In the closet, with only a curling iron for defense, Nadia found it awfully amusing how she had worried more over her toaster occasionally over-browning a piece of toast than the litany of lies, sins, and misdeeds she and her husband had committed. The morning was still crisp in her mind, firm enough to butter and eat. Try as she might to focus on the present moment, Nadia could not dislodge the errant memories. Was Fried telling her something, perhaps a missed clue? Nadia had not the faintest fucking idea. She had turned her glassy skin more transparent like all Atlasians could and prayed that it would save her from the killer possibly just outside the door. Probably not, given how the rest of the day had went.

  Her children were dead, not from the dinner she had cooked, but rather the last-minute guest. Based on how she had heard no struggle, Nadia was sure that her husband was dead, too. That just left her, her curling iron, and the ticking hands of fate. Each little tick of the thin hand thrust her into a new memory. The clicks were deafening, like the shears of a barber who used blood to determine when enough had been cut. Panicked sweat sucked her gown to her chest, each breath she caught behind her teeth drawing her tighter into herself. She was tight as a raised guillotine, and part of her—swelling in her gut like frozen water—wanted the steel to drop.

  Tick, went the thin hand. Let’s see what went wrong.

  The toaster rang like a knife through the air as Nadia finished assembling her family’s lunches. She was again thankful for its heat control, without which she would have torched several loaves of bread each week. She took no small pride in being able to afford genuine bread instead of the bloated and grey synthetic variants, even if she burnt the occasional slice.

  Watching Jan and Konrad playfully chasing one another through the living room only bolstered that pride. They surpassed the average Atlasian boy by every pediatric metric, shared her chocolate brown hair—cut short and spiky—and had frosted, glassy skin. Dressed in their crisp black uniforms with a lapel pin of a red diamond set into the body of a golden, three-headed eagle, Nadia could hardly be prouder.

  Konrad—her eldest at 13—veered around the arm of their plush, black couch and weaved past the matching chair that Tobias would sit in. Jan—her middle child at 11–pawed futilely for Konrad, the awkward angle around the couch pulling him into a clumsy stumble. Konrad laughed at his brother’s misfortune, and Nadia set down her washcloth, ready to wring her son instead. She still had five years to make a man of him, and iron never hammered itself.

  “Settle down you two,” Tobias, her blond husband called out as he stepped into the living room. His tapered grey suit thinned to a razor’s edge around his wide shoulders, and the fabric in the sleeves narrowed to emphasize his broad forearms. He looked good enough to eat, and Nadia intended on doing just that later. As Konrad rounded the corner of the couch again, Tobias extended his arm, catching the boy’s forearm in his hand with practiced ease. “We are going to leave soon, once I find that sister of yours.”

  “I was called,” Natalia, the sister in question, said as she bounced into the room, her braids bouncing with her. “You know, father, I am quite predictable as to my morning routine. I am not that hard to find.”

  “Yea, sometimes you’re a bit too easy to find.” Konrad said.

  Oh Fried, Nadia thought as Tobias pivoted, putting himself between Natalia and Konrad. Natalia straightened herself, crossed her arms, and stuck out her tongue, earning a tongue back from Konrad. Tobias flicked them both, tongues lolling out of their mouths and bringing their rigid posture with them.

  “Ah, there you are Natalia.” Tobias said nonchalant as checking the time. He felt around his pockets, pulling his wallet and keys before dropping them back in. “Once your mother finishes with our lunches, we can go.”

  Nadia was already in motion to distribute the meals, inspecting her daughter’s braid so before giving her a hug. “Good luck on your math test today,” she said before embracing her boys in a double hug. “Good luck to you two as well.”

  “What about me?” Tobias asked with a fake pout. “Do I get a hug for my birthday?”

  Nadia rolled her eyes. “I’ve got more than a hug for you later tonight,” she whispered before giving his butt a stealthy squeeze.

  “Well, I’ve got a little surprise for you tonight as well,” Tobias whispered huskily into her ear.

  Nadia trailed her finger along the iron necklace she had given him so many years ago, each link forged by her own hand. It glowed bright against his dark suit, which only helped add to how big it made him look. “Oh, I hope it’s not little.” She turned back to her children, face molding to a familiar mask. There would be innuendo between her and Tobias later; she was certain of it. “I’m cooking you all of your favorite meals.”

