them—Ash had all but admitted to being one earlier—Gideon didn’t want to get her reported.
“You used to despise aristos,” said Abbie from beside him. “You used to reject their invitations and avoid their parties.”
Gideon still did that. He’d rather get his ribs broken in the boxing ring than make polite conversation in a ballroom.
“She’s not your type in other ways, too.”
He raised a brow. For someone he hadn’t seen in a year, she was being very forward.
“I didn’t realize I had a type.”
“The Gideon I knew liked to be challenged.” Her brown eyes met his, as if daring him to contradict her. “He enjoyed being kept on his toes. The Gideon I knew had stared into the darkness, and carried it with him.”
Two crew members rushed by, forcing Abbie out of their way and closer to Gideon.
She lowered her voice so only he would hear her. “He would never be happy with someone who couldn’t stare into the darkness, too.”
“And Kestrel can’t?”
She shot him a look. “She’s sweet. But she’s not your equal. She’s the kind of girl who cares more about a muddy hem than whether she can hit a moving target.”
Gideon coughed to disguise a laugh, trying to imagine the Crimson Moth worrying about dirt on her clothes.
“I used to think that, too.” He knew better now. There were depths to Rune he might never reach.
He glanced back again to find Rune’s eyes on him. Their gazes snagged. What was William telling her?
He didn’t like leaving her alone with that guy. He should go retrieve her.
Except this was why he’d come: to suss out Abbie and tell her what he was planning, so if she was Harrow’s spy, he could convince her not to report him.
“The last time we spoke, you were working for the Tribunal. What happened? How did you end up”—he glanced around at the Crew Alleyway’s cramped quarters—“here?”
A different beat echoed through the hall now, competing with the engine’s sound. Something more melodic and wild.
Music.
“I got annoyed with the bureaucracy.”
As they drew closer to the sounds of revelry, Abbie led him through a door and into a dark, warm, boisterous room full of people. Some stood at the edges sipping drinks, others played cards at tables, and still others danced in the center. Abbie had to shout to be heard over the music.
“It was Harrow who suggested working on ships. If you get on the right ship, you can wake up in a different port every morning. I started on theArcadia, to get experience. But at the end of this week, my contract will be up, and I can transfer to a bigger ship.”
Gideon studied her. Had she intentionally dropped Harrow’s name? Or was that coincidence?
“When was the last time you and Harrow spoke?” he asked as their group descended on an empty card table.
“The last time we docked in the capital.” Which would have been roughly a week ago.
Are you working for her?he wanted to ask, but he didn’t dare in such mixed company.Are you her spy?
Abbie took a seat at the table. If he joined her, he wouldn’t be able to ask. And he needed to, because if shewasthe spy, he needed to tell her what he was planning before she reported him, or—if she had kill orders—before she hurt Rune.
Gideon looked to the whirling, stomping dancers.
“Abbie?”
