Three days later, Vincent sat in the shared kitchen of his dormitory building, waiting for his meat and potatoes to roast over the fire. He’d waited for everyone else to finish cooking before he stepped foot in the room. The calm was easier for him. After a shift had finished, the building was far too chaotic for him.

Charlotte kept both dormitory buildings well stocked with fresh food. It had been a long time since he hadn’t had to worry about food being rotten. Whatever he pulled out of the dormitory’s storeroom was fresher than anything he had eaten in months, rich in a way that only posh people could afford. Part of it made him sneer, but if he was going to be in New Feridian, then he was going to take anything he could, that included food.

It was hard to steal anything else if he was being completely honest. Henricks hadn’t been lying when he said everything was guarded and hidden away. The only thing that he might be able to grab would be the silverware from the manor’s kitchen. If Charlotte had jewellery, it was hidden somewhere so that people like him wouldn’t find it easily. It wouldn’t be that hard to sneak around in the middle of the night and fight it, but it was also a matter of taking something that wouldn’t be noticed. Silverware was the easiest to grab.

The silence he waited in was peaceful. Most of the time, working at the manor had been busy and loud. He’d only watched over the Governor one other time in the last few days and it had been his quietest, standing outside of rooms with another guard who didn’t bother speaking. It was easier than dealing with Spencer, who, as far as he was aware, didn’t shut up no matter who he was talking to.

Somehow, patrolling the perimeter of the manor was louder. There was always someone yelling to him, always shipments coming into the manor that he had to deal with. Add that to the noise of the city, the ocean, and the dock houses behind the dormitories, and he was going back to his room each night with a headache.

A yawn made him jump and hit his hand on the corner of the kitchen bench. “Sorry!” an unfamiliar voice said. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”

He didn’t recognise her face, not that he had bothered to talk to any of the other guards he worked with, except Spencer, who forced conversations upon him. Whoever she was, she was pretty, all messy blonde hair and big brown eyes. He waved her away, ignoring the sting in his hand. If he didn’t say anything, then there’d be no need for a conversation.

“I don’t think we’ve met before,” the woman said and Vincent bit back a sigh. She stuck out a hand to him, a smile on her chapped lips. “I’m Mira.”

The least he could do was be polite. He grabbed her hand and flashed a small smile back. “Vincent,” he said, forcing his voice deeper. It didn’t stop the strange look that washed over her face, over all the faces of all the people he had ever met, but she didn’t question it.

“I’m assuming you guard the manor?” she asked, watching as he stood and made his way over to his dinner. It was just about done. The faster he ate, the faster he could get away from talking to people.

He dumped his food onto a plate and sat at the polished dining table that had been haphazardly dumped at the edge of the kitchen. “I do,” he said, eyeing the fork in his hand. It was made from cheaper silver, but still worth more than what he usually used. If he was clever, he could take it and no one would know.

Mira ran a hand through her messy hair in an attempt to straighten it out. It looked like she had just woken up, even though it was already dark. “That’d be why we haven’t met yet,” she said as she dug through the cupboards. “I’m usually working the night shift on the outskirts of the city.”

“What for?” he asked before he could stop himself.

“Trying to find those damn tribes. Someone has to, I suppose, but the hours are terrible,” she replied, smiling again.

For a moment, he was reminded of the conversation he’d had with Spencer three days ago, but he didn’t know why. They’d spoken last time they’d worked together, but it had been nothing like their usual conversations. There’d been no teasing, no laughter, no smiles, just bored professionalism. It was strange.

He didn’t reply, didn’t know how to. Conversations were never something he had been good at. Instead, he shoved food in his mouth and listened as Mira scrounged something up for herself. He half expected to leave again as soon as she was done, but wasn’t surprised when she sat down across from him.

“So… Where were you working before all this?” she asked. He had no idea why she bothering, it wasn’t as if he had been the most engaging of people so far.

“I wasn’t,” he answered and shoved a piece of potato in his mouth.

She frowned at him for a second before her eyes lit in curiosity. “Are you one of the bushrangers they had to hire?” she asked, eyes brightening again when he nodded. “I’ve been wondering where the rest of you were. I’ve only met one other and she really didn’t like to talk.”

It wasn’t hard to tell that she was about to ask all sorts of questions about his life, but he wasn’t in the mood to answer. “What’s it like out there?” he asked instead. He could have easily stood up and left without saying a word, but he didn’t think of that until the words were already out of his mouth.

“Looking for the natives? It’s surprisingly quiet,” she answered. “They cleared out the trees around New Feridian when the first ships arrived, so there aren’t many places to hide. But we still haven’t found them.”