  Konrad’s eyes widened. “Cabbage rolls?”

  Nadia nodded. “I am making the works; just you wait.”

  “Well, I can’t wait, but we do need to be leaving,” Tobias said before they departed.

  Tick. No clue here.

  Nadia cleaned what little mess she had made before moving to tend to her greenhouse. Several rows of planters lined the floors, holding flowers of all shapes and colors, and above them hung baskets, light strips, and sprinklers. The rainbow of colors carried an earthy scent, as refreshing as when she had first planted them. Like the rest of the house, Nadia thanked Fried every day for the time Tobias’ job afforded her to tend it.

  Two long, rubber gloves hung on a hook to her side, along with a full-face respirator. A cylinder of pesticides and fertilizers sat below, with a wand and hose coiled neatly to the side. Nadia wasn’t going to eat any of the plants and had no qualm with applying the chemicals liberally, allowing her to grow a full greenhouse every week. On her other side was a plaque depicting two roses growing out of the eye sockets of a skull, with flowing Atlasian lettering under it that read Dead Nightshade. With Tobias being an executioner, the name was too good to pass up.

  Nadia threw the gear on with practiced ease, sweating as she tightened the straps. 15 minutes, she thought as she snaked her way through the rows of plants. Even half full, lugging the canister was no easy feat and the accumulation of sweat didn’t help. She could have gotten a dolly and a longer hose or even a sprayer drone, but with how little she left the house, this was her only exercise. By the end, her blood was lava, and sweaty hair wrapped itself like a vine around her neck. She knew she was sinfully filthy and would get a rash if she didn’t scour herself until she was red all over, but Nadia banished the urge. She wasn’t done yet.

  She set the pesticides and wand down where she had gotten them, then undid the straps of her gloves and respirator. She brushed away the hair around her face, presenting it to her lord before clasping her hands above her head. Lord Fried whose will is iron, she began, your servant thanks you for this bounty, and asks that you let her brighten your kingdom another day. Deine Wille ist unser, es word gesechen.

  Nadia moved to the end of the greenhouse where several rows of red poppies awaited her, along with a bed of tomatoes that Tobias liked to tend. The latter was coming in well, but the former still needed some work before they’d be ready. A pot shaped pod sprouted from the poppies every week by Foursday thanks to the additives Nadia doused them with. A knife lay to the side, and Nadia kicked herself for not hiding it. Her kids may not have known anything of opium, but they definitely knew how a knife worked.

  Nadia cut into one of the pods, trickling milky sap into a jar she held below, repeating this slice-and-trickle until she had filled it. The clock hanginin the greenhouse read 12 o’clock. On schedule, Nadia thought as she dumped the sap into a barrel, chased by several cans of liquid calcium before she affixed the electric stirring lid. Tomorrow she’d refine the liquid further before it could be hidden in her kiss of death special.

  Nadia had tried opium ages ago before she met Tobias and found the experience not at all worth the price so many of her clients were willing to pay. But, they kept ordering, meaning they were not dead and—more importantly—still paying. If they can not handle it, they know when to quit, Nadia told herself often.

  The flowers brought in decent money and she loved them—what she had gone to school for, after all—but they didn’t turn a 30-year mortgage into a 15-year mortgage, didn’t allow all the gadgets strewn about the house or the miles of cords to charge them. She followed other florists on Atlasian social media—Handwave—and she was glad she didn’t need to take up another job like nannying. Her job was seven hours three days a week, five hours on Foursday through Sevensday, and an hour of maintenance on Eightsday and Ninesday, with everything else dedicated to her own children. That was what Fried had made her for, to be a mother,and everything else was supplementary. I am a hand, helping hands, she told herself again from the good book, guided by the hand above. How others move with my efforts is the will of the Ironclad, and it is not my duty to worry.

  Tick, went the thin hand as it swept Nadia to the next fragmented memory. Whatever she had missed, it would come later.

