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Baylen became distant following that evening. He didn’t apologize for his actions, and I wondered if he even remembered them or if he was too ashamed to broach the subject.

I had known Baylen Sallow since birth. After Father Cullard, his was the first face I saw as a babe that actually meant something to me. Now, I felt resentful at what he had become. What I had become, sticking around with these vagrants.

I started to believe Father Cullard was right after all—leaving the House was the quickest route to our downfall, to losing our souls.

I had no friends in the Diplomats with Baylen withdrawing from me. It was a dangerous position without someone to defend me if problems arose with other members.

We lived in squalor. For months I went on the jobs Dimmon directed his flock to carry out.

They were mostly petty robberies and snatchings like Bay and I used to pull as Housemates.

Sometimes they would be more advanced—conning a man out of his life’s earnings, for instance, which played out over a course of days.

Dimmon promised great wealth and a connection to Olhav with a reasonable down payment that became larger as the days progressed.

It was always “one more thing” the man needed to do to strike it rich.

When he became privy to our scheme, the Diplomats simply ambushed him in an alley and stole everything he had—including his purse full of the final payment.

I watched as it happened, doing nothing. Seeing little Baylen getting attacked by Jeffrith and his minions in that poor man’s face. Still not having the grit to put a stop to it.

I became detached and indifferent. Unsympathetic to the plight of the hard-working commoners of Nuhav, because even they had more than I did.

It was a class war we had no hope of winning.

I knew nothing of politics at my young age, yet even the wrongness of the situations began to feel less burdensome and worrisome.

I realized I didn’t care about my soul being lost because clearly no one else did.

After a few weeks, I got closer to Jinneth, the gangly girl who spoke like an alleyway crusty. She was odd but I needed someone to talk to since Baylen was still not communicating with me. Almost like he expected me to apologize to him , when I had done nothing wrong.

“Jeffrith and me, we come from backwoods in the east,” Jinneth told me one day as we strolled together toward a street corner to start a day of crime.

She was from Nuhav. I knew the “backwoods” she spoke of was actually a city sprawl of poverty. Much like my situation in the Temple district.

Jinneth was diminutive and quick with her hands. Perfect for stealing coin-purses, like Baylen had been when we were younger. She only came up to my shoulders yet there was a fierceness to her I envied.

“Whole lot of us, yeah?” she said. “All us guttergirls and sewerboys, passed around from home to home ‘til we came too unruly for the almshouses. Didn’t want nothing to do with us whelps, yeah? Too big’a family.”

I frowned. “You mean it’s not just Jeffrith? How big is your family, Jinneth?”

Her face sank, and I felt sorry for asking a question that made her squeamish.

“Used to be bigger, yeah? Had two other sisters and brothers, I did.” She stared off down the street where folks dragged wheelbarrows and carts to set up their shops for the day.

Her eyes had a distant look, her lips a sad smile. “Jeffrith and me’s the last of ‘em.”

I winced. “Your siblings . . . they’re dead?”

My situation didn’t compare, I realized. It could always be worse, eh?

Then she snorted loudly, adjusting her tunic so it stayed on her bony shoulder. “Nah, yeah, they ain’t dead. Sisters went down the skirt pipe. Brothers joined the Bronzes.”

Plight is not a competition, I guess. We all fight our own wars. “I’m sorry to hear it. What’s the skirt pipe?”

She glanced over at me like I was silly. “My, you’re green, yeah? And pretty. No wonder. Y’know.” She rolled her wrist, losing her words. “The, erm, the night-maids. The wench girls without clothes we see some nights on the corners. Showin’ their tits and cunts to anyone who’ll look, yeah?”

Ah. “The prostitutes.”

She snapped her fingers and pointed at me. “There you have it.”

Her story depressed me. I’d started to feel a sense of camaraderie and talkativeness I hadn’t in weeks, and now I saw why it was better to just keep my mouth shut and stay despondent.

I was curious, though. “And your brothers? They became lawmen?”

Jinneth cackled, throwing her head back. “Yeah, lawmen .” She rolled her eyes. “You never wonder why them Bronzes never come to bust heads at the dumping ground we call home, yeah?”

She was right. It wasn’t that the Bronzes rarely showed up . . . they never did.

“Master Dimmon gots some scheme going with ‘em. An agreement, yeah? Keeps them away outta our pockets.”

Interesting. Seemed Dimmon Plank had some pull and influence around the Nuhav underground.

