Mart hadn’t planned on helping. Aravin had known that from the start, though he’d hoped, for Alyss’s sake, that he was wrong. Love was unpredictable — only now it seemed that love had grown cold. It was hard to look at his best friend. The harsh lines of his face, the emptiness in his eyes… Aravin’s heart had endured a lot when it came to Mart, but this tight, clenching ache was worse than any of the unwanted feelings he’d carried in the past. Feelings Mart clearly had no idea about. Ever since their souls had been so suddenly entwined, Aravin had feared Mart might pick up on them, feared it would damage their bond. And in a way, it had — Mart had apparently spent years believing Aravin was after his girlfriend.

"What do we do now?" Aravin glanced sideways.

Alyss had come to stand beside him, leaning back against the doubleplane. Her eyes were fixed on Mart, who still sat on the giant pipe, staring blankly ahead. She sighed. "Maybe I was too soon. Maybe he needs time to process."

"He spent five years in isolation and feels betrayed by the only two people he trusted. Oh, and he just found out he might be the last survivor of a bloodthirsty race. By the time he’s processed all that, there won’t be much left of the Golden Heart."

She bit her lip. "Can’t we make him forget everything?"

"Do you think he wants that?"

She looked down. "No. But it’s... it’s for the sake of humanity."

"I’m not injecting him with anything against his will," he snapped. "And it’s not going to calm him down. If anything, it’ll make him more volatile."

Alyss rubbed her face. Smudges of dark kohl streaked her cheeks. "You’re right."

A group of children entered the yard. A redheaded girl led the way, her arms sweeping through the air as she gave instructions Aravin couldn’t hear from here. At first, he thought they were going to scavenge the junk heap for usable parts. But instead, they started building two forts and began yelling at each other like sudden enemies.

They’re playing. Just like we used to.

They hadn’t noticed his flying machine among the rubble, but one of them pointed it out, and soon eight grimy little faces were peering curiously their way. Excited chatter broke out, but none dared approach. Out here in the outskirts, the gap between the Scions and the workers was even wider.

To Aravin’s surprise, Mart stood up and ambled toward the group. He spoke to them, and one by one their faces lit up.

"He’s promising them a ride on my doubleplane," Aravin muttered, though it didn’t bother him as much as he let on. Part of him had expected Mart to act like he didn’t exist from now on. The fact that he was trying to get under his skin almost made him smile.

"Give them something to remember," Mart said as he returned with the kids. "Because if Alyss is right, they won’t live long enough to escape their miserable lives."

Aravin held his gaze. There was a hint of life in it. The children had struck a chord, stirred up a warm memory. A fragile seed of hope began to sprout inside him.

"They didn’t do anything to you," Aravin said softly. "Maybe you can give them a way out. If you save the world..."

The warmth faded from those once-familiar green-gray eyes. "According to Alyss, the world doesn’t even believe it’s in danger. Even if I succeed — do you think anyone will thank me? Something will have to go wrong first."

Aravin bit the inside of his cheek. He had a point. "Then we let it go wrong. At least we’ll have a fallback."

Mart scoffed. Still, his eyes drifted to the children who were now cautiously touching the flying machine, chattering excitedly.

"Take them for a ride. Give them the day of their lives." With a sigh, he turned to the distant shape of the Golden Heart, hazy on the horizon. "And who knows, maybe their excitement will convince me that life is worth adding more days to."

That tiny sprout of hope grew, trembling and fragile.

Aravin nodded, though Mart still had his eyes on the bright light. Aravin stepped toward the children. "Alright! Who wants to go for a little flight?"

A chorus of cheers rang out, and a grin tugged at his lips. He pointed at two of them. "You two first. Don’t worry — everyone will get a turn."

It was a grimy tavern where they ended up. In Tranendal, a place like this would have been shut down on the spot, even if it only served the working class. The floor and counter were sticky from the rotgut they poured here. Stacks of plates and heavy mugs were piled high, like clumsy decorations. The three ceiling lamps were flickering, as if their power source was dying — sometimes they all went out at once.

Aravin felt uneasy. It was probably worse for Alyss and Mart — neither of them had likely been anywhere this filthy before. They stood out sharply among the drab uniforms of the other patrons. Normally, he dressed down to avoid attention. Now, he wore his seven-barrel prominently on his hip, hoping it would keep scum at bay. Let people talk. The sooner Fantoom finds us, the better. He was sure the man wouldn’t be easy to track, and he hoped Fantoom would come to them.

The barkeep wordlessly set down three steaming plates of potato mush. Aravin linked his wealth-meter with the skinny man’s and paid for the meals — if this sludge even counted as food. Judging by Alyss’s pale face, she didn’t think so.

"We’re far from home, princess," he said with a grin.

She shot him a dark look, then jabbed her spoon into the slop. It stood upright. She broke off a chunk and shoved it into her mouth. Her face was unreadable, but the tightening of her jaw gave her away.

Aravin took a bite, too. He wasn’t hungry — his stomach was already filled with a leaden ball of nerves. He was probably the only idiot in the world hunting down the guy who’d robbed him. And then asking for help. Fantoom might just laugh in his face. But maybe, just maybe, he was greedy enough to work with them.