  Nadia swiftly showered, leaving once the scent of her lemon soap replaced the chemical stench. Stepping into her walk-in closet, Nadia retrieved three sets of clothing for three very different purposes. The first set was comprised of grey leggings and a black T-shirt. A black sheath dress made up the second set, with black embroidery of roses around the hem and cuffs, and a brown leather belt woven to look like thorns. The third was a lacy thong, bra, knee high stockings and white heels. Some time ago, Tobias had embarrassingly told her he he liked chokers, and Nadia had added a small white choker to her order, the rose embroidery designed to line up with her throat. Just looking at it stained Nadia red. It is going to be a real good night.

  Nadia let out a relaxed sigh. Swiftness was a virtue, but so was patience. Not to be too hasty, she told herself, I will have my time tonight. She brought her hands together palm to palm above her head. “Oh lord whose will is iron, your servant thanks you for the virtue you have bestowed upon her. She asks only that you align her will to yours so that she may make it known. Deine Wille ist unser, es wird gesechen.”

  Nadia was pulled from her pious thoughts by a text from her dex-device, a slim rectangular prism with a glass screen along one face. It was Tobias.

  “A krieger knight came by the prison today. Talked to me for a good hour, real sketchy, but he insisted on talking more later. I invited him to dinner, best to get this over with. I am truly sorry, love, I know how much you wanted to make tonight perfect.”

  Nadia wanted to hurl her dex across the room but gripped it tight instead, trying to thread her fingers through the volume buttons. She’d only have to retrieve it later, and it wasn’t her fault or Tobias’ that her plans for good food and better sex had been shafted. The Krieger Knights were the demigod soldiers of Fried the Ironclad, divided into twelve orders with different specialities. Some—like First Order—dealt with explosives while others—like the creepy fucking bird men of Twelfth—dealt in sorceries. Regardless of what they did on the field, to deny them off the field was socially stupid, possibly even deadly.

  “Which order?” Nadia texted back as she dressed into the first set before making way for the kitchen, still hoping to end the night on multiple high notes.

  “Third Order. Had all the marks of a spook, I’ll say, creepily polite, nice teeth, a dagger that wasn’t quite concealed.”

  “Do not let them hear you say that.” Nadia put the device down. If she kept texting, she’d never make the food. Disk-shaped robotic servants handled estate cleaning, freeing Nadia to focus on preparing the night's meal and baking cookies for the school sale. Naturally, she'd make a few extras for the house as a happy accident, even if she was sure her kids saw through her ruse by now.

  Four o’clock arrived far earlier than Nadia anticipated. The kitchen still needed to be cleaned from her preparations, and with Tobias tending to the guest, Nadia would need to argue her children into something presentable. Natalia’s uniform and hair was still immaculate, and Konrad’s uniform was much the same, although she’d have to run a brush through his hair. Jan’s uniform, on the other hand, had been stained with three different shades of dirt and mud from recess, along with a splotch of green that somehow looked radioactive. Thankfully, Natalia sawNadia’s plight and moved immediately to the kitchen to help. “There is a cake in the oven, pull it out in 50 minutes. We have a guest tonight and I need to get Jan changed.”

  Natalia nodded, always her mother’s little soldier. “And I assume to not let Konrad see me remove it?”

  “If you would like to have any cake left to enjoy, yes,” Nadia said. Natalia nearly cackled as Nadia followed Jan to his room.

  Jan had thrown his soiled uniform onto his bed and opened a book. Well, the guest will not see the bed, I suppose. “Jan, my love, we are having a guest tonight and—”

  “I don’t want to have a guest tonight,” Jan said before predictably diving back into his book.

  “I am sorry to hear that, but we have been planning this dinner for some time,” Nadia lied. “We want to make a good impression, right?”

  Jan shrugged. “I’m wearing this and you like me.”

  Nadia sighed. If this is what Tobias deals with every morning, I need to really show some appreciation tonight, Nadia thought before she looked at what Jan was reading. Yama Kikuchi and the Tournament of Blades. Nadia had read a few of the Yama books when she was a kid. They were full of a dumb mercenary saying bad one liners as he swung a sword of Atlasian steel, always Atlasian steel. “What if I told you that our guest tonight is a krieger knight and if you are really, really, good, he might give you one of his knives?” Nadia whispered, and Jan nearly tripped over himself as he changed into a fresh uniform.

