The men rushed to the weapons piled in the center. I lost sight of Dagger in the confusion of every screen showing different shots of men shoving and fighting to pull weapons from the pile.

Dagger dove out of the center already bleeding from his shoulder and holding only a thin sword. Xyla swore under her breath. Without thinking, I removed my third and fourth fingers from my left hand, rolling them under and over each other as I watched. Why the hell didn't he get something with a longer reach? If I'm wrong...

Dagger lunged away from the fighting, but then staggered, and held one hand clenched to his side, blood dripping off his fingers. A group of three broke off from the weapons pile, each carrying a spear, and made their way towards Dagger.

Dagger stared down the men as they came to kill him, the sword held at his side, nearly limp.

Time seemed to slow. The first screen showed a pair of brothers fighting a huge, bald man, the other screen a one-on-one grudge match.

But the third screen showed three men, spreading out to coordinate their attack against Dagger. Still the sword stayed at his side, still his eyes remained unreadable. I wanted to jump up and scream at him to do something. Xyla's hand hit the table and she hissed, "Move!" but no one, including myself, turned to look at her. Instead, the shouting of the other engineers in the room, the announcers voices, all faded.

He's waiting for them. The realization hit me a split second before Dagger surged out of the screen. I stood up as the room gave a collective gasp. The camera zoomed back out. One of the men clutched his throat, a river of red bursting free.

At that moment, Yerik dropped the coins.

For a moment I thought the noise came from the screens, but they never played noise; the crowd was so loud only the announcers' voices were projected. Which made the sudden crash and tinkling of coins all the more dramatic. Xyla and I both turned to watch as copper and bronze coins rolled in every direction, spinning and flashing. Yerik stared at them, his face frozen in horror.

The K-guard Kaptain, distinguished by the golden band on his black uniform's arm, pushed off the wall, the sharp tap of his boots a countdown in the sudden silence. He couldn't yet see past the tables and people watching.

Yerik didn't move, face pale, eyes wide.

The Kaptain's footsteps grew as I met Yerik's eyes. His mouth was a perfect O, his hands outstretched like he thought the coins would magically return— which was when I realized he was going to sit there, unmoving, until the Kaptain rounded the corner and put together exactly what had happened. Yerik was already known for his slippery dealings in the Belly, and he'd been caught orchestrating illegal betting before. With a single snap of the Kaptain's fingers, he'd go from watching the Tuv Letter Trial to fighting in it.

But he's never caught me gambling before. He'd never caught me at anything— I was a shadow, a wisp of smoke, a Z.

And now, apparently, an idiot.

The footsteps came closer and I tossed the fingers of my hand into the pile, jumped off the bench, and undid as much of my mechanical arm as I could.

The K-guard turned the corner. He stopped, eyes widening.

I imagined what he saw. A teenage girl in dirty overalls, slim but strong. Black, curly hair barely contained, and brown eyes open with what I hoped was believable surprise. Surrounded by the pieces of a mechanical arm and coins.

His eyes darted from one piece of the puzzle to the next. Come on, put the pieces together. I laid them out so nicely. His hand inched toward his burrowing whip.

"I'm sorry!" I blurted out. "I was surprised, and my arm fell off. All the coins inside fell out."

There was a silent moment as we stared at each other. I could already picture Xyla's incredulous response: really, Z, that was the best lie you could come up with? But it was too late now, so I kept my face blank, my eyes wide and innocent even as a line of sweat ran down my back. The room flickered light and dark, the Trials still playing silently on the screen, but for once no one watched them. Instead, the weight of every eye held me anchored to the floor.

Maybe he really bought my bluff. Or, maybe, in that moment he could feel the sullen, simmering hatred of the room pressing in around him. Maybe for one silent moment, the people of The Belly stood strong.

I was playing a game as dangerous as the Letter Trials. He could arrest me easily, but accidents happened to guards in the Belly sometimes. A broken pipe. An errant machine. The Belly was a big place, and even the K-guards understood if you kicked a dog too many times, eventually it bites. What would arresting a skinny 16-year-old girl really win him?