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“Warren’s favorite guard. The ruthless soldier who’d rather shoot than talk. The one who had interrogated Valdus. Now, shush.” Numair says, daring a glance around the stack of crates.

I dare to inch closer to see the street through the slits in the metal. A broad-shouldered captain with beady eyes motions with a gun to a group of men dressed in mended clothes the color of the sand. Swords and daggers of forged twilight in their hands glimmer with menace.

“Dustwalkers?” Numair murmurs. “Did I miss an invitation to a party?”

“I said, stop,” Captain Togar shouts.

He cocks his revolver’s hammer and fires into the night. The Dustwalker at the head of the group holds up a shield and bullets ricochet off its sleek cover, burying themselves deep into the walls of the houses. The captain keeps firing, but the bandits edge away from the square, and soon he has no bullets left in the chamber nor a Dustwalker to face. He hits the wall with the grip, and the sound startles me more than any of the shots. I stumble, knocking into the tower of crates which crumble with a loud crash.

“Who’s there?” the captain asks.

Numair lifts his gaze to the skies and rubs his eyes with a curse so loud that if the guard had any doubt of our presence, he certainly knows we’re here now. As Togar starts toward the alley, Numair pulls me on a chase against time itself. We stop next to The House of Eternity, but even more guards swarm the halls, searching every crevice of the temple under Damen’s disapproving gaze, but even a priest of eternity has no power over Magnar’s soldiers.

The captain is on our heels, and Numair dashes toward the shadowed alley we once fought in, dragging me behind him.

“This will be unpleasant,” he says. “I’d advise you not to take any deep breaths.”

“What are you— “

I don’t get to finish the question as Numair darts toward the wall, pulling me with him. I barely register what’s happening as his body hits the stone and, in a trick of an illusion, glides right through. His arm sticks out, still holding mine and pulling me behind him.

Stumbling over my own feet and taking in as much air as my lungs will allow, I close my eyes before the wall can hit my face.

It never does.

Stones melt at the touch of my skin, but I clutch Numair’s hand tighter. Losing it for even a second might mean my imminent death.

My lungs burn with exertion until I finally release my breath, but I can’t draw another one. Fear sends my heart into a race. Every movement strains my muscles. Every step feels like a struggle as the stones fight to spit us out. I think I might lose consciousness when the darkness around us finally breaks, and we emerge from the wall.

I gasp for air, but Numair only smirks. “Told you.”

He doesn’t wait for me to catch my breath and pulls me to my feet. Togar didn’t lose any time and has circled the house. His cries chase us through a crumbling wall and down a zigzagging street until we stop next to a house with a lonely kerosene lamp lit outside. Numair knocks. When no one answers, he knocks again.

“We shouldn’t stop,” I say, looking over my shoulder to the empty street where Togar might emerge any second now.

Numair ignores me, and when he knocks a third time the door finally opens. Mylena appears on the other side, hiding a yawn with her palm.

“I need a favor,” Numair says and motions my way.

Mylena lifts her head as she hears a ruckus of heavy boots coming from the end of the street. She crosses her arms over her chest, fully awake. “What’s in it for me?”

“A sentiment of accomplished duty? My eternal gratitude?” Numair asks, waving his hand in the air. “Whichever you prefer. Unless you want me to tell Valdus that you disobeyed an order from his most trusted lieutenant?”

Mylena clicks her tongue and grabs my arm. Her nails dig into my skin, but I swallow down my protests when I see Gavin at the foot of the stairs, rubbing his eyes. “What’s going on, Mama?”

She lets go of me and kneels next to the boy. “Go upstairs and hide as I’ve taught you. No matter what you hear, don’t come out.”

Mylena must have drilled her son about such an occasion, as Gavin simply nods and dashes up the stairs. Not waiting to see him disappear, Mylena pulls on my arm and leads me to the back of her house.

“I’ve got news of your marriage.” Togar’s voice reaches our ears. “Yet here you are at another girl’s door past curfew.”

“What can I say? We all have our faults.”

“You don’t mind if I look around, then?”

Mylena pushes me into the laundry room and toward one of two metal crates stacked with fresh linen. “Stay put, and if you want to live, don’t make a sound,” she says, piling up folded sheets and crisp towels to hide me from sight.

I don’t answer, clutching my knees tight to my chest to fold myself into a place that wasn’t designed for a person.