  “Jan, my love,” Nadia said, helping the boy with his tie when his giddy anticipation fumbled it, “I know you will be an absolute gentleman, but please respect our guest’s privacy. Do not ask him how much what his steroid regimen is like or how many inches I grafted muscle he has.” A visit from a Krieger going well would be a windfall for Nadia’s flower shop—all those spies looking for flower arrangements—to say nothing of the military connections boosting Tobias’ career.

  Jan scoffed. “I’m not an idiot.” Nadia narrowed her eyes, and he held up his hands. “Alright, no questions about steroids or grafts.”

  Tick, went the thin hand as Jan’s visage exploded into a wash of color, like ink being dropped into water. The tick carried a certain tutting to it, as if the clue was in that memory, perhaps still in her room besides the lingerie she had planned on wearing. Before Nadia could open the closet door and reach for it, to see what she had missed, Fate was already pushing her into the next memory.

  Natalia had taken off her blazer and begun her assault on the army of dishes marauding about the kitchen, ridding a valiant steed—a blue step stool—and smiting each dirty dish with the holy power of elbow grease and childlike vigor. They would fall—all things fell to Natalia—but Nadia saw no reason to deny her daughter aid. “I can dry.”

  “I can’t wait for dinner!!” Natalia exclaimed, “what flavor did you make?”

  “Salted caramel, like that ice cream you and father like.” Natalia gasped. “And, we are having a guest tonight.”

  “Have they dined with us before?”

  “No. They are a krieger knight. Father is bringing him when he arrives.”

  Natalia’s eyes widened far beyond her nine-year-old skull. “Woah. A krieger knight? How’d he manage that? Kriegers are like top-floor rich,” Natalia said, pointing out the kitchen window to the spires of Kraklaw.

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  Gun-metal-grey rings of iron-9.8 dominated the horizon, each housing a city in between. The isotope’s unique structure let the ringed cities charge and repel itself from the rings above and below it, allowing the formation of spires that reached into the sky and beyond. An artificial sun hung in each ring, with a bulwark of iron-9.8 below it as well. Small dots—which Nadia knew to be ships—buzzed around the city like locusts, with the higher levels having more docks and faster docking protocols to import more resources from the rest of Atlas. Nadia supposed her little gated community outside the spire counted as the rest of Atlas, although she would have to concede the services provided were of a more complimentary nature than the mining or agricultural zones carved from the wastes. She made flowers, opium, and three children whose six hands would guide millions in time. Not complimentary at all, she thought, smiling as she set an alabaster white plate to dry.

  “Your father is very good at what he does,” Nadia lied. Tobias had a good job, but they weren’t floor 216 wealthy. I doubt that is why he is interested in Tobias. “I am going to go change.”

  Tick, went the thin hand, its bomb not ready to go off yet.

  Nadia changed quickly and then micromanaged her appearance for seemingly hours. Her chin had to line up exactly with her throat and her chocolate waves had to rest perfectly on her head. Now that a krieger knight was coming, perfection had to come with it. To finish her appearance, Nadia grabbed a simple bracelet of stainless steel chains, each link crafted by Tobias when he was 18. Every child in Atlas made one small iron item upon coming of age—their Friedsgeshenk—and exchanging them was a common proposal, joining two souls together through the Ironclad.

  If the dress had stressed Nadia, setting the table damn near killed her. Setting six plates and silverware—convinced Fried would smite her for being even a nanometer off—would have reduced her nails to bloody nubs had she been a nailbiter. But Nadia was no nailbiter; she was an opium dealing noblewoman and a table would not end her. As Nadia set the small gold statue of Fried—a man in plate armor raising a hammer valiantly overhead—at the table’s center, Tobias stepped through the front door, his new companion hovering like a dark cloud behind him.

  His shadowy black fauxhawk loomed just a tad higher than Tobias’ 190 centimeters, perfectly matching his black suit under a velvety black cloak. His glassy skin was a shade paler than Nadia’s frosted blue, and she figured it would be cold if she touched it. She didn’t because she was a lady who didn’t touch guests, and he was an assassin. The Schattenklingen symbol of a black dagger in a white circle on his tie was the only contrast to his dark attire, as if the void had given him some semblance of color before sending him into the world.

