"I was twelve and he was eleven. We had met in London when we happened to be put in the same orphanage. My parents dumped me there when I was young and Peter's parents decided they didn't want him anymore and cast him off. It was a horrible time for the both of us."

     "It was nice for a while. We understood what the other was going through when no one else did. Problem was, we both hated the orphanage. The other kids were mean and no one wanted to adopt older kids."

     "We devised many escapes, many plans to get out of there. None of them ever worked and we were always caught but we were desperate. Finally, one day we did it."

"How?" Ambrosio asked eagerly.

I smiled. "Let's just say, a little fairy helped us."

[Eight years ago]

     I shovelled things into my leather duffel bag. There wasn't much; a few outfits, some cash we had stolen from one of the mother's purses, a flashlight, an old blanket and my father's compass. The only thing I had of his that he had given to me. Back when he loved me.

     "What if we get caught again?" I hissed quietly. "I can't keep doing this, Peter."

     An eleven-year old Peter turned to me with a serious expression. His brown hair was messy and his clothes were wrinkled but he was determined.

     "I can't stay here another minute James. I hate it here and so do you. I feel like this will be the one. Are you coming with me or not?"

     Before I could answer, a flashlight shone in my face. "You guys are leaving?"

     Panicking, I went to tackle the person when I noticed who it was. "Michael?" I asked "What the hell are you doing? You're gonna get us caught!"

     Michael was a thirteen-year old round boy who had been at the orphanage since birth. His mother had left him there only days after he was born and they had never been able to locate her for records. He was weird too; no friends and he rarely spoke to the others during the day. It was like he wanted to be disliked.

     "So, you're really doing it then? You're really leaving?" He asked in shock.

     Peter crossed his arms over his chest challengingly. "You gonna stop us?"

     Michael looked surprised at the animosity. "What? No! I don't want any trouble, honestly." He added when Peter glared at him. "What route are you taking?"

     "Through the kitchens." Peter smiled smugly, proud of his work. "We're gonna sneak out the cellar door."

     Michael shook his head. "No, that'll never work. Trust me, I've tried." He ignored my shocked face.

     He gestured with his flashlight. "You know the painting in the library? The one with the fairy dancing in the meadow?"

"Yeah." I answered thoughtfully.

     Michael nodded. "There's a secret tunnel behind it that leads to the back alleyway. You'll be safe on that route. The library's nowhere near the caretaker's rooms."

"Michael," I breathed "How do you know that?"

     "You're not the only one who hates it here." Michael smiled sadly. "Someday, I'm gonna get out of here too."

     Peter isn't convinced. "How do we know you're not just leading us into a trap. What if the tunnel leads to another section in the house?"

     "This building was built in the early seventeenth century," Michael explains "Secret tunnels were built in order to make quick escapes if need be such as a fire or a robbery."

     Believing him, I placed a hand on his shoulder. "Thankyou Michael. Maybe one day we'll see each other again."

     Michael nodded sadly. "Maybe. Now go before the night guard comes around!"

     We didn't need to be told twice. Throwing our bags over our shoulders and checking the hall carefully, Peter and I make a run for it.

     Like Michael said, the library is on the other side of the orphanage so we didn't have to creep past the adult's rooms. We did however have to avoid the ones on night patrol.

     Slipping into the library just as a guard came around the corner, Peter and I ran to the painting on the far side of the library. It depicted a blue fairy dancing in a meadow; it really was a nice painting.

     "He lied to us! I knew it!" Peter cries as he tries to wrench the painting from the wall. "That lying son of a-"

     "Peter! Look!" I grab hold of the latch on the side of the painting and release it. With a small click, the painting opens to reveal a small tunnel entrance, only big enough for one person to enter through at a time.

     "Wait!" I cry as Peter starts climbing in and he turns around. "What's the matter?"

     "Are we sure about this?" I ask fearfully "I mean, that's the world out there Peter! There's no turning back now. We're only kids still!"

     "I'd rather be a kid out in the world without an adult than a parent who dumps their child on the doorstep of an orphanage because they don't want them anymore."

     I can tell I've struck home as Peter never talks about his parents. But I couldn't forget all the night we had spent under the covers with a flashlight imagining a world where our parents were different. Where they loved us. He was completely serious and was waiting for me. I couldn't let him down. I wouldn't.

     He extends his hand to me. "This is our chance James. We can live properly without hopelessly praying that someday someone will choose to adopt us! Now, are you coming or not?"

     Our quiet shouting must've been heard because footsteps echoed towards the door of the library and Peter started to panic.

"James come on!" He cried.

     Seizing his hand, I allowed him to pull me through the tunnel entrance just as the footsteps reached the door. Turning back hastily, I swung the painting back in place and we ran and never looked back.

     "Where'd you run to?" Ambrosio asked and snapped me out of my reminiscence. I hadn't told that story to anyone ever, not even my crew. It had been so long. It felt like a whole different life and in many ways, it was.

"Huh?" I say, coming back to reality.

     "You were two kids on the run in London. Surely someone would've recognized you so, where'd you run to?" Ambrosio repeats.

     "We didn't get far." I continued and Ambrosio's jaw dropped. "You got caught?

I chuckled. "Not exactly."

     Peter and I had been on the run for three days now. Our food supply was running low so we had to steal small things from the markets when we could. We slept in the doorways of buildings or in alleyways. We kept our faces hidden in our ratty coats and moved like cats through the city. We thought we were safe.

     For a while we were. We lasted about a week on the open streets. It was one afternoon when Peter had gone to salvage what he could from the market stalls.

     I waited at our meeting place by the harbour, watching the ships come in. I breathed in the salt and smell of the ocean; I loved it. I had always wanted to sail the seas but I knew I would never get the chance to. People like me didn't get to do things like that.

     It was the sound of a horn that jolted me out of my daydream. It wasn't the kind of sound that was announcing the arrival of royalty or the kind that was signalling a ship on the sea. This was an alarm and that could only mean one thing.

"James!"

     I turned at the call of my name and saw Peter running towards me with a look of trepidation on his face. Apples and sweet treats were tumbling out of his bag as he ran.

     I didn't get the chance to ask him what was wrong for as soon as he reached me he grabbed my hand and pulled me into the heist.

     "What's going on? What happened?" I shouted over the noise.

     "They're coming after us!" Peter cried, his eyes wide with panic.

"Who?"

     Peter puffed out the words in intervals as we ran. "One of the stall owners caught me. She was screaming her head off and before I knew what was happening, guards were running at me from all corners!"

     Turning my head slightly, I let out a yelp when I see all the uniform-clad men running through the market square towards the harbour. The sound I made only pushed us to run faster.

     Before long, we're running on a pier between the stationary boats. I cry to Peter when I notice it's a dead end, "Where now?"

     "This way!" He pulls me to the left and we run down another bridge and weave our way through the boats parked in the water.

     "Peter!" I call "It's a dock! There's no way off it but the way we came!"

     For the first time since I had met him I saw a look of complete and utter despair cross my friend's face. He was unsure of what to do which made me uneasy.

     But then his normally-determined expression came over his face once again and he grabbed my hand. "Do you trust me?" He asked.

"What? Peter I- "

"Do you trust me?" He half-shouted.

"Yes."

"Then take a deep breath."

"What? I don't understand-"

"Take a deep breath!"

     I do so and without any warning, Peter jumps off the dock, pulling me with him. I only have a second to register what was happening and actually take a breath before the ocean consumes us in one big swallow.