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Silence greeted him as I straightened, looking around. The mist was still heavy here but not nearly as thick.

“That’s exactly what you all were going to do.” Malik cursed under his breath. “Do you think you really would’ve made it out? Even if the Craven hadn’t joined in the fun?”

“What do you think?” Kieran joined us outside, followed by Reaver.

“What I think is that you all would’ve been caught down there. And even if Cas weren’t in the shape he was, Isbeth would’ve done exactly as she threatened to do once she realized that you were missing.”

“She threatened to put children on the walls and the gates of the Rise,” I answered, feeling Kieran’s gaze on me as I turned around, looking up. Above, the mist muted the glow of the streetlamps, but I could see enough to realize where we were. “The Golden Bridge.”

“Yes.” Malik started up the slope of the embankment, his hooded figure nearly disappearing into the mist. The ground was muddy and full of a slop I didn’t want to think about. “The tunnel entrance caved in there a few years ago. The Craven have been getting out from there, but no one’s fixed it.”

“Out?” Kieran questioned as several rounds of fiery arrows lit up the sky beyond the Rise. I tore my gaze from there.

“What do you think happens to the mortals the vamprys get a bit gluttonous with? Can’t let them turn in their homes,” Malik said as we cleared the embankment and continued on through the thick, still-swirling mist. “They’re dumped underground where they turn. Sometimes, they get out, you know, when the gods are angry. Of course, a sizable tithe to the Temples helps assuage that anger enough for the Craven to be dealt with.”

My eyes narrowed on Malik’s back. “And you’re okay with that? Innocent people being turned into monsters? Money being taken from people who can’t afford it?”

“Never said I was okay with any of it,” Malik replied.

“But you’re here.” Reaver scanned the mist and the empty street. “Accepting it all for a female?”

“Never said I accepted it either.”

Nothing was said after that for a long time, but Kieran seemed to watch Malik even closer. We walked what I knew was the very outskirts of the cramped district of Croft’s Cross, even though I couldn’t see any of the buildings stacked on top of one another in staggering, clustered rows. It was the smell of the sea and the scent of too many people forced to live in a too-small place that tipped me off.

The mist was fading over the edges of the district near the sea. I saw more of the moonlight-kissed waters, but orders were still being shouted from the Rise, arrows still being lobbed. No horn had blown again, alerting the citizens that it was safe.

The mist was damper here, closer to the ocean, and a fine sheen of sweat dotted my brow beneath the hood. The slender streets of what seemed to be shops and homes appeared empty and silent through the mist. Not even our footsteps could be heard as we cut between two one-story buildings and began climbing the steep path—an earthen pass through birch trees.

“Who is this friend?” Kieran broke the silence. “And where in the hell are we walking? Atlantia?”

“Stonehill,” I answered as Malik snorted. “Aren’t we?”

“We are.”

Stonehill was a district somewhere between Croft’s Cross and the Stroud Sea, where those who had a little coin but not a lot called home. Usually, there was one family per home and little space between the normally one-story houses with terracotta roofs used for patios.

“And this friend?” Kieran persisted as we found our way onto another uneven sidewalk.

“Someone who can be trusted,” Malik answered as we came upon a stucco home with no courtyard and a door leading right onto the sidewalk. I was able to see that it was dark beyond the two latticed windows on either side of the door. “His name is Blaz. Wife’s name is Clariza.”

“And how do you know them?” I asked as he hit the bottom of the door with his booted foot. “Why should we trust them?”

“I met Clariza one night in Lower Town when she and her friends were smuggling barrels from a ship that’d come in from the Vodina Isles. Barrels that smelled suspiciously of black powder,” he answered, kicking the door again and stirring up the mist. “You should trust them because those barrels did, in fact, carry black powder that they plan to use to blow up the inner walls of Wayfair.”

Reaver slowly looked at him. “What the fuck?”

Descenters. They had to be Descenters. But how was Malik involved?

“And you should also know,” Malik continued, “that they do not believe you to be a Harbinger of doom.”

Well, that was good. “And you? Do you believe that?”