  Nadia sauntered over to her husband but was intercepted by the knight. “Ah, you must be Nadia. Tobias told me all about you. I am Markus Richter,” he said before placing a kiss on the back of Nadia’s hand.

  Nadia smiled, all lips. “May I take your cloak?”

  Markus folded the cloak over his arm. “No, I am quite good as is.” He sniffed. “It smells great. What are we having?”

  “Why tell you when I can show you?” Nadia flashed a smile before she sauntered—like a lady should—to the kitchen. “Tobias, my love, would you assist me in the kitchen?” As he did, Konrad and Jan bounced out of their rooms and orbited Markus like electrons playing twenty questions. Nadia about bolted to reprimand them before she saw Natalia just behind them.

  “Did you kill anybody or not kill anybody?” Nadia whispered when she thought she was far enough from Markus’ advanced hearing.

  Tobias shook his head vigorously. “What? No. You know I don’t cheat Fried of his dead.” He leaned into Nadia, face practically resting on her shoulder. “Make the last days a little easier, but deny them their end, no.”

  “I know that,” Nadia said, pulling dishes from the oven. She knew of the extra cash her husband took in from the wealthier prisoner’s on death’s door, just as he knew of the poppies next to his tomatoes. “Any suspicious requests?”.

  “Someone wanted a prisoner to be left alone, unwatched, for an hour the other day,” Tobias whispered. “Never had something like that before.” He hands in front of him. “Didn’t kill him though.”

  “Who was this message from?”

  “A knight”—Tobias paled—“from Eleventh,” Tobias quickly clarified as some color returned. “Markus is an assassin. If he wanted me dead, I would be.”

  I suppose that is one way to look at it, Nadia thought dismally. “Well, put on a smile because we have not done anything wrong,” she said before striding back to the dining room with dishes in hand. She pulled her shoulders back like an elegant bow. She and Tobias had sinned, yes, but she wasn’t about to shout it from the rooftops to one of the Ironclad’s blades. The night would pass without a hitch—because she had done nothing wrong—and her flowers would grow twice as fast the next day from the inspiring performance she and Tobias put on.

  “Markus, would you like to guide us in prayer?” Nadia asked once they were all sat. Normally the father would guide prayers, but when one of Fried’s demigod children sat the table, it made sense that he did. At least, that’s how Nadia figured it, not having a manual or anything.

  Markus smiled and brought his hands together, palm to palm like a wrestler. “Fried, my father and my strength, the guiding light and beating heart of Atlas, your servant Markus—"everyone substituted their own names”—thanks you and submits wholly to your grace and your will. By your grace we ask that our edges remain sharp—"Nadia replaced this with may our soil remain fertile”—and our bodies that are yours alone remain ready to execute your will. For it is only by your grace and love that Atlas is given life, and it is only by your grace and love that Atlas is given strength, and it is only by your grace and love that we are given meaning and purpose. To further your will, which is holy and just, we ask for your continued blessing of light and guidance. Dein Wille ist unser, es wird geschehen,” he finished in Atlasian, the final line echoed by all. Your will is ours, we will make it known.

  Before Jan and Konrad could load up, Markus wagged his finger. “Only,” he whispered. “We must remember it is only through Fried that we are able to be great and glorious and pure. Nothing else,” Markus finished, adding the usual verbiage that followed every Vater von Allem.

  “Have you ever killed anybody?” Jan asked a minute later as people loaded their plates. Natalia’s eyes widened, Tobias dropped his fork, and Nadia locked onto Jan like a heat seeking missile so she might kill him before Markus did.

  “Jan! You can’t just ask someone if they killed people, you fucking idiot!” Natalia said before her hands shot to her mouth. Nadia glared at her daughter, ready to take her out with Jan. Amidst all the staring, Markus retained his smile while Konrad tried to stifle laughs.

  At least someone is having fun. “Jan, that is—”

  Markus waved his hand dismissively. “Quite alright. He’s probably seen holo-reel after holo-reel of kriegers, but so few of my order. As spies and assassins, we try to avoid cameras.” He chuckled. “Having served our father for over 900 years, I have easily taken ten times as many lives.”

