The ledge came up too fast.
Devvyn's foot clipped the edge, and for a split second, he was falling. The box thudded awkwardly under his arm, throwing off his balance. He hit the opposite roof hard, landing on his side with a grunt. The gravel tore into his palms. The box slipped from his grip and skidded toward the edge. He lunged, snatching it back just in time.
He rolled onto his back, chest heaving, heart hammering against his ribs like it wanted out. That had been too close. Way too close. He pushed himself upright and ducked behind a rusted chimney stack, still clutching the box like a lifeline. From this height, he could see down into the street again.
One of the carriages involved in the crash had finally started moving, the driver muttering curses as he snapped the reins. The horses trudged forward slowly.
But then Owwyn and Vance the Fourth appeared at the mouth of the street, still running. They didn't see the moving carriage until it was almost on top of them.
The driver shouted as he reined in the horses, stopping them from running over the two boys. The carriage jerked to a halt, barely missing them. Owwyn slammed his palm against the side in frustration, yelling something Devvyn couldn't hear. Vance the Fourth stumbled back, wide-eyed.
Devvyn didn't wait to see more.
He crouched lower behind the chimney, and he locked eyes on a long metal ladder, half-resting against the edge of the building. It appeared to have been used to repair some rooftop wiring and then forgotten. One end lay loose, angled just enough that it could reach the roof of the next building below if he gave it a push.
Devvyn crept over and shoved it.
The ladder groaned as it scraped across the ledge, then tipped over and landed on the next roof with a rattling clang.
He winced. But there was no time to worry about noise. He braced the top rung with his foot, repositioned the box under one arm, and started down fast, one hand and foot at a time.
Halfway down, he risked a glance over his shoulder, and froze.
Owwyn and Vance the Fourth were looking straight at him. Their heads snapped up in unison, eyes locking with his across the rooftop gap. Vance pointed. Owwyn shouted something and broke into a sprint, elbowing past the stalled carriage. They sprinted back to the first building.
"Ah heck," Devvyn muttered, scrambling down the last few rungs. He hit the roof below, turned, and hauled the ladder towards himself. The metal frame clattered against the ledge as he dragged it in. He was exhausted, and he figured he could save more strength using the ladder instead of scaling roofs.
But when he ran to the other side of the roof and checked the distance to the next building, his stomach sank.
It was too far.
The gap was at least twelve feet. The ladder wouldn't reach. Even with a running start and without the box in his arms, he'd never make that jump.
There were two more buildings before he could reach the alley. The sky had dimmed even more between the time he spent on the first roof and this one. Street lights were coming on but weren't of much use to him up here. Devvyn backed away from the ledge, scanning the rooftop for another option, and found one.
A hatch.
He dropped to his knees and tugged it open fully. He ducked his head inside and found a dusty attic. Anywhere was better than being cornered on the roof so he entered the attic, pulling the hatch closed behind him.
The attic was dusty and cramped, with slanted beams and cobwebs in every corner. He crouched low, ducking under a support beam, and moved toward a window tucked into the far end of the room. A ball of dust got into his nose and Devvyn sneezed, hard. Every bit of his body hurt. Frustrated tears smarted the side of his eyes. He was starting to feel pissed too. His entire day was a shitshow and it was as though he hadn't had a break since the festival.
"Mizuho, Kala, Ignisara, Terravon," he called upon the four Primordials, "help me make it home alive and I swear I'll treat my grandmother right. I'll work jobs till I can afford an Echo. I'll stay in my little corner and not get in any trouble. Promise."
He rubbed the bridge of his nose as he brushed aside a threadbare curtain and peered out. An old iron staircase zigzagged down the side of the house like a fire escape. Rusted, but intact. Relief swelled in his chest.
He turned and climbed back up through the hatch onto the roof. The faintest breeze brushed across the back of his neck, giving him goosebumps. He checked for the alley again just to be sure. From here, he'd take the straight road down, a left turn, and a final right, and then he'd take the street in the alley to the train station. He could already see the faint orange glow of a lone alley lamp flickering in the distance.
"Hey! You're dead when I catch you." He heard Vance the Fourth's voice.
Across the gap, on the previous rooftop, Vance the Fourth and Owwyn had climbed up after him. They stood scanning the rooftop. Vance was furiously pacing near the ledge, and Owwyn made a slicing gesture across his neck.
Devvyn stuck his tongue out at both of them. He dropped back down the hatch and hurried across the attic to the window. He shoved it open wider and swung a leg out onto the iron staircase. The metal creaked under his weight, but it held. He gripped the railing and began flying down the stairs two steps at a time.
As soon as his boots hit the ground, he took off. Repeating the directions to himself, "Straight down. Left turn. Final right into the alley."
He got to the end of the street winded and gasping for air. Something wet dropped on his face as he took the left turn. Devvyn looked up. A raindrop landed on his forehead. Then another, growing into a soft, steady drizzle.
"He went that way!"
Devvyn veered right into the alley. Shadows swallowed him. "Huh, I could have sworn there was light here."
