“You’re back early.”

Amon sighed as she leaned against the bar counter. A few regulars she ran into on the train had followed her back to the inn. No doubt to ensure she either came clean to Faraldin or, if not, that they reported her treachery.

Faraldin glanced between them and her as he cleaned a glass, only needing to raise an eyebrow to prompt her to spill everything.

“Farran was killed by the Kratises Brothers for his betrayal, as was his family.” She pulled the coin purse she took from his safety deposit box and placed it on the counter.

He clicked his tongue. “Never a smart idea to turn out one deal for another. Hard to find out what the true consequences will end up being.”

Still, he took the coin purse away, not bothering to check the amounts, and instead pocketed it.

“What else?”

Amon glanced around the inn, a bit wary that perhaps some Wanderers snuck in with the usual crowds. They were a quick and efficient lot, some trained by her brother.

She leaned closer to the innkeeper, whispering, “Some of the Wanderers found me out. I lost them, I think. But they know to look out for this face.”

Faraldin’s hand shook a bit, and he almost dropped the glass. But with an almost unnatural swiftness he recovered himself.

Closing his eyes, he sucked in a deep breath, letting it out in a slow huff before motioning for her to follow him to the back where the kitchens were. 

“Where’s Cook?” Amon asked, noting the absence of the scraggly man who cooked the best meals she had eaten in decades.

“Gave him a break ‘cause it’s his husband’s birthday. Now, look,” Faraldin placed a hand on her shoulder and leaned down so they were eye to eye, “tell me exactly what happened.”

And Amon did. She told him about the package and the attack that happened as she was leaving, of how the Wanderers saved her ass and insisted they bring her to the rail station, and then of how she lied—a lie that they caught on to.

Faraldin’s expression hardened the further along she got in her explanation. Several times, he requested she run through the scenario, even returning to some of the most minute details of the conversation the two brothers had during their work. He also asked if she noticed anyone odd following her on the way back from the rail station, which she was certain was no one besides the patrons.

“But we can just change my glamour again, right?”

He shook his head. Her stomach dropped.

“No, they’re aware of your presence and perhaps know who you are. At the very least, you’re on their radar as a person of interest.”

Amon’s mind slipped back to what she had heard before about herself.

“Faraldin, if they think I’m the one who summoned the Shadowfaen… there’s no more hope up here for me, is there?” Her voice cracked towards the end, her eyes burning as she realized it wasn’t a question worth asking. 

She already knew the answer.

Faraldin shook his head. “I’ll think of something. Just… stay low and keep to waitressing. No outside jobs for now, yeah?”

Amon nodded. Yes, that would be good. She would rather not worry, and if anyone could solve the mystery of how to remain a ghost in this city, it would be the Sky’s greatest fixer.

He walked past her and resumed his position at the bar, continuing to clean glasses and whistle a short tune.

Amon followed his lead and turned to do what she knew best—and which helped her empty her mind of any thoughts: waiting tables. Few patrons sat in the tavern, however. Hence, she found herself less busy than usual, which meant her mind did exactly what she hoped to avoid—wandering off into places she would rather it did not.

For one, she wondered how the corporation was handling their lost signals. Did they know what Deimos had done? Did they care? Were they at all working on getting her SAM functional again? Just how long would she be stranded here.

Second, Perci’s thoughts brought her back to Meren and Seren. Back then, before her brother’s crimes, the two never knew the full extent of her family’s history. But now they did. They must have hated her now, especially Seren, knowing that her ancestors brought the Shadowfaen beyond the Val and caused all of the chaos that followed. Did they search for her to guarantee her end by their hand? A way to get revenge in place of her brother?

Third… something seemed to pass over Faraldin—a heaviness that weighed his shoulders down even as he conversed with his patrons, a grin on his face. She first noticed it upon their return that morning, after he found out about the two Wanderer brothers.

Once the few tables she managed closed out, she headed up to her rooms, hoping to get some sleep.

***

Several hours passed with Amon staring at her ceiling. She couldn’t even claim to be tired, as her muscles buzzed with anticipation, with an urge that had always remained at the edge of her mind since she first entered Kuvash.

The need to run away.

She sat up from bed, a long sigh leaving her as she stared at her clasped hands. Would it be worth it? It would just leave her in the same position, perhaps worse off, without Faraldin at her side. And if anything happened to her, the Promise would activate…

I don’t want him to die because of me.

The sentiment frightened her. Why did she care about a random man, a criminal? He perhaps killed just as many people as her brother did, maybe more, on top of ruining livelihoods for the sake of some coin.

Her left hand warmed. She narrowed her eyes. 

This damned Promise…

She gritted her teeth and looked out the window of her room. 

The moon shined bright in the sky, providing a ghostly glow to the people below who milled throughout the streets. In conjunction with the Guardians, who typically lined the sidewalks, Wanderers also stood. Not nearly in the same number, but enough that people avoided them as they passed—causing more traffic in the middle of the street as people congregated from either side.

Her mind wandered to Androsa, to the shop with many curiosities. How did she get all those items without using the Valkyr? Did she have a smuggler? Maybe someone who could help Amon escape the Skies…

Before Amon realized what she was doing, she grabbed her cloak and slid into the hallway. She walked carefully, aware of the floorboards that may have alerted the other workers to her presence. She didn’t need Faraldin seeing her breaking her vow—he would perhaps lock her up otherwise.