  “You do duels, right?” Jan asked, already bored of Markus’ answer. Every Sevensday, Nadia and Natalia would whip up a large dinner before they all watched the augmented knights duel with all manner of weapons and even some alterism.

  Markus nodded. “None recently, but yes. I have fought in four duels with fellow knights and won each of them.”

  “That’s not very many. Ulrich Fischer of Fourth Order has fought in almost 70. You think you could take him?”

  Nadia wanted to clamp a hand over Jan’s mouth, maybe forever. There was no saint of tact in the Atlasian creed, but Nadia prayed silently to it anyway. She followed it with a prayer to the Saint of Discernment—Markus’ patron—so she may forgive the slight and bless Jan with silence in the future.

  “Have you been sent anywhere interesting as of late? Within the last decade, for our sakes,” Tobias asked with a chuckle, saving Markus’ waning smile.

  “Last month I was in Nerconor, with some diplomats and some field commanders. Five of ours, four of theirs. We left with all of ours, and they left with two of theirs,” Markus said, his smile growing wider. “Two of theirs and only one of their bodyguards.”

  “And what exactly happened to them?”

  Markus shrugged. “They got very drunk and stepped into traffic, and their bodyguard”—Markus swirled his wine—“If you happen to know anything, those skeletons in Nerconor would very much like to know.”

  “And who was the target among them?” Tobias asked.

  “Their bodyguard. He was like me, augmented. The diplomats and field commanders were—"Markus flicked his casserole”—side dishes, really.” He cleared his throat and speared a piece of meat onto his fork. “But I ate them all the same. When Fried provides a meal, it is the foolish knight who says no.”

  “Strength of a battalion, a pity they only have two arms.”

  Markus nodded. “The one I killed had taken three of our knights on the battlefield.” His voice dipped to a mutter. “His mistake was taking a vacation back home.”

  Natalia leaned forward like a holo-reel interviewer, invisible microphone in hand. “How did you do it?” Nadia allowed the question, figuring it would make the night pass by faster.

  “Stabbed in the heart while we passed ways in the hotel. He was dead before I gave my knife the first twist.”

  Tobias chuckled. “Efficient.”

  Nadia schooled her features, paving over the frown pressing at her lips with a spoonful of veggie soup. It was sick work that Markus did—sanctioned by the Ironclad, yes, but sick all the same—and she didn’t like the idea that Tobias would encourage it with laughter to Konrad and Jan. Still, she was a lady who didn’t make a fuss, and Markus probably was efficient.

  “I try to be,” Markus said. “Mother is the Saint of Discernment, but she could give Lord Byng a run for his money as Saint of Swiftness.”

  “How did you get rid of the body?”

  “I found some augment salvagers on a low level of the city to cut him up. All I had to do was sling him over my shoulder like a drunk and take him behind the hotel where they cut him up in 15 minutes,” Markus said casually before he cut a piece of meat and popped it into his mouth.

  Everyone else grimaced. Augment salvagers were less fortunate lowlifes, maybe floors 25 and below. It is a tragedy they have to resort to stripping augments off of people, but that does not make it right, and he is just feeding into it. “Do you not have any acid or something for that?” Nadia asked, having seen it once in a holo-reel.

  “Yea, like hydrofluoric acid,” Natalia chimed in.

  “What am I, a Yuccan lord?” Markus shook his head. “No. HF is difficult to transport and smells awful, believe me.”

  The rest of the night fell into the pattern of the children asking Markus questions and him telling a story before he’d ask them about school, or Nadia and Tobias about their work, the official bits anyway. Nadia was sure he knew the unofficial bits, the ends of his ever-present smile taunting her like a fishhook. Uninvited as he was, he was hardly the worst guest they had hosted and thankfully didn’t eat through all of the food like Nadia suspected he could. “Natalia, would you help clear the table with me?” Nadia asked as she grabbed two plates and sauntered to the kitchen.

  In the process of clearing the table, Nadia dropped a cluster of casserole onto her legs. “Natalia, could you please finish while I freshen up? After that, we can take that cheesecake out of the hot box,” she said before retreating to her room upstairs.

