Grace seized Enne’s wrist as she reached for the rifle. “I came here to support you, but don’t accuse me of teaching youthis.”
“That’s ironic, coming from a killer.” Enne yanked her hand away.
“Do you think I wanted to be a killer?” Grace demanded. “I did it because I was alone and desperate. Because it was easy. And it was only easy because, up until I met you and Lola, I didn’t care about anyone enough to realize what I was doing was wrong.”
Because Grace was her friend, Enne refrained from shouting. A wind tore across the rooftop, and Enne tied her hair away from her face, staring at her shoes even as she felt Grace’s eyes on her.
“Don’t I get a response?” Grace demanded.
“You can’t tell me killing is wrong right after you said Owain deserves to die. You can’t help me every step of the way only to try to stop me now.”
“I helped you before I knew this wasn’t just between you and me and Roy.” As she spoke, Enne set up her rifle. Harrison’s associate had already taken the stage in the park below to introduce his candidate. “But now you have the Spirits and the Irons out there. Other people could get hurt.”
“I’ve done as much as I could to stop that from—”
Grace grabbed Enne by her coat sleeve and yanked her up. “I’m too smart for you to lie to me.”
“Thank you all so much for being here,” Enne heard Poppy say below. The microphone screeched as Poppy adjusted it slightly.
Enne gritted her teeth. She didn’t have time to argue with Grace—the debate would start soon. “What do you want me to say to you, Grace? My life isn’t just dresses and tea cakes and Sadie Knightley novels! So unless you plan to fight me—”
“The only reason Iwon’tfight you is because we both know I would win.” Grace let go of Enne’s sleeve. “But I’ve given you the chance now to back down. So take the shot. I won’t stop you.”
Enne wanted to argue more, but if she did, she might miss her cue. She set the rifle on the roof’s edge and lined up her shot.
Poppy continued, “I couldn’t be prouder or more honored to introduce my father, Worner Prescott—”
“The North Side has been under curfew for weeks!” someone—a Spirit—shouted from the crowd. It was one of the lines Enne and Levi had written. “How can we be expected to get to the polls when we need to go home immediately after work?” Several other voices echoed the question.
Enne adjusted the scope and peered through it, toward Owain’s balding head.
“You’re holding it too low. It’ll jerk when you fire,” Grace told her. “I’m just saying,Ididn’t teach you that.”
Enne swallowed down an angry retort and adjusted her left hand.
Poppy cleared her throat into her microphone, despite the commotion in the crowd. “During the Revolution, my father served under the esteemed Admiral Karga, and was responsible for relocating noble families to—”
“My business is closed down because of the curfew! How am I supposed to eat?” an Iron called out.
Enne took a deep breath. She could fire at any moment. She could kill one of the men who’d murdered her mother.
“Are you factoring in the wind?” Grace asked.
“Stop it,” Enne snapped.
The microphone amplified Poppy’s hitched breath. “The questions portion of the debate will take place later—”
“—The Talent Tax is archaic—”
“—The North Side depends on the gangs—”
“—yet the Families are fine. The Families get to run for office—”
“Please,”Poppy rasped.
“Are you planning on telling your boyfriend about your murder spree?” Grace asked.
“Stop,”Enne hissed again, all the voices breaking her focus. “The Phoenix Club won’t know, and neither will...”
