"I know enough to know it wasn't me."
"That's not an answer."
"It is when you're the one holding the noose."
His grip tightened. "You think I want you dead?"
"You came to arrest me in front of a tribunal."
"I came to stop them from shooting you before you could speak."
I laughed once. "How romantic."
The train jolted hard. My shoulder slammed into the door.
Dorian moved with it, blocking me from the metal panel. One arm braced beside my head.
For one breath, we stood too close.
His face hovered inches from mine. His breath warmed my upper lip.
"You should be afraid of me," he said.
"I am."
His eyes sharpened.
I smiled without warmth. "Not because you can kill me. Because you keep acting like you won't."
A sharp crack split the carriage.
The window beside us exploded.
Dorian shoved me down. Glass sprayed across the floor as a bullet punched through the wall where my head had been.
He dropped over me, covering my body with his.
"Stay down."
"Get off me."
"Someone's shooting through the train."
"I noticed."
Another shot tore through the carriage. Wood splintered above Dorian's shoulder.
He rolled, drew his pistol, and fired toward the rear window. The train rocked beneath us. His knee pinned my thigh to the floor, one hand locked around my waist.
"Your assassin or mine?" I snapped.
"You tell me."
"If I'd hired one, you'd already be dead."
"That's almost sweet."
He grabbed the inner door and dragged me behind him. We stumbled into the private sleeping car as another bullet punched through the outer wall.
The door slammed shut.
Dorian twisted the lock, then shoved a heavy chair beneath the handle.
I hit the bedroom wall, breathing hard. He stood in front of me, gun raised, his shoulder brushing mine.
"Back-to-back," he ordered.
"I don't take orders."
"You want to argue or live?"
"Both."
I turned and pressed my back to his.
His heat seeped through the thin fabric of my dress. Every time the train bucked, his breath moved against my hair.
The bedroom had one narrow window, one bed, and no second exit. The case sat on the foot of the bed inside a black iron cage bolted to the floor.
My lock picks were still hidden in my boot.
Dorian's arm brushed my hip as he aimed past me.
"Don't move," he said.
"I'm going to open the case."
"No."
"You can shoot the assassin. I'll handle the lock."
"You don't know what happens if you enter the wrong sequence."
"I built the lock."
That stopped him.
I bent, pulled the thin pick from my boot, and dropped beside the case.
"Mara."
"If you say my name one more time, I swear I'll make this train stop just to annoy you."
"The case is wired."
"So am I."
The lock clicked beneath my fingers.
Dorian crouched behind me. His thigh pressed against my side. "You lied about not knowing the code."
"I lied about a lot of things today. Try to keep up."
"Give me one reason not to put cuffs on you."
I glanced over my shoulder. His face was too close again. A cut marked his lower lip, bright red against his skin.
"Because the last time you put your hands on me, you kissed me in front of half the army."
His eyes dropped to my mouth. "You bit me."
"You deserved worse."
"You didn't pull away."
The lock opened with a dull metallic snap.
Before I could answer, a shot punched through the bedroom wall.
Dorian grabbed my wrist and yanked me backward. The case slid off the bed and slammed against my ankle.
"Why did you save me?" he demanded.
"I didn't. I saved the case."
"You stepped in front of the glass."
"You were standing in front of it."
His fingers tightened around my wrist. "You took the hit meant for me. Why?"
"Because if you die, my contract dies with you."
"That isn't the truth."
"It's the only one you're getting."
The train screamed beneath us.
Not the normal grind of steel. A violent shriek lifted the wheels and threw us both against the wall.
Dorian caught my waist before my head struck the panel. The case crashed open halfway, its inner locks glowing red.
He looked past me toward the control line mounted above the door.
"The brakes," he said.
"What about them?"
"They're locked. From outside."
The train surged forward.
A warning bell began hammering through the car.
Dorian reached inside his coat and pulled out a small brass key. His face went still—the look he wore before violence.
"Where does that go?" I asked.
"The emergency hatch."
"Then open it."
He placed the key in my palm and closed my fingers around it.
"You open it," he said. "You're the only one small enough to crawl through."
"You're coming with me."
"If I leave the controls, this train derails before the tunnel."
"You said it was sealed."
"It is."
The warning bell sped up. Somewhere ahead, heavy steel doors began to close.
Dorian leaned in, his mouth near my ear. "When that hatch opens, don't trust anyone outside this car. Not even—"
The train plunged toward the sealed tunnel. His hand shoved me toward the emergency panel as he shouted, "Mara, when that door opens, don't—"