With a deep exhale, Kael relaxed his tense grimace. The stress of his anchor, the head priest's sermon, and the corpses of Tovin and Ash slowly drifted into a mind box he tried to close. But the lid remained half open.

  He barely glanced at the parade when he squeezed through the crowd chanting Kythra's burning verses. Els was in front of the hot milk stand, as far from the rooftop as he was from Veston.

  She watched priests juggle scalding balls and offer blessings. Before he tapped her shoulder, she turned toward him, her sparkling eyes dimming. Softly, she asked, "Where did you disappear?"

  "Gang members passed by. Thought hiding was better than risking being found out." Kael's voice was low, like the drip of blood in a deep cave.

  Els studied him, her eyes darting to the folded cloths under his armpit. Her mouth opened before her headshake closed it. Slowly, she reached for his right cheek, but her fingers stopped an inch from his skin. They hovered, then traced his pierced lips. "Are you hurt?"

  Covering his mouth, Kael shook his head. He reached for his pocket.

  "You didn't hide. You did something stupid. I can see it in your—"

  The ten copper crowns in his palm cut her off.

  "What I owe you. I wanted it to be more... Perhaps next time..." He paused, then his voice grew heavy. "If you're ever trapped with no hope, you must know who you are—know the truth you believe." He pressed the coins in her palm and turned.

  He had repaid his debt and more. Still, he hoped she would never have to awaken a truth. The price was worth only if death was the sole other option.

  "Wait!"

  Els gripped his shoulder, but he shook her off. "Don't try to stop me. I need to leave. Now." For a moment, he gazed back. Then, he lowered the scarf on his face, whispering as he slipped between two cheering men. "I'll get you a nice scarf if we meet again. Live well, and cherish your time with Arthur. Tell him I won't forget."

  Without turning back, he hastened out of the central district. But after a few steps, he heard whispers.

  "Did you see anyone climb on George's shop roof?"

  Kael's blood chilled. The Ragged Crown had found out, likely in the silence of the sermon. Men were after him, and his first reflex was to head for an alley.

  No! I'm safer in the middle of the crowd. They didn't have time to call for reinforcements and organise the search. I'll be safe in the industrial district. Need to get rid of the clothes.

  Without slowing, he hid the proofs inside his shirt and crossed the Ragged Crown thug. More asked questions. He avoided their notice by moving behind men broader than he was.

  As he vanished into the industrial district, a deep furrow creased the head priest's brow. He lowered his gaze to a necklace hidden beneath his toga. It tugged toward factories that blew steam from their chimneys. "A heretic." His voice twanged, the necklace tug hardened, and he glared toward Garrick's bar.

  The other priests glanced at him, eyes narrowing, but he simply waved his hand. "Kythra's brightness shall not dim in front of these wretched souls. We'll get answers and names after the parade."

  ****

  Kael continued to rush through the crowd until he reached the potato stand. The same man wore his apron behind the grill, eagerly serving the few customers who either couldn't afford meat or doubted its origin as Kael did.

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  He circled it, approached the next stand, and cut the long line.

  "Hey, lad! Wait for your turn like everyone!"

  Kael ignored the sausage seller's raised fork. He leaned closer, half pulling the cloths out from the top of his shirt. "A brand new pair of pants and a linen shirt, and another pair of pants in good condition. Seven copper crowns."

  The seller, a bearded middle-aged man, instantly lowered his fork and whispered back. "Five and you have a deal."

  "I'll ask the next stand, then."

  Before Kael could hide the clothes again, the man grabbed his wrist beneath the counter. With his other hand, he planted his fork on a sausage, then dug out seven copper crowns from his apron, and slammed them in his palm a little too hard. "Leave them on the stool and get lost. If I see you sniffing around my stall again..."

  Kael wrenched his wrist back, his fist tightening on the coins. The seller already smiled at a client from behind his grill as if nothing had happened. Shrugging, he pulled out the clothes on a stool facing a crate that smelled of raw sausages.

  The threat didn't matter, nor the low price. Ridding himself of the evidence had earned him enough to stock up on five loaves of bread and a canteen full of fresh water, enough for two weeks with his endurance. Hopefully, they would drop the search by then.

  No, they'll have to. Tovin and Ash reported me dead. So did the man who told them to leave. No one saw my face today, and Els knows how to handle unwanted questions. I can work out a story for when I return. I crawled into the sewers, too scared to come out again until hunger forced me to after three weeks. I'll fill the rest later.

  Bread and canteen cradled against his chest, he rushed behind the lamp factory. The broadest sewer disposal, Edwin always boasted to bored miners. But Kael remembered.

  Behind the storage makes it easier to dispose of waste.

  And he found a gaping hole in the ground right where it should be. A deep scan of the broad pipes running from the building to the hole. No one at the locked-up door. The pipes didn't pour out trash on festival day.

  He untied his scarf, removed his clothes, bundled the bread inside, and tied it tight.

  He paused to glance at the crowd, then at his silent ledger. Two weeks to experiment and understand how to either rewrite his endurance or trade it for something more suited to his goals, if it was even possible.

  "Just wait." He targeted Harrow and Garrick as much as the beams and bridges blocking his sight of Veston above. "I swear I'll get up there."

  He jumped into the darkness.

  SPLASH

  The stench of faeces scorched his nose, but the stale water was worse. It clung to his skin like sludge, the same products that created the illness that took his mom and would soon take Arthur, trying to gnaw at him.

  The fall should have broken his feet, but he only felt numbness as he moved in the dark, always keeping his bundle over his head with one hand while the other searched for a wall.

  Rats scrambled with bitter squeaks, while he stumbled on rough pavement. Damp rocks met his fingers, and he trailed the wall deeper in the sewers. To where? He didn't know. But people talked, mainly stories no one believed true, and he listened.

  Some believed that Ashcoil Row wasn't the bottom of the slums, that people lived in a human-built hell: the sewers. Others said they hid the Sump Dogs' base of operations.

  A shiver ran down Kael's spine as he remembered the gang-controlled tunnels and most of the scavenging zones. It might be true, and they might still be after him. That was why he took the dangerous factory entrance to the sewer. They couldn't hide beneath the district that produced the most waste, right?

  He walked for hours, each step made heavier by the gut-wrenching possibility of coming face to face with those he tried to escape, until he had to squint.

  A soft halo pierced the veil of darkness, brightening the molded wall he traced. He approached, breath ragged, crouching. Through bars that shimmered from the torch burning over a stone table, he saw sheets strewn over cracked pavement. At least a dozen, enough to let as many people rest.

  The Sump Dogs, or sewer inhabitants? He inched closer, eyes locked on three silhouettes. Suddenly, they snapped toward him, returning his gaze.

  Kael gasped. Their faces... One had blistered skin, from which pus trailed down each time he frowned too hard. Another looked like a consumed candle, with melted cheeks and temples sagging over his eyes. Through their ragged tunics, he made out distorted limbs that couldn't possibly belong to human beings.

  The last was handsome compared to the horrifying state of the previous two—if Kael could call a man who took more from rats than humans handsome.

  He has whiskers and fur? Hands like paws... What in the slums is this? Kael's eyes widened.

  The rat-man's nose twitched, and he squeaked human words. "Human, bad! Dogs kill friends. I kill dogs!"

  "Dogs? Do you mean the Sump—I'm not with them!"

  Kael shouted back, but before he could react, the creature lunged in a blur of grey fur and torn fabric. Eyes red like blood flashed with murderous intent, while dark, elongated nails glinted in the torchlight.