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“I’ll keep an eye on her as long as I can,” Garnet says. “Go.”

My grief is melting away in the face of fear. This is really happening.

Carnelian is engaged in conversation with Rye and the Countess of the Rose, and I take the opportunity to slip away.

The train station is on the very lowest level of the Auction House. I locate the door I need, the one I remember clearly from the blueprints. Facing south, third door on the left. It leads me to an antechamber that I cross, leaving through the door on the opposite side, where a set of stairs waits. I take it down, past the two floors of prep rooms, past the floor that holds the beehive-like rooms where surrogates are knocked unconscious to be transported to their new homes, down, down, until the stairs end in a cold, concrete hallway. I quickly bring up the blueprints in my mind again.

Right.

I turn and run. There is a door, a big wooden one that will take me to the station, to Raven and the others. I pass an industrial-size elevator, used to transport unconscious surrogates to their prep rooms.

Then I see the door. I slam into it, turning the handle and pushing it open just as the last train crawls into view. There are no conductors on these trains—they run automatically. I hope the girls have managed to take out the doctors and caretakers. The Regimentals haven’t arrived yet, just as Garnet said.

The train screeches to a halt, steam issuing from its chimney and creating a soft mist in the air. One by one, iron doors slam shut behind each of the four trains, echoing with a loud clang in the cavernous space. The roof arches into a peak, stones fitted together in a puzzle of slate and charcoal and soft gray. Thick iron chandeliers hang from the ceiling on sturdy chains, glowglobes emitting a rich yellow light.

I don’t have time to be cautious. “Paladin!” I cry.

“Violet?” Raven’s voice rips through me, a happiness more powerful than I thought I was capable of feeling in this moment. Her head pokes out of the plum-colored Southgate train. “Violet!” she cries, and jumps down off the carriage.

I can’t stop the cry that escapes my lips, a tortured howl really. I run across the station as she starts toward me and we collide into each other.

“You’re okay,” she breathes into my ear, her hands scrabbling over my back to make sure I’m whole.

“Lucien’s dead,” I say, and it hits me then, like a punch in the chest. Lucien is dead.

“What?” Raven gasps, but I don’t have time to explain because heads are popping out of train cars and girls are filling the room, eyes wide as they take in the huge space.

“Violet,” someone says, and then my name is picked up and echoes through the train station. “Violet! Violet is here! Violet!”

I want to cry. I want to gather them all up in an enormous hug. I want to shout orders, to tell them to forget the wall, we are taking this whole Auction House down right now, we are punishing the royalty for killing the man who was ten times the human any of them were or would ever be.

“Violet, you’re all right!” Indi engulfs me in one of her hugs. “I’d forgotten about your hair and your face. You don’t look at all like you!”

Sienna and Olive join us, Sil bringing up the rear.

“We heard about Coral,” Sienna says, at the same time Olive asks, “Have you seen my mistress?”

“Lucien’s dead,” I say again, the words coming easier this time as my body begins to accept the reality of that fact.

Sil’s face goes blank with utter shock. Indi gasps and Sienna covers her mouth with her hands. Even Olive looks upset.

“It’s my fault,” I gasp. “All my fault.” I only have eyes for Sil in this moment. “I . . . I did something stupid and he took the blame for it. I should never . . . I didn’t mean . . .” The tears begin to fall thick and fast.

Sil strides forward and takes my chin in her hands.

“Stop crying,” she says sharply. “Look at me.” She holds me in her steely, silver gaze. “That man loved you more than anything in this world. You can’t do a single damned thing to bring him back, but you can honor who he was and what he did, right here, right now. These girls need you, Violet.”

She sweeps a hand out over the seventy-seven girls who were meant to be unconscious, sold into slavery, but instead have gathered around me, faces bright and determined.

“They are here, and alive, and they need you,” she murmurs. Seventy-seven pairs of eyes stare at me, waiting for instructions. Girls ranging in age from thirteen to nineteen, looking to me for guidance.

Sil is right. I take a deep breath.

“We’ve got to divide up,” I say. “Raven, Sil, Indi, Olive, you’ll be in charge of each team. Make sure you’ve got every element. Sienna, you’re with me.”

Sienna flicks her lighter open, making the flame burn bright.

Then I turn to the waiting faces, and for the first time, I really see them. Amber is there, looking at me with a clenched jaw and resolute face. Tawny, Ginger, and Henna are right beside her. I see Sloe, a beautiful girl with russet skin and dark, arching eyebrows, the leader of the Northgate girls. She throws her hair over her shoulder in her typical haughty fashion. Little Rosie Kelting, a fourteen-year-old from Eastgate, chews her lip as she awaits instructions. So many faces, so many names.