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priority. Your friend already
     knows”—he pauses to nod at June—“that the Patriots are not a charity. You’re asking
     us for a great deal of help. What will you give us in return? You can’t be carrying
     much money.”
    June gives me a pointed look. She may have warned me about this on our train ride,
     but I can’t give up now. If the Patriots turn us down, we’ll really be on our own.
     “We don’t have a lot of money,” I admit. “I’m not going to speak for June, but if
     there is
anything
I can do in exchange for your help, just say the word.”
    Razor crosses his arms, then walks to the apartment’s bar, an elaborate granite counter
     embedded into the wall and shelving dozens of glass bottles of all shapes and sizes.
     He takes his time pouring a drink; we wait. When he finishes preparing it, he takes
     the glass in one hand and wanders back to us. “There
is
something you can offer,” he starts. “Fortunately, you’ve arrived on a very interesting
     night.” He takes a sip of the drink and sits down on the couch. “As you probably learned
     while down on the street, the former Elector Primo died today—something many in the
     Republic’s elite circles have seen coming. At any rate, his son, Anden, is now the
     Republic’s new Elector. Practically a boy, and
greatly
disliked by his father’s Senators.” He leans forward, saying each word carefully
     and with weight. “Rarely has the Republic been as vulnerable as it is now. There will
     never be a better time to spark a revolution. Your physical skills might be expendable
     to us, but there are two things you can give us that our other Runners can’t. One:
     your fame, your status as the people’s champion. And two”—he points his drink at June—“your
     lovely friend.”
    I stiffen at that, but Razor’s eyes are warm as honey and I find myself waiting to
     hear the rest of his proposal.
    “I’d be happy to take you in, and you’ll both be well cared for. Day, we can get you
     an excellent doctor, and pay for an operation that’ll make your leg better than new.
     I don’t know the whereabouts of your brother, but we can help you find him, and eventually,
     we can help you both escape into the Colonies if that’s what you want. In return,
     we’d ask for your help with a new project. No questions asked. But you’ll both need
     to pledge your allegiance to the Patriots before I’ll reveal any details about what
     you’ll be doing. These are my terms. What do you think?”
    June looks from me to Razor. Then she lifts her chin higher. “I’m in. I’ll pledge
     allegiance to the Patriots.”
    There’s a slight falter in her words, like she knows she’s truly turned her back on
     the Republic. I swallow hard. I hadn’t expected her to agree so quickly—I’d thought
     she would need some persuading before she committed herself to a group that she so
     obviously hated just a few weeks ago. The fact that she said yes tugs at my heart.
     If June is giving herself to the Patriots, then she must realize that we have no better
     choice. And she’s doing this for my sake. I raise my own voice. “Me too.”
    Razor smiles, rises from the couch, and holds up his drink as if to toast us. Then
     he sets it down on the coffee table and comes over to give each of us a firm handshake.
     “It’s official, then. You’re going to help us assassinate the new Elector Primo.”

I DON’T TRUST R AZOR.
    I don’t trust him because I don’t understand how he can afford to hide out in such
     nice quarters. An officer’s quarters, in
Vegas
of all places. These rugs are each worth at least 29,000 Notes, made from some sort
     of expensive synthetic fur. Ten electric lights in one room—all switched on. His uniform
     is spotless and new. He even has a customized gun hanging on his belt. Stainless steel,
     probably lightweight, hand embellished. My brother used to have guns like that. Eighteen
     thousand Notes and up for a single one.