  Still the host, Nadia made quick work of wiping the stain from her dress. “Good as new,” she said once she had scrubbed the maligned morsel from her clothes. Before she could exit, she heard a faint click, followed by a scraping sound and screams.

  “No not them!” Tobias stammered, words as loud as if they’d been shouted into Nadia’s ears.

  A sharp, paper-thin whisper answered Tobias’ plea as his shirt was torn, a wet snap following behind like the gnashing gums of a hungry dog. “No no please!” Natalia cried, the words somehow finding Nadia over Markus’ thunder-heavy steps. “Mom!”

  Another whisper and another snap were the sounds of Nadia’s heart shattering like glass. Still, it beat on to an erratic tune, like a three-legged race run by drunkards. Each errant beat reminded Nadia that she was alive; that her children weren’t. Nadia swiped her curling iron from the vanity and scrambled into her closet, pulling it closed behind her.

  Tick, here we are.

  If she could do it all again, Nadia wouldn’t have gone to freshen up. If she had, maybe her husband and kids would still be alive. Or maybe she’d have died with them. Either was preferable to holding her breath and peeking through the barest sliver of the closet door with only a curling iron for defense. At least I will see him before I die, Nadia reasoned dismally. Whether or not she heard the blade was irrelevant, since she definitely heard Jan scream and Tobias yell, chilling her into an icy statue with brown hair. She had heard Konrad yell as well—once—followed by a brief silence and the igniting of a shuttle engine.

  Was Markus leaving to go get his augment salvagers to dispose of them? Writing up the reports of their death? Was it a trick to lure her out, a remote-controlled shuttle? Nadia knew it didn’t matter, not really. He was an assassin, and she would be dead soon enough. The familiar words fell from her mouth unbidden. “Deine Wille ist unser,” she choked back a sob, “es wird gesechen.” It was penance and plea both, said like a ritual that would bring her before the Ironclad for judgement before Markus could carry her there himself. “Deine Wille ist unser, es wird gesechen.”

  No answer came, silence curling up beside Nadia like a black cat. Maybe Markus had left, maybe he hadn’t. Either way, Nadia wanted to be as close to her family as possible. Gathering her breath, she kicked open the door, hoping that the suddenness would cause her family’s murderer to quickly stab her and send her to Fried. Alas, the door jolted open, the knob hitting the adjacent wall as the empty room revealed itself.

  This one, Nadia thought to herself as she opened the door to the hallway, anticipating the same violent fate. She banished any pretense of victory from her mind. Krieger tendons were more numerous and reinforced with pressurized steam, and Nadia had limbs that were reinforced with…hope? Desperation? Nadia was pretty sure pressurized steam trumped both of those. She could only hope that Markus made it quick.

  Any thought of her assailant died as soon as she peered down from the second floor to the living room. Tobias had been stabbed in the heart, Konrad twice to the chest, and Jan several times in his stomach, staining and crusting all of their shirts with their clear blood. Natalia—Nadia’s heart sunk further into hell—had been stabbed in each eye and wore a cut across her neck like a sick choker.

  Nadia flung herself down the stairs to Konrad and cradled his head to her chest. If I had come out sooner, he might have still been alive. She knew she could have done nothing to save Konrad from their assailant, but perhaps she could have seen her son’s final moments or even died with him. Hands still shaking, Nadia gently put Konrad’s head down and brushed a wet strand of hair from his face, before moving to Jan.

  Inching the wet fabric of his shirt upwards, Nadia had to beat down the bite in her throat. Jan’s left side was a beehive of wounds, while his right—the side containing his liver—was untouched. Nadia’s blood practically evaporated, hissing for release inside her. He made him bleed out, she reasoned before she tore herself away from cradling Jan’s head. If she held it any longer, her rising fury would smash it into the tile. Gently, Nadia laid Jan to rest before moving to Natalia.

