Wren's heart was thumping so hard that it felt like it was going to come right out of her chest.

They may have escaped the Paragon at Leonard's, but that wouldn't be the case here. The Paragon knew they had five mages in their sights and judging by the screaming and gunfire outside, they'd come well-armed.

Kipling made a swift cutting motion with his hands, and the wooden front door of the pub disappeared, becoming one long stretch of wooden wall. The soldiers would have to break through solid oak to reach them from that direction.

The patrons were fleeing out the back door, leaving the pub to the mages and the crew. From out of nowhere, Constance appeared beside Godfrey.

Wren was surprised by a wave of relief. The pale-haired girl was a decent fighter, and even one extra woman could make a difference in this situation.

"You need backup," she said, her face set in determination. "Give me that revolver at your hip."

"But I need it!" Godfrey argued.

"And I'm a better shot."

He stared at her for a moment, then handed it over.

"Welcome back," said Scarlett.

"Thanks." She gave the revolver a full once-over, making sure it was good to go.

"It's going to get pretty hairy in here in a moment," Wren warned her. "Are you sure you want to stay?"

Constance looked up to meet her gaze. "Yes."

"All right..."

Kipling was barking orders at the mages.

"Millicent and Seth, you find the Paragon's ships and make sure they can't send reinforcements. Send up a signal if there are more ships incoming. Nia, you're with me on the main street..."

As much as Wren wanted to just sit back and let the mages protect them, she couldn't do it. The Settlement was their top priority now, and they needed the mages in the sky, re-opening the passage—not risking their necks down here in Stonecliffe.

"You can't stay here," Wren said, interrupting Kipling. "You need to take our ship, find Nathaniel Glass, and open the passage in the fog."

Kipling looked at her like she was stupid. The man was as stiff and inflexible as a parlour poker. "We can do both."

"No, we can't," she snapped back. "How many times have you dealt with the Paragon? They may be weak-kneed turncoats, but they're fogging relentless, and they have infinite resources." She turned to address all of the mages together. "The best thing you lot can do right now is get out of here."

"You bought us some time," Godfrey added, nodding to the wooden wall where the door of the pub had been. "Let's use it."

"Whatever," said Kipling with a dismissive wave. "Your funeral."

"I hope not," said Scarlett.

"We don't have any time," Wren said. "You need to go, now. And you're taking these two with you."

She pushed Teddy and Abigail towards the mages, and was immediately met with protests.

"Quiet!" Wren ordered. "I don't have time to argue! You're going."

They both stared at her, wide-eyed. Wren hated to push them away like this, but she couldn't see any other way. It was bad enough that Scarlett, Godfrey, Titus, and Constance would be here when the Paragon stormed inside, guns blazing. She wouldn't also risk the lives of the youngest among them.

"It'll be okay," she said, trying to keep her voice light. "We'll find you after."

The corners of Abigail's mouth trembled, but she and Teddy reluctantly let Orix shuffle them out the back door. The mage glanced back over his shoulder at Wren. "Be careful."

"Same to you," Wren nodded.

They disappeared into the street outside, closing the door behind them. The pub, which had been so loud and boisterous mere moments ago, now fell silent.

Scarlett strode out from behind the bar, carrying a shotgun. "I've got eighteen shells," she said. "And I found this for you..."

She held out a handgun to Godfrey, who took it gratefully.

"I've got twelve rounds," added Constance.

Wren checked her pistol. "Same here."

"Help me push this over," said Godfrey, walking over to the biggest, heaviest table in the room. "We can use it as a shield."

Together, they upended the table, which landed on the floor with a loud crash. They lowered into crouches behind it, only the barrels of their guns peeking over the edge.

"They're wiring the front of the pub with explosives," said a quiet voice.

The group was already so on edge that Titus's sudden appearance barely startled them.

"Great," said Godfrey. "Just great."

"Keep them occupied as long as you can...then, surrender," Titus continued. "I'll follow at a distance and spring you from whatever brig they throw you in."

Wren tried to respond, but only managed a nod. They'd never been in water this hot before.

Titus fixed them all with a stern look. "Don't play the heroes," he said. "And definitely don't get shot." With a flick of his metal tail, he disappeared.

"We'll do our best," Scarlett muttered after him, adjusting her aim.

"...was that an automaton?" breathed Constance.

"Yeah, that's Titus," said Godfrey. "He's with us."

She made a quiet sound of disbelief.

Wren leaned in close to Scarlett. "Hey," she began, hesitant. "I'm sorry about earlier."

"For what, exactly?" Scarlett asked loftily, though Wren expected she knew very well what she was referring to.

"For being a jealous nincompoop who doesn't know a great thing when she sees it."

Scarlett turned to look at Wren, then leaned in to kiss her. "Apology accepted."

"I love you."

"I love you, too."

Wren turned to look past Constance at Godfrey.

"I love you, too, Frey."

He scowled at her. "You only say that when you think we're about to die!"

"Do not!"

"Do too! But I love you, too, you old fartbag."

Constance was shifting uncomfortably between them.

"I love you, too, new addition," Wren said.

Constance's cheeks went bright red. "Uhhh..."

"You're being weird!" Godfrey hissed at Wren. "Can we just pay attention, please? That wall could explode at any—"

BLAM!

The front of the pub flew apart, blowing debris in every direction. It took everything in Wren to keep her breath even and her pistol pointed ahead.

Soldiers streamed inside, and the crew began to fire wildly, slamming round after round at the incoming forces.

The soldiers shouted commands at one another and returned the crew's fire.

The table in front of them jilted with every hit. The thunder of Scarlett's shotgun beside her was deafening. Her nostrils burned with the smell of smoke, sulfur, sweat, and blood.

"There's something you should know," said Constance, speaking loudly to be heard over the clamour. "I didn't call the Paragon!"

"Of course you didn't call the Paragon!" scoffed Godfrey. "They've been stalking us since we picked up the first shade!"

"Just remember—I didn't call them," she insisted. "I was going to help you. I still am."

Wren had a very bad feeling. She looked over at Constance, her brow furrowed.

Constance wasn't firing. Instead she shouted, "We surrender! Hold your fire, we surrender!"

What in the fog was she doing?

"What are you doing?!" Godfrey gasped.

Constance acted as though she hadn't heard him. "Hold your fire!" she continued. "My name is Althea Glass. I'm President Glass's daughter."

Wren's breath caught in her throat.

"I'm standing up! Cease your fire!" Constance dropped the revolver and pushed herself up to standing, her hands up.

A memory floated to her mind, from the press conference eight long years ago. A young, pale-haired Althea Glass stood behind her father as he addressed the press, looking completely lost.

Well, Althea Glass certainly didn't look lost now—she looked like she knew exactly what she was doing.

"Bloody traitor," Wren hissed.

Constance—Althea—looked down at her. "You can't win this fight. I can negotiate favourable terms for you and the others—this is the only option where you all walk out alive. I'm...I'm sorry."

"Eat dirt and die," Scarlett bit back. Godfrey was simply staring up at Constance, flabbergasted.

Constance opened her mouth as if to say something else—but then decided against it. She turned back to the soldiers. "The others are dropping their weapons," she shouted, "and they're surrendering."