His eyebrows furrowed, lips parted in confusion. He would have thought it would be easy to find them, but perhaps they had run off the moment the attack was over. “They could already be gone,” he supplied with a shrug.

“It would be odd though. The attacks, they’re like a start, like recon and threats,” she replied, drumming her fingers against the edge of the table. “Then again, they also don’t fight like us. Who knows. If they’re gone, then good. But I haven’t seen a single sign of them being here in the first place. I guess they just pack up quickly. They are nomadic after all.”

Mira frowned, as if realising she was saying far too much to someone she didn’t know. Vincent’s food was nearly done and while the conversation was interesting, it still wasn’t something he wanted to continue. His head was pounding still and he was exhausted, it would be enough of an excuse to get out of there.

But she was still talking. “Sorry, I really shouldn’t be dumping all of this on you, we just met. It’s not the most relaxing of jobs,” she said with a tinkling laugh. She glanced out the window at the darkened sky when Vincent waved her away again. “I should probably get going though, or I’m going to be late. It was nice to meet you, Vincent.”

“Yeah, you too,” he muttered, watching her disappear from the kitchen in a blur. She seemed polite, if a bit too chatty for his tastes, but he doubted he’d see much of her in the coming weeks, not if she was working elsewhere in the city.

His conversation with Spencer rang in his mind again, specifically the part about finding answers. He hadn’t been interested in finding them three days ago, not when it wasn’t any of his business, but there was a part of him that was curious. If he got the chance, he could tell Spencer about what Mira had said, but he wasn’t going to bother figuring things out for himself. Get the gold and go, that was what he needed to do.

Finally, the room was silent again, most of the other guards were either working or in bed. For a moment, he wondered where Spencer was and immediately pushed the thought away. He shouldn’t get so caught up on what he was doing, not when he’d been so ready to leave him behind. What he was even doing in New Feridian, Vincent had no idea. It was the last place someone like Spencer should be.

With a shake of his head, Vincent ate the last of his food, dumped the plate in the sink and stashed the fork in his pocket. It wouldn’t get him much but it was still worth something. There was no way he was leaving the Governor’s manor without something more than a pouch of gold. It would just take time.

The room he’d been given sat at the end of one of the dormitory’s many halls, tiny and quiet. He liked it, which came as a surprise. Anything was better than sleeping on the prickly grass in summer, but the wrongness of it all lingered in the air. It wasn’t where he was supposed to be. The outside world called to him, his poor horse called to him, but he’d never make it out there if he didn’t have money.

His black coat hung from the bedpost, dust already gathering on the shoulders. He missed wearing it, missed riding through the trees on the back of Sparks, the wind making it flap behind him. The grey uniform he wore was itchy and uncomfortable and within seconds, he’d thrown it onto the floor.

He let out a sigh and lay back on the bed, staring at the small crack in the ceiling above him. It had been a long time since he had been able to stay in a room for more than a night. Most of the time, he’d snuck into someone’s home, slept for a few hours and left. Staying in the dormitory almost felt like he was living there. He wasn’t ready to settle down just yet, especially not in New Feridian.

The last time he’d stayed in a place for so long had been when he’d met Spencer when he was only thirteen. He’d been desperate, sick with the flu and Spencer had snuck him into a house he had said was his. If it actually was, Vincent never found out, but being so sick, he didn’t dare argue.

He’d been given soup and blankets and a book to read. After six years, he had no idea why Spencer had done it, but he’d kept the book until it eventually became a tattered mess. It had become a favourite. He’d never tell Spencer that; the man didn’t deserve to know how important it had once been to him.

If only he could read it again. It had been a childish book, even he had known that at the time, but sick and stuck in a bed in someone’s attic, there wasn’t much else he could do. It told the story of a pirate rescuing mermaids and stealing treasure. He’d loved it. He had tried to find another copy after it fell apart, but it was impossible to find.

Maybe one day he would be able to sneak aboard a ship to Nuran, where life was better, and find a copy of the book somewhere. But Nuran was a distant dream that all those in Ilsania were encouraged to give up. There was no going back, not even for those who had been born there, who weren’t criminals and poor people shipped over so they could be ignored. He was stuck there, but he would allow himself to daydream about something better whenever he could.

He could have gotten lost in his daydreams if it weren’t for the noises coming from outside his window. It was dark out, the sun had set long ago, but he could still hear twigs snapping below the one eucalyptus tree they had out the back. With a frown, Vincent crawled across the bed to the tiny window, peaking through the thin curtains.

It took a moment for his eyes to adjust to the dark as he scoured the small courtyard between his building and the rows of dock houses beyond. With the clouds covering the moon, he also missed the figure darting across the window of one of the dock houses. Tall and lanky, with hair cut close to the skin, he knew immediately who it was. Spencer.