“Kroll,” the man wheezed, his teeth clenched in pain. “It was Kroll.”

“I know that,” Dante said, kicking the fallen submachine gun out of reach. “How did you get past the perimeter gates?”

The man didn’t answer.

Dante pressed the barrel of his gun against the man’s collarbone.

“My patience ended an hour ago,” Dante said.

“The gate codes,” the man whispered, his eyes wide under his cracked visor. “We had the codes.”

“From Marco?” Dante asked.

“No,” the man said, coughing up a dark splatter of blood. “The broker. The one who set the whole thing up.”

I stepped out of the stall, keeping one hand on Vesper’s neck to keep him calm.

My boots crunched on the glass from a broken lantern.

“What broker?” I asked.

Dante didn’t look back at me, but his shoulders tensed.

“Stay back, Mara,” he ordered.

“No,” I said, stepping closer. “He said a broker.”

The wounded man looked up at me, his breathing shallow and fast.

He let out a weak, wet laugh.

“You’re the girl,” the man muttered, squinting through the dust. “The horse girl.”