Only then did Waxillium realize there was no blue line pointing to the man’s gun. Tarson grinned, his ashy face topped by Wayne’s hat. Then he whipped around, placing himself behind Marasi, whom he gripped by the neck with one hand, holding the gun steady against her head with the other.

No blue lines. Rust and Ruin … an entire gun made of aluminum?

Waxillium and Tarson both fell still. The bandits behind hadn’t noticed Waxillium’s floor-level escape on the platter; they were closing on the area where he’d been hiding. The boss still stood in the doorway, looking toward Waxillium. Wax had to be wrong about who he was. People could look alike, sound alike. That didn’t mean …

Marasi whimpered. And Waxillium found himself unable to move, unable to raise his hand to fire. The shot he’d made to save Lessie played again and again in his mind.

I can make a shot like that, he thought to himself, angry. I’ve done it a dozen times.

He’d only missed once.