“By the dust! What happened to you?”
Clara’s feet had only just hit the ground. She slipped the shard of mirror from her belt and palmed it as she straightened and turned toward the voice. Her eyes took a moment to adjust to the darkness. There was a shape crouched there in the shadows. Before she could identify it, it stood and spoke again.

“Are you hurt?” it asked.
It was her client. The nice one, not the dead one.
Clara glanced down at her hands. “Not really,” she said. “What are you doing here? I thought you left.”
“One of Marcus’ lieutenants was at the bar when I went out. I’ve been keeping an eye on the place.”
“Lieutenant. hey? Not anymore,” she waved the makeshift blade in her hand in explanation, then tucked it back into her belt.
“That explains the blood, then,” he sounded impressed. “Dale could find him any minute, we should get you out of sight. Come on, I know somewhere nearby.”