Lifting the window at the end of the hallway, she sucked in a deep breath. A part of her wondered if she should turn back and wait for Faraldin to come up with something.

Just a night. One night and see where it leads. Then I’ll make a decision.

She slipped out the window and onto the fire escape, quickly descending and blending in with the crowd as she headed down to Gloom Avenue.

***

Despite the crowds lining the streets, Androsa’s shop once again possessed no customers. 

The bell dinged above Amon, who found the shop looking exactly as it did before. Dust particles and all.

“Androsa?” Amon called out, walking further into the shop.

Something about the stillness unnerved her. At the counter, she found a cup of tea—its herbal scent Amon recognized as green tea. But no steam rose from it, and a dip of her finger confirmed its coldness.

Footsteps creaked from behind the curtain. But they sounded faint, almost hesitant.

Amon used her Sight. The entire shop was covered in glistening reds and oranges. A warning only she could see.

The hairs on the back of Amon’s neck raised. She walked behind the counter, reaching for one of the numerous weapons underneath. Glancing down, she noted her reflection in the curved kukri blade.

The Gods seem to be on my side, she thought as she approached the curtain. She pestered her brother for months to train her in combat, yet her family shot the idea down and told her to focus on learning the ways of court. She instead skipped her lessons to mirror his movements as he went through his training sessions, and the kukri was one of the weapons she found herself most adept at.

Her heart ached as she recalled how her brother caught her and, instead of turning her in, assisted her in training on the down low.

She tightened her grasp on the kukri’s handle and passed through the curtain.

Only to find Androsa on the other side, hunched over with one hand on a shelf and another on a gash in her abdomen.

“Androsa!” Amon dropped the blade and rushed forward to the woman, who startled and fell to the ground.

But Amon caught her, lowering her gently.

“What happened?” Amon asked, pressing her hands over Androsa’s wrinkly and frail ones.

“Of course, you would be the one to find me,” the shopkeeper shook her head. Amon’s brow furrowed at her wistful tone. “The cycle completes, and thus, another must begin. That’s the principle that guided us for so long. That is what He teaches.”

“I’ll get a Guardian. You need a healer.” Amon stood but was yanked down by Androsa with more strength than she thought the old woman would still have.

“No,” Androsa grunted. “No, this is necessary.”

Amon’s mouth fell open. She couldn’t possibly mean…?

“No death is necessary,” Amon said. “Especially those which can be prevented.”

“If I die now, it will mean something. It won’t make sense now, but in the future, you will understand. When you have seen countless deaths, you will realize that every death means something. Why else would Piho exist?” 

Amon grits her teeth. No, living meant something. Why couldn’t Androsa see as much?

Androsa leaned her head forward until it brushed against Amon’s. “You came here to ask for a favor, didn’t you? A way to go to the Surface?”

“How did you—”

“A little bird, you could say.” 

But the only person who knows is Faraldin, and he would have stopped me from leaving… right?

“To get through the Gates nowadays, you need a Gate Key from the Wanderers. That’s all I can tell you.”

A knock sounded on the outside door. “Androsa Ivermenta?” Someone called.

Androsa tightened her grip on Amon’s hands before letting them go, reaching for a knife from a pocket in her skirt.

“The Wanderers have been asking questions about you all throughout the city. It’s only a matter of time.”

Amon’s eyes widened as Androsa brought the knife to her neck.

“Then tell them a lie. Don’t die for my sake.”

Androsa only sent her a wry smile. “One of the greatest gifts the Gods can give us is a choice in how we die.”

And with a careful and practiced slash, Androsa brought the knife from one side of her neck to the other. Amon winced, but no blood was lost.

Another knock on the door. “Ms. Ivermenta?”

Amon’s hands shook at the voice. The very same one that called out to her when the dignitary was killed. He wouldn’t be able to recognize her, but… 

She looked at the scene around her, at the kukri in her hand.

Amon needed to run.

The door burst open. “Check the shop and behind the curtain. See where she is.”

Amon looked at the many windows lining the back of the shop. It would be messy and would definitely lead to a chase, but it was her only hope.

Footsteps approached the curtain.

In a few quick steps she was at one of the windows. 

“What the—”

She smashed it open with the kukri.

“Hey!”

She jumped.

A pair of fingers barely grazed her hand, a spark running across her skin as she landed only a few feet below. Her knees ached at the impact, but she began running, joining the crowd and allowing herself to blend in until even she, too, believed that she was just enjoying a regular night out.

No… that couldn’t be right. Not with what she had just seen. Her hands slightly shook to the point that she hid them in her pockets. It wasn’t the first time she had seen someone get killed in the line of duty. Then why—

She wasn’t a soldier like us, her mind reminded her. She wasn’t assigned this harsh life; she wasn’t taught to fight. She chose to do so because of who she believes you to be.

And that’s the worst part. Just who was she? It’s a question Amon had been avoiding for months now. Her body reacted like her true one, armed with the same deadly skills. But her mind… it was so fractured between the life she had lived and the one she had overtaken. It was not her first time taking on someone else’s identity when entering a new world, but… never did the memories and emotions of the previous consciousness invade her so.

When the opportunity arose, she needed to seek someone to help her.