Ishtal’s reaction was immediate and instinctive.

Not for nothing had she been trained day after day since she was remotely old enough for it. She twisted her body suddenly, wrenching out of the man’s grip, and swiped backwards as he tried to grab her again. Her unsheathed claws caught his flesh, and the scent of blood hit the air a split second before his pained yelp did. She didn’t pause to take in any more details than that, breaking into a sprint that would hopefully take her far away from this idiot. She hadn’t stolen anything, hadn’t even been thinking about it—

One foot hit a particularly slippery patch of muddy street at just the wrong angle, and she skidded helplessly before sprawling on her back. As she hit the ground, a coin pouch that she knew wasn’t hers slid out of her pocket.

Ishtal cringed, her ears flicking back. She’d done it again, stolen without thinking. It must have happened as they squeezed through that narrow part of the street. She hadn’t even been able to go an entire day in this city without disaster striking.

“I’m sorry!” she blurted out. “I didn’t mean to do it, I swear, this just happens sometimes, please just take it and go!”

The burly man bent over her, his mouth a thin flat line. He seemed singularly ugly to her in that moment, dimly illuminated by the light spilling from nearby windows, with his only real hair being the stuff on his scalp and in that short beard, the same color as the mud she was now smeared with, and his eyes like a murky pond. Still, he was both large and heavily armed, and she had ticked him off, and those were really the only things she should be considering.

He reached down and scooped up the coin purse, then stretched out his free hand. “Come on,” he said gruffly. “Mr. Trippingly wants to meet you.”

The name was so odd and unthreatening that Ishtal took his hand and pulled herself to her feet without thinking. The human kept a firm but not punishing grip on her, leading her back the way she had come until they reached the strange goblin-like person whom she’d presumably pickpocketed. Strangely, he didn’t seem angry, although it was difficult to tell on his misshapen face. He beckoned for them to come closer, little yellow eyes peering at her and barely glancing at the coin purse the human dropped into his hand.

“Thank you, Kosef,” he said, his voice a little raspy and with an unexpected halfling accent, but otherwise startlingly normal. “Now who is this? You must be new in town.”

“I don’t see how that’s any of your business,” Ishtal said tightly.

“As a matter of fact, my business is nothing else,” he retorted. “But it appears that you’re a touch uninformed, so allow me to introduce myself. I am Mr. Trippingly, and I co-lead the Green Dragon Gang, one of the two major crime syndicates in Lozhapad.”

Ishtal felt ice shoot up her spine. The guardian reports had talked about this, too: professional criminals who did whatever they wanted and showed no mercy to those who crossed them.

“Now, now, there’s no need to look like that. I’m just trying to find out whether you’re part of the disorganized crime here or not.”

“I certainly am not!” Ishtal snapped. “I might have some—some unfortunate habits, but I’m not a criminal. I came here to better myself; this was just a, a slip, and it won’t happen again.”

“Oh, no, you misunderstand me,” Mr. Trippingly cut in. “I don’t mean to censure you, far from it! I simply wanted to get my money back—it can’t be helped, we only have so much of it to go around—and congratulate you on your skill. You wouldn’t happen to be looking for a job, by any chance?”

Ishtal froze. She’d never heard of a People that could read one’s mind, but then again, she wasn’t sure precisely what he was, either. “Even if I were, I wouldn’t take one from you,” she bit off. “I’m not a bizarra thief.”

“There’s no call to be rude,” the human, Kosef, rumbled.

“You have the skills to be quite a good one, though,” Mr. Trippingly continued, unperturbed, “and I mean that as a compliment. I didn’t even notice you had taken my purse for nearly a minute, and I can assure you I pay attention to these things. And with your speed and nimbleness, I would wager you’d be nothing to sneeze at as a burglar. You wouldn’t have to do violence to anyone, if that’s what troubles you.”

Ishtal’s pulse was beating loudly in her own ears. This had to be a nightmare, or perhaps some sick cosmic joke. The one job offer she’d had in the whole miserable day, and it was an offer to do the thing that had cost her her home, that she had sworn to never do again.

Although, considering how she’d ended up in this conversation, she might not be doing so well at maintaining that vow.

“Why would you want to hire someone who just stole from you?” she said hoarsely, instead of any of the denials and rejections that should have come pouring forth.

“Because,” Mr. Trippingly shrugged, “I can’t abide waste, especially when it comes to people and their talents, and letting skills like yours never be developed would be a waste of the worst kind.”

That was…frankly a little staggering to hear. Ishtal felt like surreptitiously checking to make sure the world was still the right way up. No one had ever referred to her stealing as anything good before. Granted, he was entirely wrong to say so…but that didn’t keep a tiny, squashed part of her from briefly basking in the praise.

“You’d be paid well, if that’s a sticking point,” Mr. Trippingly went on, seemingly oblivious to her inner turmoil. “A flat monthly stipend, plus a percentage of the profit from each of your takes. And you’d be paid while you learn, though I shouldn’t expect that to be much time at all—our lead burglar doesn’t really know the meaning of a slow pace.”

The pay wasn’t her sticking point at all, and yet Ishtal found herself unexpectedly tempted. A week ago, she wouldn’t have cared one way or another about coin. Now, it represented the means to survive in a world where that was proving an unexpectedly difficult task.

Kosef leaned in close to her ear. “Look,” he muttered. “Let me make this simple for you. From what I can tell, you’re going to be stealing stuff no matter what. It doesn’t seem like you can help it. So why don’t you make things easier on yourself and agree to get paid for it so we can all get in where it’s warm for the night?”

Ishtal restrained herself, barely, from hissing at him, even as his words seemed to sink into her bones. Clearly, he was right that her wandering fingers couldn’t be stopped, not for long. She would end up going wrong whether she took the offer or not. She had no other options, no reason to believe tomorrow would offer any better results than today had. And she was hungry and tired and covered in mud, and there was a very easy way, standing right in front of her, for all that to be solved.

And who was she fooling? Nobody back at home would ever know anything about what she did or didn’t do, anyway. They wouldn’t know or care whether she took up professional crime or starved in an alley.

“Very well,” she said, so quietly even she could barely hear it. “I’ll take the job.”

“Excellent!” Mr. Trippingly grinned. “Now, forgive me, but may I assume that you are currently without a place to stay?”

“…yes,” Ishtal admitted.

“Not to worry, not to worry. I know someone we can arrange with, at least until you get on your feet. Come along, then!”

And with a cheerful gesture, he turned and started off down the narrow street, and Ishtal followed, feeling Kosef’s solid presence behind her.

What have I just done?