Henry Marquette sat opposite me in World Issues, a thick file folder open on the table between us. Clearly, he’d done his half of the assignment. “You know what they say about assumptions,” I said. Henry quirked an eyebrow at me. “Tell me, Kendrick, what do they say about assumptions?” “It’s Tess.” “Is that your way of telling me that you did not screen the candidates on your half of the list?” Henry asked me. “Tess.” “Actually,” I said. “I looked into them.” He didn’t need to know what exactly I’d looked for—or why I’d been looking. “And?” And there’s reason to think Judge Pierce paid to have your grandfather killed. “And,” I said, “I wasn’t really that impressed.” Henry’s lips ticked slightly upward. “I get the sense that you might be a hard girl to impress.” That almost sounded like a compliment. Henry seemed to realize that, too. “In all likelihood,” he said abruptly, thumbing through the file he’d compiled and tearing his eyes away from mine, “we’re looking for someone on the court of appeals—DC circuit is most likely, but I wouldn’t rule any of the others out.”