“It’s a good thing, yeah?” Jinneth said. “If they looked at us too hard, they’d find a whole lots they don’t wanna see, yeah?” She nodded her chin down the street. “Speaking o’ cunts, look at this one waddling toward us. See the purse bulging on them wide hips? Let’s pull one on her, Sephy.”

A month after getting closer to Jinneth, she was gone.

One day, we were pulling ploys on the corner, earning well and keeping Dimmon off our backs. The next morning, she wasn’t there anymore.

What startled me most was the lack of urgency or care anyone showed this time around—the complete opposite of the reaction when we’d lost Layson. None of the Diplomats would give me a straight answer about what happened to Jinneth, everyone acting like she had simply never existed here.

I thought I was going mad. I even dragged myself over to Jeffrith to try and coax answers out of Jin’s brother. He simply scowled at me, leaving my question unanswered, and stormed off to drink alone.

That evening, I spied on him, following him to Dimmon’s hovel while keeping to the shadows.

They stood outside Dimmon’s tent. For the first time the leader of the Diplomats had a hushed, calm voice.

His large hand lightly squeezed Jeffrith’s shoulder as he spoke to him.

I had to lean forward from the crate I hid behind to hear them.

“It’s for the best, Jeffro. She wanted out.”

Jeffrith’s head whipped up to the taller man, accusation narrowing his eyes. “Did she, Dimmon? Or did you want her out?”

Quick as anything, Dimmon’s hand on Jeffrith’s shoulder lashed out and slapped him across the cheek, ending on a pointed finger at his chest. “Now, now, boy, let’s not get smart with me. She’s moving up, she fetched a good amount. Your sister’s taken care of.”

“You didn’t tell me this was going to happen, sir.” Jeffrith rubbed his red cheek. “She was the last family I had.”

Dimmon snorted. “Bullshit. You whelps breed like bunnies. Got you running all over Nuhav, stirring up trouble. Jinneth is one less troublemaker on the streets. You should see it as a good thing, Jeffro.”

I was starting to puzzle out some of their words. Jinneth was given to someone? Sold to someone? Given a new life?

It was hard to understand, so I slunk away into the shadows and returned to the fire near my tent.

Baylen sat there, alone, palms out to warm himself at the fire. I hesitated, standing behind him, and then sighed and wandered over. When I crouched next to my old friend, he grunted a nod at me.

“What are you doing here?” I asked, an edge of spite in my tone.

“Felt sorry you lost your friend. You got no one now.”

His words were hollow, drenched with sadness. It hurt to hear Bay talking like that, because I felt it was a projection of his own feelings—ever since he had scared me away.

After another sigh, I said, “Are we going to keep ignoring what happened? Stay distant like this for—”

“Yes.”

My words ended midsentence, lips parted. It took me a moment to close them. A pang of coldness wrenched me inside.

“It was the booze talking, Seph. Let’s leave it at that.”

I nodded glumly. Still no apology. “This place isn’t good for us, Bay. We need—”

“Oh, will you shut it about that?” He sneered at me. “Don’t make this about the Diplomats. What prospects do you think we have, girl? Truehearts save your sorry ass.”

He got up and stormed off.

I reeled, surprised things had turned sour so fast. Shaking my head, I put my hands out to warm them at the fire. First words we’ve spoken in a long time.

An hour later, feeling my eyes getting droopy, I went to relieve myself in the pissing alley near the dumping grounds. Dimmon didn’t want us “shitting where we ate,” so to speak, which I found ironic considering other people’s sewage completely surrounded our base.

After finishing my business, I rose from a crouch and pulled my pants up. They were getting too small at the waist for my widening hips, and I needed to steal some new ones soon.

As I turned to exit the alley, shadows fell over me, silhouetted against the moonlight behind them.

It was Jeffrith and two of his goons from Third Crew—Taclo and a boy named Koylen. Boys who went everywhere with him.

Jeffrith had a bottle of sour-brown in his hands—some piss-booze we stole from deliverers on their routes through southern Nuhav.

He wobbled where he stood, staring down his nose at me. I couldn’t see his eyes from the moon’s shadow cast over him.

A chill crept up my spine. “Jeffrith? What is it?”

Jeffrith said nothing. He continued staring, swaying.

The moment grew awkward. A cool breeze swept through the alley, blowing dirt and grime around my feet.

Taclo said, “He just lost his sister, Seph.”

I blinked at the boy. “And I lost a friend. What of it?”

The other boy standing to Jeffrith’s left, Koylen, patted Jeffrith’s shoulder and smiled at me. “Don’t you think he’s handsome, girl? You should.”

I ground my teeth together. “I don’t.”