In a city where every favor is a contract and every contract is signed in blood, the most dangerous thing Carys Vaelith can do is need someone.

Carys Vaelith runs the Low Wards, the poorest territory her family controls and the one nobody expected its half-human underboss to keep. Nearly five thousand people work under her protection, repairing conduits, tending forges, and holding together the infrastructure the wealthier districts prefer not to think about. Many are human; most other Houses would refuse to employ them. When a shipment disappears into a canal, Carys is the one climbing down after it, even if the job leaves her soaked and smelling like the water. She was never supposed to hold anything. She holds the Low Wards anyway.