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The guard orders for me to stop, but I don’t. If I am to return to the palace and marry Ajaia, he’ll have to drag me all the way across the desert, but soldiers live for the chase, and this one is no different. He follows me deeper into the city, past empty stores and into a square with houses of polished stones soaring high over it. I thought I was lost before, but with the crowd pulsing around me, dribbling into the square and down another street, I turn around, unable to decide which way to go.

Over the clamor of voices, the guard’s slurs reach my ears and make my feet move of their own accord. I dash down one alley and up a flight of stairs, turning corners and changing directions before the guard can spot me. Sweat running down my back in rivets, I huff through my scarf, turning another corner and bumping into someone. Hard.

Pain explodes in my arm. I catch a cry with my teeth digging deep into my lip. A girl my age drops to her knees, chasing glistening apples down the pebbled street. I pick up the one rolling past me and stretch my hand just in time for our gazes to meet over the stifling air and shouts of the guard echoing through the town. The girl doesn’t have to say a word, but as her eyes linger on me, I know she has recognized me. She looks at my kaftan, and then at hers, only a shade darker than the dull gray of mine. She thrusts the bag of apples into my hands, rips the hem over her hip similarly to the tear in my kaftan from the sill, and turns to face the guard as he climbs the last step. Drying sweat from his brow with the sleeve of his black shirt, the soldier takes a few labored breaths before he grabs the girl’s arm. “Are you deaf, or what?”

“I wasn’t aware you were talking to me,” says the girl with a shrug convincing enough that it’d let his harsh words slide.

I fuse with the crowd, each step a fraction of a movement, until I enter the mouth of a darkened alley. The guard snatches the tags from the girl’s outstretched hand and turns them over, muttering something under his breath.

“This is your last warning, Lara,” he finally says, dropping the tags back in her hand. “Your father’s name won’t protect you for much longer if you keep pulling stunts like this.”

The girl doesn’t answer. The soldier spits far enough from her feet that she doesn’t consider it as an insult and heads back the way he came. Before she can spot my hiding place, I put the bag on a discarded barrel and slip through the back of the alley.

Light blinds me as I emerge on the other end, but I follow silhouettes haunting the streets, until my eyes adjust to the glare of the setting sun. I have to find my way back faster than Livith chases after his sister to cloak the eternal sun with the darkness of a night. I don’t dare to imagine what will happen if Valdus returns home from wherever a rebel spends his days and finds my room empty.

I take the first steps in the direction I suppose Inara’s house is, but a feeling that someone is watching me creeps up my back. I dare a glance over my shoulder, but only growing shadows surround me. The lazy gazes of what few guards remain on the streets focus more on the old clock ticking against the polished stones of the barracks than on the faces of townsfolk ambling up and down the streets. The chime of a bell marks the passage of another hour.

I dash down the street. The desire to break into a run presses on my lungs, robbing me of breath, but I don’t dare to hasten my steps. I’m not eager to attract the attention of the watchful guards or curious folk. The street ends at a temple. A man with a watchful Eye of Evanae pinned to the collar of his shirt of dim red and blue greets men and women coming for the evening prayer.

I look both ways, trying to decide which way to go. To my right, an alley carves its way between two sagging buildings. To the left, another one spirals down with haggling merchants occupying the sidewalk with everything from broken trinkets to patched up clothes spread over thin rags.

The priest’s attention lands on me, beckoning me to join the believers already gathered inside. Instead, I dart into the shadows of the alley where high walls of flaking green paint are pressing on me from both sides.

The clamor of the city recedes, and the clack of my boots on the pebbled path reverberates through the street that curves before my eyes. I stop for a second, desperately trying to figure out how to get back to Inara’s house. My ears prickle as the wind howls through the broken windows and missing doors.

A few seconds is all it takes for me to realize the clacking hasn’t stopped. I look down at my boots, fixed in place, and back to the mouth of the alley. A creature breaks from the wall and swirls into existence from the leaking darkness.

Hollowcreep.

Trouble crosses my path no matter where I go, but a monster from my childhood bedtime stories? That can’t be happening. Can it?

The creature takes another step toward me, and I stumble away, rasping my skin on the stones. I race deeper into the alley, knocking broken barrels and stacks of crates to the ground, but I can’t put any distance between us.

The light grows dimmer with each passing moment, and I almost run into the wall that rises to meet the sky before me. I search for fissures in the heated stone, but it’s as if the Maker himself erased every crease off its uneven surface.

“Now, now. What do we have here?”

I turn on my heels, eager to put a face to the honeyed voice.

Not a flesh-eater, but a man leans on the wall with his shoulder. His arms crossed over his chest, his foot hitched above the other, he’s an image of nonchalance. His clothes aren’t as old and ragged as of other folk I’ve seen on the streets and a pair of expensive-looking gloves hang from his silver-studded belt. His right hand catches the last glimpse of the setting sun, sending a glare at me as he brushes the strand of his black hair behind his ear, the metal of his fingers a striking contrast to his olive skin. I see the golden hoop in his ear and curse. I’ve seen him already. Back on the train. When I went to dine with Bonar. And that metal hand?

He was one of the attackers.

As if privy to my thoughts, the man pulls away from the wall, and I take a step back until my shoulder blades meet the wall.

“What’s your name?” he asks.

I don’t answer. If I’m right, he already knows my name, and this is just a game for him. If I’m right, he’s the rebel who saved my life, but who might regret it now.

My options for escape aren’t great. I won’t be able to climb the wall, buildings rising high around us might not be as deserted as I thought, and the man with the metal hand has the rest of the alley hidden behind his back.

“Those green eyes,” the man says, tilting his head to a side. A half-looped smile tips the corner of his lips. “Tell me, Princess. Do you know what happens to the girls wandering the streets alone?”

I count my breaths as the man closes the distance between us. He is so close, I can taste the smoke clinging to his clothes. I lean to one side, but the man steps to bar my passage. I push him away, and he stumbles on the rubbish driven here by the wind. With a wild curse on his lips, he lands on a pile of crates. He fights to regain his footing, but the metal gives and he’s caught in a trap.

I dash the way I came. It’s so dark, I barely see where my boots land. Valdus and Inara must have noticed I’m gone, but I don’t dare to think about it. I’ll escape the alley and get back to my room. The rest, I’ll deal with it when the time comes.

I never make it to the mouth of the alley. My boot sinks into a hole between stones, and I topple onto the paved street and knock my head on a stone. I reach for my cheek, my fingers meeting a bloodied wound where the cobbles bit into my skin.