He took a gulp of what passed for beer, trying to wash out the foul taste. It wasn’t just the food. The bitterness of memory lingered. Part of him wanted to see Fantoom again for entirely different reasons. Not to shoot him in the leg, as one might expect. But because... Aravin wasn’t sure. There was something else that kept the monster-hunter in his mind.

"So now what?" Mart grumbled. "We just start asking around?"

Aravin didn’t love the idea of talking to the tavern's other patrons, most of whom were watching them with suspicion. But if he wanted Fantoom to know they were looking, he had to make it obvious. "Yeah. Maybe try those ladies over there."

They were eyeing Mart and him with a different kind of interest, clearly hoping for coin. Maybe Fanatoom was a client of theirs — though Aravin doubted it. The man probably had more refined tastes.

Mart nodded, looking relieved to get away from Aravin. He slid off his stool and headed toward them.

A little further down the bar sat a group of burly men who, if they'd been Scions, would have joined the Enforcers. Phantom probably didn’t hunt monsters alone. From what Aravin remembered, he had a regular crew, but maybe he hired muscle now and then.

Aravin hesitated. Should he approach them? That would leave Alyss alone, and he didn’t like that. He’d bet his seven-barrel someone would bother her the moment he stepped away. Maybe she should’ve gone with Mart.

He leaned toward her. I might as well ask. "I want to ask that group over there about Fantoom. But I’m worried you’ll be harassed."

She raised a brow. "You think I’ve never had to deal with creeps in Tranendal?"

"At least there they knew who you were and the trouble they’d be in. Here..."

She nudged his shoulder. "Go on. Who knows, maybe I’ll get some useful info."

He left his stool and approached the men. For a moment he considered buying them a round, but he couldn’t tell if that would go over well. They might see it as flaunting his wealth.

"Gentlemen," he said at last, letting his gaze sweep over their stony faces. "I’m looking for the monster-hunter known as Fantoom."

The nearest man raised an eyebrow. "And?"

"And I could use some help. Do any of you know where to find him?"

The man stood, grinning down at him. "And are you paying for that info?" A nauseating wave of alcohol hit Aravin’s nose. "What’s a Scion doing here? Didn’t anyone tell you that outside your cozy Tranendal, you need daddy to hold your hand when you flash your riches?"

Aravin reflexively reached for his seven-barrel, but the man wasn’t too drunk to notice. He grabbed Aravin’s arm. "Nice weapon. I’ll take it."

Before he could reach for the pistol, Aravin punched him in the face with his free hand.

Not smart. But it worked — the man stumbled back, releasing him. His buddies jumped to their feet.

Aravin’s eyes flicked to Alyss, a few feet to his left, her hand covering her mouth in alarm.

He signaled to Mart with his eyes: Get her out. Then he drew his seven-barrel and pointed it at the advancing group.

Something hard hit the side of his head.

"No brawling in my tavern."

Pain exploded through his skull and Aravin staggered. Two sets of hands grabbed him and dragged him outside. He could barely stay on his feet.

They threw him down. He landed hard on hands and knees.

"Sort yourselves out here," came a gruff voice.

Four shadows loomed around him. He still clutched his weapon, but the daze from the blow left him slow. Someone kicked it from his grasp.

A sharp cry rang out. Alyss, probably. Mart looked more amused than concerned.

The first kick hit his ribs. The second, his back. He collapsed, eyes shut, bracing for the rest.

"Enough," a clear voice cut through the dark.

Miraculously, it worked. No more blows followed.

Aravin sat up, head pounding. A boy of about fifteen stood before him, hair glowing with every color of the rainbow — even in the dark.

Dazed, Aravin stared. Did he really stop them with one word?

The boy crouched in front of him, ignoring the brutes. "You alright?"

"Uh, yeah." Aravin shook his head, still in disbelief. "Why did they listen to you?"

The boy smiled. "Because they’re not stupid." He tilted his head, eyes twinkling, and held out a hand.

Aravin took it, brushing dirt from his clothes.

"You’re far from home," the boy observed.

"Yeah." Aravin glanced back. The men had gone inside.

Alyss hurried over, hand on his shoulder. "Are you okay?"

He nodded. "This... kind young man helped me." Kindness was rare around here. He asked, "We’re looking for Fantoom. Can you tell us where to find him?"

The boy shook his colorful head. "No. But I’ll let him know you’re looking." A sly smile. "And I bet he’ll be glad to see you."

Aravin stared. "What..."

Instead of answering, the boy held out his hand. "I’m Cami."

"Aravin..." he muttered, though something told him the boy already knew.

Cami gave him a dazzling smile, then offered his hand to Alyss — who made him blush — and to Mart, whom he studied a moment before letting go. "Nice meeting you all."

Suddenly in a hurry, he began walking backward. "See you around!"

He waved and walked off, his glowing hair fading into the night.

"That was... bizarre," Alyss murmured.

Aravin ran a hand through his hair. "Yeah..."

Something strange stirred in his gut. He spotted his seven-barrel and picked it up, wiping the dust from it.

"I’ll let him know you’re looking. And I bet he’ll be glad to see you..." The words circled his mind like a restless traveler.

"At least he seemed to know Fantoom," said Mart. "Now we wait..."