  Other parents often said Natalia would be more beautiful than Nadia herself, something Nadia took no small pride in. Even dead and blinded, Natalia’s fine features—sharp angles on the jaw and cheeks and just the tiniest amount of fat —were still unblemished. For that, Nadia was thankful. All she had ever wanted for her daughter was to go to a good school and find a wealthy and nice man with a good job—in that order. She had spent countless hours looking over Natalia’s assignments, making sure her strokes were good, that she knew all the right words to say and the cadence with which to say the. In just a couple of years, Natalia would have plenty of suitors, and filtering was something Nadia had been looking forward to. The wounds against Konrad and Jan cut into Nadia’s heart, but the Natalia’s ripped her heart from her chest and dragged it into the icy core of hell. Then that ice cracked like cut glass, and Nadia was left flailing in the cold black abyss.

  One of Natalia’s braids was strained, her legs buckled from some fall. Nadia pictured Markus lifting her daughter by her hair and stabbing both eyes before—Nadia closed her eyes, banishing the image to whatever hell it had crept from. “You were going to be great,” Nadia sobbed, laying a kiss on Natalia’s forehead. “I wanted so much for you.” Her spit was hot on her lips and the sweat around Natalia’s face was slick like blood. She wanted to touch her daughter one last time, but she had already messed up the braids. Anything more would be desecration, and she would not brand herself a heretic when her children awaited the Ironclad’s justice. She pulled away, her hand a touch lighter in the same way that dropping flowers onto coffins made them lighter.

  Tobias’ hadn’t been given a chance to put up a fight if the shocked expression still on his face was anything to go by. It had been done with a single stab, and Nadia silently prayed l Fried would accept her husband into his kingdom. “I am so sorry,” she murmured as she ran her finger over his brow. “This isn’t what I meant by surprise.” She chuckled weakly, a dry, choked thing that sent her lurching onto his chest. “Please come back to me,” Nadia repeated like a ritual chant that would bring her beloved back to her, each quieter than the last.

  When the words were little more than a murmur, Nadia glanced into the kitchen. The tile floor had been doused in a glossy looking liquid, the sweet smell marking it as arcanoleum. With that much, this house should be up in flames by now, Nadia reasoned before she tiptoed towards the kitchen, afraid that one misstep would turn her house to cinders. On the ground was a small metallic lighter connected to a transmission device with a timer that read 15 minutes. The clouds outside had darkened into liquid-quicksilver puffs against the night sky and rain crept slowly down her windowsill. In an hour it will be pouring buckets. Good enough cover to die under.

  If the house does not burn, he will see the bodies and know that I am alive. He will not stop hunting me, Nadia reasoned before sprinting to her room. Hastily stuffing a travel bag with clothes, toiletries, Tobias' laptop, and a Krugg-made Nagel pistol with a slim barrel, Nadia cared not that her clothes were no doubt wrinkled. Two pictures adorned her nightstand, one of her and Tobias in a loving embrace, and another of her three children. Nadia recalled the morning before the second photo had been taken and how they ran out of Jan's favorite Insta-Heat Waffles, leading to his pout being immortalized. Folding the frame gently, Nadia eked it into her bag before zipping it. With her world on her shoulders, Nadia turned off the light and made for the kitchen to die.

  Nadia turned the oven on at 425. Too hot for a cheesecake, but if he wants an accident, I will give him one, Nadia thought before she grabbed a box of cookies from the fridge, seeing no reason to waste them. After one final look at her family, Nadia grabbed Tobias’ wallet from his pocket and the necklace along his neck before she fled her soon-to-be-burnt house. There was a rail station only a few miles hike away that would take her to the city. Once there, Nadia could find a hotel and wash the ashes of her family and her life from her.

  She stepped outside and spared the house one last glance, memorizing the details, of the couch that Jan had chased Konrad around, the kitchen where she had made so many meals thinking she was making a future a calorie at a time. Her eyes flicked to the entrance to her greenhouse, her heretical mind stitching images of fire onto all of her beautiful plants. She raised her hands above her head and gazed to the sky, baring her face again to the Ironclad. “My lord whose will is iron,” she said bitterly, tears choking her words, “bless your daughter with the clarity to know your will and the virtue to live another day so that it may be known. Take her rusting, sinning heart and make of it steel. Deine Wille ist unser,” she swallowed, wetting her throat, “es wird gesechen.”