“I’m not sure...” Lola whispered. There was no need to whisper, of course, but the room had fallen dead silent. Everyone held their breaths. Scythe and Rebecca immediately bolted out of their seats and joined them at the window.
“That didn’t sound like an explosion,” Scythe said darkly. “Where did it come from?”
“There!” Jac said, pointing toward the far corner of the roof. Though distant, he could make out the figures of Tock and Tommy as they sprinted across the rooftop of St. Morse Casino.
“Did they do it?” Sophia asked. “Why are they running?”
“She has to run to lay the line,” Lola explained.
“But we already heard something.” Jac looked up into the sky, but there was no smoke.
The door burst open. It was Grace, followed by the Scarhands’ second, a young woman Jac only recognized from the Catacombs. He was surprised to see her and not the Scar Lord, who was supposed to be commanding the other group.
“That was no explosion!” Grace shouted, panting, one arm braced against the doorframe. “That was a gunshot.”
Boom.
This time, the sound was no louder, but it rang in Jac’s ears, roared inside his ribs.
One of the silhouettes atop the casino fell.
The body hit the ledge and toppled over. It seemed to take ages to fall all twenty stories. It was time enough for Lola to scream. For several of the Irons to curse and make for the door. For Jac to register what it meant—that one of them had been shot, that someone had gotten wind of their plan, and that everything was about to go to muck.
The body fell onto the sidewalk of Tropps Street. Jac looked at the gore only long enough to determine who it was, and his heart clenched.
Tommy.
Lola let out a strangled sigh of relief, but it was short-lived for two reasons. Jac wasn’t even sure which of those happened first.
An explosion tore across the rooftop of St. Morse, far larger and louder than he expected, its angry black smoke reaching claws into the sky. The lights of the casino all went out.
Either before it, or after, or simultaneously, bullets fired from across the street, shattering the windows of the pub. Every person inside fell to the ground while glass rained through the air. Jac landed hard on his side, and his first instinct was to cover Sophia’s head with his arms, the same way Scythe protectively braced Rebecca. Behind them, an Iron he recognized as a runner clutched the blood pouring out of her shoulder and let out a wail.
“What is this?” Lola called, her back pressed against the wall, her head ducked down between her legs.
“Who knew?” Jac shouted. “Who knew who isn’t here?” He looked wildly to the Scarhands’ second, who crouched by the door.
“Scavenger’s inside!” she shouted.
“Why would he be inside?” Rebecca hissed.
“I... I don’t know. He just told me where he was going.” The second cast a doubtful look to the other Scarhands in the room, and that was all the confirmation Jac needed. The Irons never would’ve doubted Levi; the Spirits never would’ve doubted Enne. If Scavenger didn’t have the trust of his gang, there must be a reason. “Ivory is gone, too,” she added. “Along with the other half of the Doves.”
The Doves in the room made no expressions, but each of them reached for their weapons.
And Jac understood.
Scavenger and Ivory had betrayed them all.
The power in St. Morse was out, which meant Levi and Enne were waiting for them to barge through the open exit.
But Scavenger and Ivory might’ve already alerted the whiteboots that the Iron Lord and Séance were inside—maybe they’d done it in exchange for their own pardons. Whatever reason, the plan ended here, before it’d even begun.
“I need to warn them,” Jac gritted through his teeth. He refused to see any more friends die tonight. “And I need to hurry—before all the doors are locked.”
Sophia squeezed his hand. “You can’t go out alone.”
“You said we were lucky.”
