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Gun. The MAG’s metallic inlays and soldered jointstempted my professional curiosity, but I knew better than to try to reach for it without his permission.
    Rather than draw the weapon, he flipped open a leather-bound notebook and assessed the room with a keen glance. “You never answered me before. Where are your parents?”
    I hesitated to voice my suspicions. Perhaps it had something to do with Marcus’s swift arrival here on one of the most important days in Bazalgate’s judicial history. Or it was the way he studied the mess of papers on Papa’s desk that warned me I ought to keep my suspicions to myself. Never mind that there was always the possibility that my father had simply forgotten his watch this morning.
    I’ll look a right fool if Mama and Papa turn up in time for tea.
    “Your guess is as good as mine,” I answered. “I sent my mother a RiPA message, but she hasn’t answered it yet.”
    “I have a unit down at the factory questioning your supervisor, but is there anything you can tell me? Anything out of the ordinary you noticed before the blast?” Marcus looked at Nic, who shook his head.
    “One minute I was gathering my things, the next I was on the floor.”
    “What about here?” Marcus scanned the room again. “I know the damage makes it difficult to tell, but does anything appear to be missing?”
    “We won’t know until we put the house back in order.” I gave him a well-practiced smile of dismissal. “We’ll be sure to file a full report once we’ve a list, but we don’t want to keep you any longer. You’re needed at the courthouse.”
    He automatically glanced at the military-encoded RiPA he wore on his left wrist. “I’m expecting a quarter-hour report any minute now. They should be close to announcing the verdict.”
    “You ought to be there when that happens,” I said. “Perhaps there’ll be a riot.” I didn’t want to think about such a possibility.
    Neither did Marcus, it seemed. His gaze flickered about the room, monitoring the waning threat level. “You need a safety detail. I can spare two or three soldiers to man the doors.”
    I flapped a hand at him, doing my best impression of Grandmother Pendleton, who did not suffer the advice of others. “Nonsense. I’ll have the locksmith around within the hour. Once Dreadnaught returns, she’ll make short work of the mess.”
    Undeterred, Marcus peered hard into my face, as though trying to peel back the layers of lies and read the truth in my eyes. Whatever he lacked in battle instincts, that look of his burned me all the way down to my boots.
    Sixteen years of swapping whoppers with my twin hadn’t been for nothing. I met Marcus’s gaze with my most guileless expression. “We’ll be fine.”
    “Are you certain?” he asked.
    “I am,” I said. “We are grateful for your prompt response.” He might have six inches and fifty pounds on me, but there was no need to shove him out the door. I lowered my voice to a stage whisper. “Don’t fret, Mister Kingsley. I won’t tell anyone that I laid you out flat in my entryway. I’m sure that would be bad for business.”
    Blotches of red reappeared on his cheeks, like I’d slapped him. He turned and ordered his men out with a clipped, “We’re done here.”
    We watched the soldiers depart in shared silence. Violet still had her arms about Nic’s waist, the brilliant spikes of her hair standing out in stark contrast to his bloody shirtfront. Her iridescent blue fingernails glittered when she trailed them over the holes in the cotton.
    “You should go to the hospital,” she said to him.
    “We’ve bigger problems than a little blood.”
    “You’re lucky to have escaped with only a couple of scratches to show for it.” Sebastian’s expression took a turn for the serious. “Are you in pain? If you need something to take the edge off, I have these lovely little purple pills I picked up on my last trip to Bhaskara.” Taking a silver case out of his pocket, he