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Evasive? Undoubtedly. But also trustworthy. Also principled. Compassionate. Or so he thought, anyway. He suspected that this Trimpot fellow was some sort of hypnotist. It was the only way he could lead good people to such a bitter end. She couldn’t have made this decision on her own. It wasn’t her; it wasn’t the Exa he’d always envisioned. Trimpot was puppeteering her, using her as some political Jezebel in his plot. So how could Liam turn this evidence over to Dyna? She’d drag the entire Legacy family into her studio and mortify them. Exa was an innocent girl caught in Trimpot’s undertow.
    Of course, Dyna no longer needed this story to make CIN-3’ s antennae hum, now preoccupied with every little development as it trickled down, from supposed sightings of Exa in Groundtown – of all places – to rumors of city-wide curfew and the imminent arrival of the Monarch himself.
    The slushers hadn’t forgotten, though.
    Liam had kept the negatives for the past week, but they never forgot to ask what Dyna thought of them; even as a retrospective expose on a dead man, it was worth reporting. Of course, not many people knew this yet, but Earl Kaizen was not only alive, he was duke; it was Malthus who was dead. Although Dyna had sworn to progress the new duke’s agenda of disinformation, she had informed Liam, as head of her prep team, of the truth. Would the tawdry story ever run? Doubtful. Did the duke need to be reminded of his place in this delicate ecosystem? Assuredly.
    And if Liam didn’t give up the reel soon, the theft would come to light regardless; he’d lose his job, and what if he was charged with something? Obstruction of justice? He didn’t know, but it had to be meaningful, didn’t it? What if the CC successfully brought the monarchy to collapse, using Exa as their Trojan horse? What if their loose, wishful logic exhausted all New Earth’s resources in a matter of months, and all the air cities starved, fell into disrepair, cracked, and crashed into the surface of the planet, populated only by corpses, and it would all be his fault because he never brought this development forward?
    Clenching his jaw, Liam pushed up from the table and made toward Dyna’s studio, where she was practically mouthing the microphone she clutched, square and brass with a circular grid set in the center. “. . . anticipate an address from the duke within the next day,” she chewed. “It is 2:30 pm, Monday, August the fourteenth, and I’m Dyna Logan with CIN-3, bringing you the latest in this breaking story. Now a word from our sponsors. Tired of tasting the tar in your vitamins? Head on over to Nanny’s Assemblage on Welles Pike for their new lemon-esque supplements and enjoy the taste of healthy bones!”
    Dyna pulled a lever, the OFF AIR sign illuminated, and she looked up at Liam expectantly, raising one flawlessly manicured eyebrow.
    Dyna Logan, realistically in her late-thirties but supposedly in her late-twenties, had a stern, brutish kind of beauty, as if she had literally clawed her way to the forefront of news media. Her features weren’t particularly thuggish, and so it must have been all her. Her chestnut hair crept from its bun just now, though usually was smothered beneath extravagant hats or structured into stiff sculpture. A long string of pearls spilled onto her desk from her narrow neck, and her oval face was perfectly powdered and rouged, the red wax of her lips so thick and rich, it was nearly black. She was one of the few residents of Icarus who could afford more than the standard brownish, repeatedly patched fabrics, and today sported an intricate pastel print.
    “Yes?” she prompted, pointing a jagged ruby cuticle at him. “What have you got?”
    Liam took a deep breath and forged ahead. “The slushers brought me something,” he forced himself to say. Extending the filament in his hands to Dyna, he stood and awaited her reaction.
    “Is this–?” Her eyes tipped up, and for a moment, the