He slowed down when he heard voices ahead—two of them. Low and tense. Devvyn froze for half a breath. What if it was thieves or other gang people or someone dangerous? He turned back. But then—
"Hurry up, Owwyn, you slow cow. I saw him go into the alley."
Vance.
Devvyn made a decision. He bolted deeper into the alley. His mind raced. He couldn't outrun them forever. They were too close, and if he led them straight to the train station, he'd be cornered. An idea niggled at the back of his brain, pushing through the panic. He could create a diversion.
At the mouth of the side street leading to the station, Devvyn skidded to a stop, crouched, and set the box carefully in the middle of the path. Just visible. Just enough to suggest he'd kept going that way.
Then he turned and darted deeper into the alley, looking for somewhere to hide. The lamppost finally flickered on, illuminating a small part of the alley. Devvyn saw a rusted sewer gate. It hung open, slightly crooked, like it had been disturbed recently. Water from the rain trickled along the lip of the concrete, running into the darkness below. Devvyn squinted, bits of red trailed in the water. He frowned. His stomach twisted.
Is that… blood?
But there wasn't time to think about that. He crouched, grabbed the edge, and squeezed himself through. The tunnel was narrow and damp, the air sharp with the scent of rot and metal. His boots hit the wet ground hard, splashing in something he didn't want to think about. He crouched in the shadows, breathing hard, listening.
Above him, footsteps pounded the alley. Then slowed. Then stopped.
He waited, eyes wide, heart thudding like a war drum.
Please… take the bait.
"Over here," he heard Owwyn call out. "He's going to the train station."
Devvyn let out a long, shaky sigh of relief. He leaned his head back against the stone, letting his heartbeat slow. He'd done it. He'd actually shaken them. He scooted deeper into the tunnel and rested against a wall to catch his breath when a hand grabbed his arm.
Devvyn froze.
Someone was in the tunnel with him.
He jerked violently, nearly slipping in the muck. His elbow swung out on instinct, colliding with something solid—a chest.
The figure let out a sharp, pained groan.
Devvyn scrambled to his feet, fists up, heart thundering. "Who are you?!"
A rough voice answered, tight with pain. ""I didn't mean to scare you," the man rasped. "Just… trying to die peacefully here."
In the dim tunnel, he could just make out the shape of a man hunched against the wall, one hand clutching his side, breathing hard. His silhouette was a mass of angles and shadows—gaunt and wounded.
Devvyn didn't move, didn't lower his fists. But now his eyes were adjusting—and the smell hit him too. Iron. Blood.
"You need help," Devvyn said, inching forward despite the bile rising in his throat.
"Too late for that now," the man muttered. Then his voice shifted—sharpened. Urgent. "Listen. Come closer."
Devvyn hesitated.
"Take this."
The man shoved something toward him with a trembling hand. Devvyn reached out and wrapped his fingers around it. It was slim leather book.
"What is this?" Devvyn asked.
"My name is Eamon Wynstors," the man rasped. "One of the Unbound leaders."
Devvyn's eyes widened. "What—?"
"Listen!" Eamon snapped. "That book… it contains the names Unbound devouts. People I recruited myself."
Devvyn stared at him, stunned. He looked down at the book in his hand, then back at Eamon.
"Get it… to Calder Pyrethorn," Eamon whispered. "You have to…and tell him Prisma is…"
His voice trailed off. His head sagged against the wall.
"Wait…hey. No, no, no…stay with me!" Devvyn leaned forward and shook him gently. "Come on, don't—" Devvyn's hand fell from the man's shoulder as the truth hit him.
Eamon's body had gone slack. His chest didn't rise again.
He was dead.
For a moment, Devvyn just stared, unmoving, listening to the sound of rainwater trickling down the tunnel walls. His fingers were still wrapped around the leather book. He raised it and stared at it even though he couldn't really see. A barrage of things rushed through his head. His aching muscles. He lost the box of treats. The dead man slumped beside him. Isadora building a prototype that would eventually replace his home.
"Mizuho's bloody teeth!" Devvyn shouted. His voice Echoed through the tunnel. His face twisted, and the tears came fast and ugly. His entire body shook as sobs punched their way out of his chest like fists through paper. He didn't know how long he stayed like that.
He just wanted to go home and curl up into his bed and sleep and pretend like none of this had happened.
Eventually, the sobs faded into hiccups, and he sat there, soaked to the bone, cheeks sticky with tears and grimed. He felt… hollow. Like someone had scooped him out from the inside and left nothing behind.
He had to get home before Maelis began to worry. He wiped his face on his sleeve and stood, swaying for a second before he caught his balance. His clothes were heavy and wet. His knees screamed when he crouched near the tunnel mouth and peered out.
The alley was quiet. Empty. The rain had stopped, too.
He rushed forward and snatched it up, clutching it like a lifeline. Thank Mizuho, he'd used a plastic box.
Without looking back, Devvyn took off. Sprinting down the alley, through the winding streets, toward the station. Home.
